Changeling Escapades: Skyrim

by Erised the ink-moth

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Crossover, Human, Drama, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Changelings, Original Character, Sex, Comedy
Length: 146690

A Changeling is teleported to the frigid land of Skyrim. Lost in a frigid and hostile land, he must find a new source of love to sustain him. Worse still, Alduin the World Eater has returned to bring about the end of days. What our changeling do?

Weeks after the failed assault on Canterlot by the Chrysalis Hive, things are tense in Equestria. A lone changeling looking for somepony to feed on is discovered in Ponyville like many often are. But that's where his involvement in Equestria ends, for his adventure in Skyrim is about to start.

Sent to a new and frigid land where people can be as cold and unforgiving as the weather, this changeling will find that all is not well; a civil war threatens to tear its people apart, dark forces work in the shadows to gather followers and waiting for the opportune chance to strike, and an ancient prophecy is about to be realized, as Alduin the World Eater returns to raise an army of his dragon kin to destroy all of Nirn.

But all is not lost, as the Dovahkiin, dragonborn hero of legend, is on a journey to fulfill her destiny, and save the world from Alduin's wrath.

Who better for out changeling to join up with.

Read on as their tale unfolds.
=====
A long needed rewrite/ revision of my first attempt at a story, A Changeling's visit to Skyrim.
9/15/17: Changed title from the way too lengthy original "Escapades of a Changeling Soulstoke: Skyrim".

Published 2015-11-07 01:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2017-09-15 17:25:47 UTC

Prologue: A morning in Ponyville

Equestria... we all know it. The land of magic ponies, kindly ruled over by the royal sisters Celestia and Luna, Princesses of the sun and moon. Because of them, peace and harmony was maintained for hundreds of years.

For the three tribes of Pegasi, Unicorns and Earth Ponies, harmony was the most important thing in the world. Harmony and friendship had united them in their darkest hour long ago, saved them from their own hatred and distrust of one other. To this day, friendship, love, and acceptance kept their world from falling apart.

Unfortunately, there were those who would take that love and trust, and abuse it to their own ends.

Changelings were sneaky and smart, always hidden, always taking the utmost care to not be found out. They were barely more than a distant, forgotten memory of a race. But sightings were inevitable, legends cropped up, and stories were told.

They were considered monsters, and for good reason. Insectile in form and ravenous in intent, their unique brand of magic made them a cut above your normal predator. They fed not on flesh, but one's very life energy. And their tactics were custom tailored to exploit ponies.

By disguising themselves with illusions, changeling took the place of those you loved most; they could look like your parents, a sibling, your husband or wife, or even just a very close friend. When you mistakenly opened your heart to them, and left yourself vulnerable, that was when they'd feed upon you, draining everything away until you were nothing but a hollow shell of the pony you once were.

After they took what they needed, they'd leave your cold lifeless husk to perish as they swooped off into the night in search of their next victim.

Equestria wasn't the only place that built dark legends around the elusive shapeshifters either. In the Zebralands there were tales of shadows that stole your soul. The Minotaur tribes built their homes in complex mazes of stone to confound anyone falsely posing as family or friend. The Griffon kingdoms developed innate mistrust of anyone, always fearing betrayal, yet never questioning why.

As for dragons... well, changelings were crunchy snacks just like everything else.

Make no mistake though. Despite what the stories say, changelings weren't misunderstood cuddlebugs that survived on happy thoughts and hugs. They didn't feed on love, they fed through it.

It was deadly thing to let a changeling feed on you. It would leave you forever weakened if they took more than the smallest sip. And all to often, 'the smallest sip' wasn't good enough for a starving predator, and the results were fatally obvious.

By and large, changelings were unsympathetic leeches.

There were some good ones out there… ones content with enduring their hunger... ones that weren't so cruel. But a few good apples doesn't redeem a rotten bushel.

...

Stross was a Changeling. He wandered alone, having been without his familial hive for a very long stretch of years. He was unable to join a new hive. Every one he'd stumbled across either disgusted him or rejected him.

Instead he spent most days under a magical disguise his kind were (un)known for, hanging out and socializing with the many ponies in Equestria and feeding off them when he needed... and only when he needed.

Stross tried hard to be a ‘good’ parasite. Too hard sometimes. He was good at not hurting those he fed on, and it often left him starving.

With his life in constant flux, he would drift from place to place due to problems that inevitably arose. He was friendly and likable, but any long-term solutions for sating his unnatural hunger never really stuck.

Still, it was life.

But then Chrysalis happened. She happened hard!

Stross could barely believe it when he'd heard about the invasion. He was glad they failed! If Chrysalis had actually succeeded in taking the city, her hive would have gorged themselves silly on all those innocent ponies, killing thousands and growing unrivaled in strength because of it. Equestria would have been doomed.

Stross was glad they failed.

But if there were ever a bad first impression to give, Chrysalis and her hive gave the biggest face-slap, crotch-kick, I-slept-with-your-wife-and-your-mother, and-I-shot-your-dog first impression that there ever was!

Ever since the Chrysalis Hive’s attack on the city of Canterlot, things got harder on every Changeling alive.

For the first time in centuries, his race was brought into the cold light of day. Changelings weren't just scary stories anymore, they were silent boogymares hiding in every shadow. They could go anywhere, be anyone.

The ponies of Equestria, once oblivious, were now searching high and low for any changeling still skulking around in their lands. Every guard in every city was looking for him and his foolish brethren, angry and scared like never before.

...

Oh...
And Stross wants me to point out that he, in fact, did not take part in the invasion. He says invading is a fancy term for brute force, blunt and ruthless and mean. He says he prefers a gentler, more subtle take on things. Less 'Rawr! I'm gonna eat your soul!', and more 'Hey, I'm really hungry. Can I give you a hug and eat your soul?'

That doesn't sound very...

Y'kow what. Never mind! Exposition over!

Story time!

At the time we join him, Stross had been aimlessly wandering for the past few days, searching for a new place to find nourishment after his last colossal failure had sent him running.

Being a doctor takes years of study. It's not like being a baker or a florist; putting on a lab coat and 'making it up as you go' just isn't going to cut it. Also, asking ‘What’s the red squishy thing?’ during an open-heart surgery is a pretty quick way to blow your cover.

So he was exposed and sent running yet again, and as a bonus, it was now common knowledge that Changelings ate hearts!

Bang-up job there Stross.

As things were, our little changeling was practically starving at that point, having burned through much of his energy reserves during his escape, the rest having slowly dwindled while he put some distance between him and the city. Luckily for him, he just happened across a little town by the name of Ponyville.

Checking the state of his chitin, Stross discerned that he had enough energy in him to safely create one disguise... maybe. Lighting his horn, Stross did what Changelings normally do.

Or at least, what Stross normally did.

Concentrating, Stross engulfed himself in red embers, creating a pony disguise by mashing together random body types and fur colors. When his magic faded away, a skinny, grey earth pony stallion with a messy white mane stood in his place. The name Stark Shade seemed appropriate and generic enough to use. Thus he wasted no more time, and headed into town in search of somepony to feed off of.

Now… for all that's been said about Equestrians being hyper alert and paranoid due to scary bug-horses ransacking their capital city, it should also never be understated how open and accepting they are.

When no danger is perceived in their midst, ponies are super nice, because they don't think they're in any danger. Nearly the very second Stross arrived in the town proper, nearly everypony he passed gave a friendly wave and a warm smile. They gave no shortage of polite greetings when they passed by the nice, normal, totally-not-a-changeling pony.

Stross smiled back at them as he went, allowing a familiar calm to wash over him as he went through his usual motions. He breathed deeply, feeling the life and emotion in the air around him; it was a like a warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy that bubbled up to your chest. It wasn't nearly enough to feed on, but it just felt great.

However, just as he finished taking in a deep breath, he felt a disturbance ~~in the force~~. His senses couldn’t even pinpoint the direction it was coming from, as though it were very far off, yet coming from everywhere at once.

Then it suddenly condensed into a solid mass just out of view, and a millisecond later a pink pony with a wild curly mane sprang out in front of him. “HI! I’m Pinkie Pie. Are you new in town?” she asked in a rapid string of words.

Stross stared nervously at the bouncing pink bundle of pure energy. He could practically see her vibrating in front of him. "Uh, yeah. Yeah I am." he answered. "How’d you know?”

“Well I know everypony in Ponyville, and I’ve never seen anypony quite like you.” Pinkie told him, her mouth working faster than most auctioneers Stross had seen. “You’re really grey. Do like the color grey? Because you’re really grey, and I think grey is kind of a sad color to be honest. What’s your name?”

“I’m… Stark Shade.” Stross told her, “Would you like to be friends?” he asked.

Pinkie gasped, and then her face snapped into a giant grin. “I’d LOVE to be friends! I’m friends with everypony in Ponyville, and you’re in Ponyville right now, so it’s like we’re friends already! Gimme a hug, friend!”

“Heh, this was easy.” Stross thought to himself as Pinkie wrapped her front limbs around him like they were made of taffy.

While Pinkie was distracted, Stross reached out with his magic to suck up some of the life energy that had been practically gushing off her through the whole exchange. She was wide open to him, and she tasted sugary sweet, like eating frosting straight out of the container.

Suddenly, Stross felt as though a huge block of ice had been shattered on his head, and he grit his teeth as the dull pain set in through his skull.

Pinkie had apparently felt something too, and she broke away and checked herself over, humming thoughtfully. “Shivery back… tingly lips and… chills?” she listed off.

“Pinkie?” Stross asked as he rubbed his head.

“Oh it’s nothing, it’s just my Pinkie sense. It lets me know when things are gonna happen.” She explained briefly, leaving Stross with a lot more questions. “I’ve never gotten that combo before though. Shivery back/itchy ear means that the oven is still on, and tingly lips/neck wiggle means Rainbow Dash misplaced her can-opener, but Shivery back/tingly lips/chills is a totally new one. I wonder what it means...”

Pinkie sat with her face scrunched up in a hard contemplating stare, rubbing her chin and humming thoughtfully as she looked between the open air and the disguised stallion before her.

"Ah, never mind!” Pinkie perked up, "You know what we should do, pal o' mine? We should go to Sugarcube Corner and get some lunch, my treat!”

Stross was in little position to decline as Pinkie grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him along as she bounced down the road.

Along the way Pinkie told the story of how she first met the Cakes, the owners of the bakery. It was an uplifting tale of a young rock farmer who lived a dull, boring life, until one glorious day, she discovered what it was like to be happy, and wished to share that joy with the entire world. It was a story of bravery as she made the fateful choice to leave her family and their humble rock farm behind to spread her parties far and wide. There was a touching moment before she departed, when her parents told her that no matter what she chose to do with her life, whether it involved rocks or balloons, they’d always love her.

“... and after that, I got off the train in Ponyville, where I met mister and missus Cake. They let me live with them back when Sugarcube Corner was just getting started, and taught me all the yummy recipes that we still make today.” Pinkie finished, beaming as they arrived at the gingerbread styled bakery.

“That was a great story Pinkie.” Stross complemented her as they walked up the steps of the gingerbread-styled building.

“Yup, everypony loves to hear about how Princess Celestia made peace with the dragons.” Pinkie giggled, “Sometime I’ll have to tell you about how I came to Ponyville. That’s a heartwarmer.”

“I- wait. What?” Stross blubbered for a second before dismissing the oddness. Pinkie seemed a little… off, but he sensed no traces of mal-intent. And she was friendly enough.

The interior of the bakery was a pretty welcoming setup. It was painted in bright pastel yellows and pinks, tables were set up along the side walls, and pictures of parties were hung as decorations on nearly every available space. On the far side was the register where ponies would place their orders, and a glass display case filled with assorted cookies and cupcakes stood to either side of the counter.

Yet there was something distinctly off about the mood in the bakery. A yellow mare with a bright orange mane sat off to the side with her chin resting on the table as she slumped over. In contrast to the few others occupying the rest of the tables, enjoying their coffee and scones on this lovely morning, the yellow mare and her somber position stuck out like a sore hoof.

“Hey Pinkie.” Stross got the pink pony’s attention. “You know everypony in Ponyville right? What about her?” he gave a slight gesture towards the sulking yellow pony.

Pinkie’s expression turned to a mix of sadness and sympathy. “Oh that's Sunny Delight, but her friends all call her Sunny D. She’s been really super sad because her coltfriend who lives all the way over in Manehatten was a big jerkface and cheated on her for this other mare he met.”

“Ouch. That’s terrible.”

“I know, right?! Just look what that meanie mean-pants did!” Pinkie yelled and thrust a hoof at Sunny, who looked over for a second, but just as quickly rested her chin back on the table. “I’ve tried everything I can think of to help her get over it, her friends too. But she’s just broken up into little bitty pieces over him.” Pinkie pouted, “Poor Sunny’s been like this for weeks, and I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

Stross couldn’t help licking his lips, knowing an opportunity when he saw one. As bad as it was for Sunny, this was also a perfect opportunity for a Changeling. “That’s so sad. Do you think I could try and talk to her about it?”

Pinkie met the look in his eye with a smirk of comprehension as a plan of her own wove itself together. “Stark good buddy, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

“First I move her with my sympathy and cheer her up like nopony else could, then we become friends and I help heal her broken heart. She falls for me, and I have all the love I could ever need. Then she’s happy, and I don’t have to starve. Everyone wins!” Stross squealed internally as the perfect plan came together. “Uh, I dunno. What are you thinking Pinkie?” he asked, trying to appear oblivious.

Pinkie grinned and had dragged him over to Sunny’s table in the blink of an eye, barely able to contain herself. “Hey Sunny!”

The yellow mare buried her face even further into her hooves with an annoyed groan.

“I know my ideas to cheer you up haven’t worked out too well the last couple dozen times. But that’s why I brought somepony new to help! Sunny D, this is Stark Shade, he’s new in town! And since your other friends are running out of ways to make you happy, maybe you can be friends with him and he can make you happy! Do you two wanna be friends with Starky? Huh huh huh? It’ll make you feel better about you-know-whooo-ooo.”

If Sunny could deflate any further she’d have melted into the table. “Pinkie… please, I really don’t want to think about-“ She tried to say before she way cut off by Pinkie’s much quicker speech.

“Ooh, you know what goes great with new friends? New friend milkshakes! I’ll go get you some!” she then zipped off to the kitchen despite Sunny’s protests.

Stross gave an awkward smile, and sat down across from her. He did his best to look gentle and approachable before taking a quick inhale to deliver the greatest pick-me-up speech in the history of ever. “So-”

“Go away.” Sunny mumbled and returned her face to the table.

And the plan starts off swimmingly!

“Are you alright?” Stross asked as he leaned in a little.

The glare Stross received told him that was a stupid question, and he was stupid for asking it.

“Pinkie told you about my ex-coltfirend, yes? And she’s come up with another half-baked scheme to cheer me up that somehow involves you.” Stross nodded slightly to both questions, and Sunny let out a displeased groan. “Pinkie Pie… she means well, I know she does. But she just doesn’t understand what it feels like to have your heart ripped out and stomped on! Fun can’t fix that kind of thing.”

“I’m sorry, I… I know what that feels like too, like there's a giant gap that's been ripped in your soul. And I know it hurts.” Stross said softly, pleased to note that Sunny bothered to look up at him. “I’d really like to help if you’ll let me.”

Sunny snorted softly, but shook her head. “At least you gave me a choice. Pinkie has been pestering me about it constantly ever since I made the mistake of telling her.” Sunny crossed her hooves on the tabletop once again, “Somehow the girls were even worse, setting me up with blind dates to ‘get me out on the market again’. They just don’t understand. Hail Slick was perfect. I can’t just replace him, even after… after…” Sunny choked out a sob as the words got caught in her throat.

Stross reached over and placed a hoof on her shoulder as she tried to not break down in public. “Shh… it’s okay.” He whispered until she was breathing normally again. “What was he like anyway?” he asked as cautiously as stepping through a minefield.

Sunny slowly opened her eyes, and spoke in a croaking voice. “We met at Neighagra Falls. I wan’t even there with anypony, just on vacation when I found out there was a mixup with my hotel reservation. I wouldn’t have anywhere to stay for a whole week and was going to have to cancel my whole trip. Then Hail Slick swooped in and saved me, saying that his friends never showed up, and he had two extra beds in his room.

“I didn’t want to impose, but he insisted it was no trouble.” Sunny let out a dreamy sigh. “That week was amazing. We went to see the falls together, went on tours of the town’s monuments... then on the last night we went out to dinner together like we had been all week, and he asked if I would be his marefriend. And of course, I said yes!” Sunny squeed adorably at the memory.

Then she frowned. “Of course it was too good to be true. We were together for almost half a year. He got a job that payed a lot of money, but required him to move to Manehatten. ‘It’s so I can treat you right’ and ‘have a good life together’ he says. Hail told me in his letters that I’ll be the only one he’ll ever love. So why would I worry?” Sunny huffed, “It was only when I came for a surprise visit that I found out that ‘the only one’ didn’t include ploughing this runway model that happens to live next door to him!” Sunny screamed in outrage. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And when I asked him why… he wasn’t even sorry! Said some stupid line about keeping all his options open, and that it wasn’t a big deal! It was a big deal to me!”

It was at this point that Sunny Delight noticed the stares from the other customers, who had forgotten their tea and muffins around the time Stross sat down, and were eagerly listening to the whole conversation, despite trying to appear like they weren’t.

“I’m sorry mister Shade. I didn’t mean to dump all my problems on you.” Sunny said to Stross, bringing her voice back down. “It just sort of… all spilled out at once.”

Stross just smiled back reassuringly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind, really. Keeping things bottled up is hard.”

Sunny nodded, "I thought Hail and I had something special. I just can’t believe he’d just use me and then leave for somepony else who’s richer, more successful… prettier. And he lied right to my face the whole time. I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

“But shouldn’t that make it easier to get over him then?” Stross asked her, “He sounds like such a scumbag. Charming… but a scumbag.” But am I any better with what I do?

“That’s what everypony keeps saying. But it feels like a big chunk of me isn’t there with him gone, like it was ripped right out.” Sunny shut her eyes. “It just... it hurts so much to think he's not there anymore. Maybe he wasn't great to me... but he was mine.”

As a Changeling, Stross could relate on a far more literal level. Without a constant source to feed on, his kind would slowly wither away as the hunger set in. Losing your ‘special somepony’ was like having your stomach ripped out.

Stross raised Sunny’s chin with a gentle hoof. “You want to know what I do after a bad breakup?”

Sunny pondered it for a second, about to tell him no, but then just rolled her eyes. “As long as it has nothing to do with parties.” She said sullenly.

“Well actually, and I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I think Pinkie Pie had the right idea, at least to start out with. And your friends too, but they were just jumping way ahead. You see, treating the pain of a breakup is a lot like treating any other kind of physical wound, at least in theory.” Stross told her, to which she gave him a skeptical look.

“What I mean is, if something hurts really bad you’d use some kind of painkillers in order to make it bearable, right? And for break-ups, your painkiller of choice is anything that gets your mind off it; salty or sugary food, being with friends, buying something you’ve always wanted, whatever makes you feel good. That’s what Pinkie was trying to do, it’s just that she never moved on to the second step.”

Sunny nodded and continued to listen.

“You see the thing about any painkiller, physical or psychological, is that it doesn’t actually heal you, and if you keep using it, you’ll still be hurt on the inside.” Stross continued “So sooner or later you have to confront the source of the problem and deal with it for good. And I don’t mean find the guy who hurt you and punch his lights out, as satisfying as it would be to watch...” Stross added, glad that Sunny actually giggled a little at his comment.

“But anyway, I find that the best way to work out any pain is to just talk about how you feel. Psychiatrists are great for this, and it’s probably why they get paid so much. Being able to just vent your frustration and pain will leave you feeling like a weight’s been lifted off your back. Also, being able to think about what your ex actually meant to you, or what you saw in him, and then put those things into perspective will help you to move past him.”

“Perspective?” Sunny asked.

“Yeah, like…” Stross thought for a second, “Name something nice he did for you, just off the top of your head.”

Sunny Delight looked at the ceiling for a while in thought. “Well, when he took me out to dinner to ask me to be his marefriend, he stopped me before I left for home, and gave me this keychain in the shape of a teddybear with a heart on it. He pulled out a charm necklace that had one just like it, next to a photo of his parents and one of his baby teeth.” She smiled and started tearing up at the memory “I thought it was so sweet of him and I just- I just-“

Stross quickly put a hoof over hers, snapping her out of her memories of the good times before she could start sobbing.

“And now, try to remember a time when he wasn’t so nice. Some time when he let you down.”

The way Sunny’s expression changed and her eyes became cold let Stross know she could think of plenty.

“Everything changed when I met him again, after Neighagra. I can’t count how many times he said he’d meet me and never showed up, made plans and then dropped them over nothing. It was like he was a totally different stallion.” She said with a small frown “All those times when hanging out with his friends at this sleezy bar was more important than spending time with me, sometimes I don't think he even knew them. Or how about when-“

“Okay, I um… I think I get the idea.” Stross stopped her, and she grinned sheepishly when she realized how loud she was talking again. “But you see what I mean, right? Whenever you think back on how happy he made you, try to put it in perspective, and ask yourself if it was worth the pain he caused later on. You might even realize how awesome you are for getting through it. I know some ponies who would have stayed and taken the abuse. You’re really brave Sunny Delight.”

Sunny smiled at that. “Thank you.” she whispered, her eyes shying off to the side.

Stross smiled back. “I know you’re going to be okay, just give it some time. And when you’re feeling confident, you can move on to step three, and find someone new. You might run into ponies like Hail again, no denying the possibility, but as long as you don’t give up on yourself, you can always get back up, and keep trying.”

“That’s all there is to it, just believe in yourself and keep trying?” Sunny asked doubtfully.

“Well okay… maybe not all there is to it. I think I’m oversimplifying. But I believe in you. I mean, I’m still wondering why this Hail Slick would give up someone so...”

“Boring? Whiny?” Sunny offered.

“Wonderful.” Stross said, causing her to blush. “And cute.” Stross added with a little laugh.

“You know what Stark, you’re right. No more kicking myself over this.” She said sitting up straighter with little popping noises coming from her back. It made Stross wonder how long she’d been slumped over like that... likely too long.

It was at that point that Pinkie Pie came back to them with a tray of milkshakes impossibly balanced on top of her poofy mane. When she saw that Sunny Delight was no longer a lump of miserableness, she gasped in excitement. “Sunny! Are you feeling better?” she asked eagerly before gasping again as a second realization hit her. “Did Starky help you like he said he would?”

“You know what Pinkie, I really am feeling better.” Sunny told her, which only made Pinkie’s smile grow. “Thank you Stark. And thank you for not giving up on me Pinkie.”

“Woo-hoo!” Pinkie jumped for joy while somehow keeping the shakes balanced on her head, “I knew it would work, new friend making prevails over being down in the dumps once again!” she declared victoriously “Oh and that reminds me, your milkshakes! Ooh, and don’t go anywhere, I need to get my camera to commemorate this moment!”

With that she set the drinks on the table and zipped up the stairs.

“So… are we really friends now, or am I more of a traveling psychiatrist.” Stross asked.

Sunny chuckled. “Just a few minutes ago I would have said no. But you’ve really pulled me out of my gloom. I’d love to get to know you more. To new friends?” she asked and raised her shake.

“To new friends.” Stross agreed and did the same. And to becoming much more.

With a small clink, the glasses of vanilla-chocolateyness came together, the little paper flags reading ‘Best-est Friend-shakes’ in agreement. Sunny happily started sipping away at hers, while Stross on the other hoof was more focused on the sweet emotional juice flowing off his new friend. He discretely sucked it in, feeling fuller with each passing second.

"I'm getting seriously good at this." he thought to himself. If he stuck around a while, inching closer to her and doing everything right, he'd have her as a genuine lover, and thus... a permanent supply of nourishment. "if only we were all like this, then there wouldn't have to be any reason for ponies to hate us."

“GAAHHH!” Sunny suddenly yelled out in pain, grabbing her head and clenching her teeth.

"OH NO!"Stross immediately assumed the worst, but still couldn’t believe it. He’d been so careful with his feeding! She shouldn’t have been hurt by so little, and he could still see the ambient energy around her! What was going on?! “Sunny?! Are you okay?” he said and reached across the table to her.

“I drank it too fast.” she groaned and let out a shiver.

Stross blinked, snorting a laugh as he put two and two together. He hadn’t hurt her. Not even close. She’d just gotten a bad case of brainfreeze from the milkshake. He couldn’t help himself he just started laughing.

She glared at him at first, but pretty soon Sunny couldn’t help but laugh too.

“You’re silly Sunny Delight.” Stross said between giggles.

There was a flash next to them, and they turned to see Pinkie with an old accordion camera. “Great! That’s a keeper.”

“So mister Shade,” Sunny Delight got Stross’s attention again, “my friends were planning to take me out on a sort of triple-dinner-date tonight, another attempt to set me up with some stallions they know from work. Would you like to join us, and maybe be my ‘step three’ for the evening to show them I'm better now?”

“I’d be happy to.” Stross told her with a smile, “Just let me know where and when.” She was going to keep him fed for a really long time. And he’d pay her back with happy memories of course, anything to be more than a mere parasite. Things were going well for him again.

And then the front door got kicked in.

“Sunny, I know you’re here!” a deep blue Pegasus stormed in, quickly drawing everyone’s attention. He looked around until he spotted Sunny Delight, rudely shoving Pinkie aside as he marched up to her. “Sunny, I’ve changed my mind. I want you back.”

Sunny scowled at him. Less than an hour ago she would have practically leapt back into his hooves. But this was a very different Sunny Delight he was dealing with now. “I don’t think so. I’m my own mare now. I don’t need you anymore, so go back to that slut in Manehattan.”

“Are you still mad about that? Come on babe, I’ve heard what everypony’s been sayin’, you’re a wreck without me, you need me. Now I came all the way here, offering to take you back and you’re saying no? What gives?” Hail Slick said, and yet the word ‘sorry’ never so much as graced his lips.

“What gives-“ Sunny scowled and punched his chest for emphasis “-is that we are done! You’re not the same stallion I met in Neighagra Falls. I am done with the grief you’ve given me all this time, and I’m done with you! Now get out of my town.”

Hail Slick frowned back at her, but as they continued to argue, Stross noticed something distinctly off about Hail Slick. Where Sunny and Pinkie Pie were bursting with palpable life energy, as were the bystanders watching from the sidelines, Hail Slick seemed dead. No… not dead… worse, a pool of darkness that sucked in the light around him.

Stross frowned and stepped up next to Sunny. “You need to leave Hail Slick.” Stross said his name tensely.

The two regarded each other with cold glares, and for the two of them, all deception was peeled away. Where onlookers saw two stallions fighting for the affections of a mare, Stross and Hail knew they were two Changelings fighting over food.

“And who are you supposed to be?” Hail asked with a light snarl. “Punk.”

“His name is Stark Shade.” Sunny told him, “My new coltfriend.”

Rather than snapping at Sunny, or telling either to butt out, Hail just sneered at Stross. “So, trying to take what’s mine, are you?”

Sunny scoffed, “I am not yours-“ But Stross cut her off, quickly holding her back with a gentle hoof, his eyes never leaving Hail Slick.

“I’ve got this.” He told her before speaking to Hail, “Shall we take this outside?”

The small crowd of onlookers gasped.

Hail gave a quick sideways glance at the assembled ponies, including Pinkie, who had already finished nervously biting her own hooves and moved on to the hooves of the pony next to her.

“After you.”

The tension in the room was nearly crushing as the two trudged their way back out the front door.

Once in the alley behind Sugarcube Corner, neither of the disguised Changelings had any questions as to whether they were being watched. As much as each would have liked to drop their disguises on the spot and tear into each other, the winner claiming Sunny Delight as their own, it simply wouldn’t do to expose themselves, and survival took priority over savage instinct. But there was still a way to get a solid discussion across.

The two looked around, and Stross brought a hoof up over where his heart would be before sliding it to his mouth. To ponies it would look like a gesture of contemplation. To any Changeling with a brain, it literally meant ‘I eat love. I am a Changeling’ initiating the discussion.

Hail Slick twitched his mouth and stomped his hoof twice, the response of ‘I know, me too.’ Thus began their ‘conversation’.

Hail Slick began, “So where’d a punk like you come from?” What faction are you allied with?

“My family’s on a long vacation, so I’m here to relax a little and maybe make some friends. I could ask you the same.” My faction disbanded a long time ago, I’m on my own and trying to find a source of food. Which are you from?

“Well I got friends you don’t want to mess with, so let’s cut to the chase. Ain’t anyone taught you not to take what’s not yours?” All you need to know is my faction is powerful, and we don’t share. That pony is mine to feed off of.

“Oh, so that model back in Manehattan wasn’t enough for you, huh? Sunny Delight doesn’t need someone like you making her miserable, and I can do better for her.” You already have one pony to feed off of, you can afford to let me have this one. She deserves to be happy.

Hail slick raised a skeptical brow. “You really care about her huh? Why? She's nopony to you.” You think her feelings matter? She’s a meal on legs! Or do you like to play with your food?

“I care about her more than you apparently. And why not? She’s not just some… thing to be taken advantage of! And FYI, relationships tend to last longer when you meet them half way.” I think of her as more than just food, unlike you. You'd just make her suffer! She's a living thing with feelings- feeling we use to feed. Why not feed a little less if it means keeping our ponies alive longer?

“Oh, so you’re the relationship police? Who are you to tell me how to live my life?! I’ll do what I want! She’s mine.” You’ve got no moral high-ground here. If you want to let attachment cloud your judgement and get you killed, fine. But I’m sticking with what keeps me alive and well. So you can go off and have fun starving. “I put a lot of effort into her at Neighagra.”

This made Stross pause, thinking over the little details of Sunny’s story about her and Hail. This would tip it for him. He had to ask. “Do you still have that bear necklace?”

“The what?” Hail asked, unable to find any hidden meaning.

“The charm necklace with your family's picture, and your baby tooth, and the bear with the little heart on it. Sunny has the matching bear charm you gave to her. Did you at least keep yours, you know… for sentimental value?”

“What are you talking abou-“ then Hail paused, and the meaning became clear.

Were you always Hail Slick, or did you replace him?

“You’re worrying about that right now?! I could cream you, and you’re asking about that?!”

“I am. What happened to you at Neighagra Falls? Sunny said you were the practically the perfect gentlecolt before. Why’d you change like that?” Stross said and took a step forward. What happened to the real Hail Slick, it could have been an act, but your acting isn’t that good. I’ll bet you just let some stallion do all the work and then took his place.

“I really liked Sunny Delight, so I did what I had to get her to like me. Lots of guys do that.” She was easy food! Changelings do this kind of thing all the time. Don’t act like you never have!

“Where were you before you left Neighagra?” Stross asked pointedly. And what happened to the pony you replaced?

“I was just packing up my things, double checkin’ the rooms and the like. Left a bit of a mess behind, but the maids would take care of it. Not my problem now, anyway. What’s it to you?” I took the real Hail Slick and stuffed him in a closet for one of the others to pick up later. Dunno what happened after that, maybe he’s dead, maybe he’s still in stasis. But what do you care?

“I think Sunny would like to see you again.” Stross told him, “And you’ve got some serious explaining to do. And in case you don’t get my meaning... I'm going to get real Hail Slick back.”

Changeling Hail’s eyes shot open and he immediately stomped on the ground twice, trying to reaffirm their discretion. “I don’t like your tone ‘Stark Shade’. Nopony tells me what to do, and you really don’t want my friends to hear about this.”

Stross got inches from Hail’s face and said through his teeth. “You listen to me. Sunny met the love of her life in Neighagra, and she’s going to get him back. So you can either do as I say, or I can get the guards involved and let them sort this out.”

Hail’s anger was replaced almost tenfold with fear. He found it almost ridiculous. There was no way. “You wouldn’t. Even someone like you ain’t dumb enough. They’d screw us both. My friends would have to… my whole faction would be forced to go into hiding.”

“I son't care about what happens to monster like you and me. Some things are more important. Last chance… where is he?” Stross whispered evenly.

Hail’s punch came so quickly that Stross barely managed to move out of the way in time. But while the first was avoided, second swing hit him squarely in the chest. Stross doubled over in pain, allowing Hail to grab him by the throat and pin him to the nearest wall.

“You crazy freak! You’re not tellin’ anyone anything. You're not even getting out of here alive!” Hail hissed as a curved black horn pushed through his disguise and glowed with a deadly green light. “None of us are gonna miss a boat-rockin’ traitor like you.”

Stross was faster though, and hit him in the face with a blinding flash of light from his own horn. He quickly wrestled Hail’s hooves off his neck and watching as he blindly flailed around trying to find him again.

Flashbangs: simple cantrips that Changelings were taught to use if they were ever exposed and needed an escape. Stross had seldom thought to use them against his own kind, but couldn’t doubt their effectiveness.

Even with the slight ringing in his ears, Stross could still hear the muffled shouts of panic coming from beyond the alley entrance. An idea popped into his head, but he’d have to make it look good. He threw a stunning blast at Hail to keep him down while he worked. He wouldn't let this fake Hail and his faction get away with what they'd done. He'd expose them all if it meant getting the stallion Sunny loved back.

But he'd need a little help with that.

“Changeling! Hail’s a Changeling!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Somepony get help!”

Now that Stark Shade’s voice had been heard, he quickly dispelled his disguise and threw several more flashbang orbs at the walls, each one draining his freshly harvested energy a little bit more. They stuck where they hit and began to pulse, slowly at first, then faster and faster.
They detonated in a deafening roar like someone had set off a series of cannons, and Stross threw himself dramatically out of the alleyway and landed on his back, doing his best to appear injured. As he looked up, just as he had suspected, there was a large crowd of onlookers gathered, including two guards in golden armor.

“Get back!” Stross shouted as he jumped up, reforming his disguise to look like Hail Slick, his curved horn still sticking out through his forehead. “You ponies won’t foil my nefarious plans!” he yelled. And to finish his overly hammy performance, Stross charged up his horn in a menacing red glow that cast a shadow over his face.

Many of the normal ponies in the crowd backed up, but two guards in gold armor stepped forward to protect them. Stross lobbed another flashbang between the two, but knowing what it was, they immediately clenched their eyes shut and covered their ears.

Stross still had more than enough time to duck back in the ally, and sprint for all he could muster past the recovering Hail Slick. As a final insult before he fled for good, Stross switched back to his Stark Shade persona, gave a mock salute and vanished out the other end.

Behind him he heard the guards pony-piling on top of the other Changeling. Stross smiled smugly to himself as he trotted away, already working on the next phases of his plan to get Sunny's lover back to her.

Then his ears twitched as he heard a buzzing voice like his call out, “He’s one too. He’s my accomplice, so you should get him too.”

Stross froze for a moment and looked back. There’s no way they’re going to listen to him now. Was there?

“Halt!” one of the guards shouted as he barreled out of the alleyway and spun into a buck that sent Stross flying and tumbling across the ground. “Stop right there changeling scum!”

Stross tasted blood in his mouth and felt his disguise disintegrate in a pulse of red embers.

“What the buck man?! What if I hadn’t been a changeling?!” he shouted at the guard who stood over him by at least a head. He should have kept running, yet he felt a dire need to address this first. “That other changeling back there could have been lying for all you knew!”

“Yes, but he wasn’t. Now prepare to be detain-“ the guard began but was swiftly interrupted.

“That’s not the point!” Stross screamed in outrage. “That kick really hurt! And I’ve got an armored shell! Imagine if you'd hit me and I was just a normal squishy pony. A hit like that might have crippled me, or worse.” he told him gravely.

“But… I didn’t think…” the guard actually started to stammer when he noticed the glares from passing ponies weren’t solely on the dirty changeling anymore.

“No… clearly you didn’t think. Any guard worth their training wouldn’t fly off the handle like that and possibly endanger the citizens they get paid to protect.” Stross scolded him like a disappointed parent, and amazingly, the guard just sat there and took it with his eyes to the ground. “Uh… dismissed soldier. Report back to your commanding officer to receive a proper punishment for reckless behavior while on duty!”

“Yes sir! Right away sir!” The guard hastily saluted the order, turned, and began to trot away.

Stross blinked. Surely that didn’t just happen. He decided not to press his luck and started making his getaway, but looked back a few times despite himself.

Thank you silver tongue.

Unfortunately for Stross, the rest of his escape didn't go so smoothly. For some reason, there were far, far more guards patrolling town than normal. With a Changeling confirmed loose in Ponyville, houses and shops were being methodically barged into and strip-searched. Any ponies acting strange were pulled aside and questioned. Twice already Stross had been found, and twice he’d had to lose almost a dozen guards by fleeing and hiding once he'd broken line of sight with his pursuers.

He'd gone through three new disguises already.

“Shit shit shit shit, shit!” Stross cursed to himself as he tore around a corner after being exposed yet again.

He dashed into a crowded street, with half the towns’ guards on his tail and more joining their ranks with every block he passed. He spotted a storefront and shoved the door open, and to his luck, there was nopony behind the counter to see him. A whirl of embers engulfed him, and he took a spare second to catch his breath before stepping out with his newest illusory disguise in place. If only he could get to the edge of town... but there were pegesi guards patrolling all the exits from the air, preventing anypony from leaving while a threat like him was loose.

“I’ve really screwed myself this time.” he muttered to himself. “Where did all these guards come from anyway- grk!”

When Stross looked up to see who he had bumped into, he was shocked to see a stallion that looked exactly like the form he had just taken, right when the platoon of armed guards in gleaming gold armor rounded the corner and surrounded them both.

“Stop right there criminal scum!”

Stross was getting sick of this. He was thinking he'd never get them to stop looking. But if he could somehow trick the guards into believing this other pony was the changeling and not him, he could slip away.

"It's him!" Stross shouted and jabbed a hoof at the poor stallion. He only hoped they would find out he was a real pony before they hurt him.

“Alright I confess!” the brown-haired stallion cried.

“Wait- what?” Stross asked.

"Wait… what?" a couple of guards echoed his words, equally confused.

“Here’s the money I took!” the stallion dumped out his saddlebags, many golden coins falling to the ground, “I only took it because he owed me money and hadn’t paid me back. I didn’t think he would mind! I thought we were friends! Please don’t arrest me, I have a family!” he yelled out between sobs.

The guards and even several bystanders gave a questioning look at each other.

“Umm… sir?” one of the guards reached over.

“Y- yes?” the stallion chocked out as he wiped his eyes.

“Are you not aware of the lockdown? We’re actually trying to apprehend the changeling over there.” the guard pointed to empty air where Stross used to be.

He immediately did a double-take and spotted Stross on the run again, already two blocks away.

The guard stamped a frustrated hoof. “Foal of a yay!“

Stross had slipped away several moments ago, and had quickly assumed a new disguise, running as fast as his legs could carry him in any other direction than where the guards had clustered.

“That was way too close!” He thought to himself, “I need to get out of here! If only I had a better way out of-“ he stopped mid-thought as a new revelation came to him. “I have magic.” He deadpanned to himself. “I have bucking MAGIC!”

Stross dropped his disguise to focus all his energy into as he continued to run, and began charging power into his horn, weaving it into a spell. “I just need to teleport to somewhere far away. Somewhere really really far away and-“

Before he could finish, a lavender unicorn bumped into him, unable to see where she was going due to her book.

As the two collided, their horns touched. A huge surge of magic shot through the unicorn librarian, her eyes glowing white with raw power that was transferred in the blink of an eye to Stross. There was a huge flash of purple and red as Stross lost his focus, and his spell overcharged. In less than a millisecond, his body's matter collapsed in on itself until it was simply gone.

The unicorn blinked a few times and rubbed her head from the slight ache now present. Shrugging to herself, she picked up her book again and continued on her way.

Author's Note

Well if you're reading this, it means that you've shown interest in my story. :yay:{Yay!)

Or maybe you're here because the old version of this story was taken down (by me) so that this new version could be safely posted.

Now I know that there's quite a few people out there that either favorited A Changeling's visit to Skyrim, or just threw it on their "read it later" shelf. And if you're one of those people... THANKS! It means a lot to me, it really does.

Either way, I'm just hoping that you'll enjoy it. Thanks for giving this a chance!
-Erised

The Dragonstone arc I: Out of the frying pan...

Meanwhile, in a galaxy far, far away…

Wait- Hang on here...
I keep getting these intro cards mixed up.

Meanwhile, beyond the frozen tundra… in the homeland of the Nords, where radiant stories bloom and you can dual-wield magic and swords!

Skyrim.
...

That’s where Stross ended up after his teleportation spell went amiss, face down in the dirt and feeling like the world had just tap-danced on every inch of his chitinous black shell.

He took a moment to get his bearings… then another… and another…

Finally, after about four full minutes of waiting for the pain to subside, he pulled himself up and began to get a look around.

“Ow my head.” the changeling groaned as the ichor in his veins sloshed around and his vision blurred. Something about this place felt wrong to him, in a way he couldn’t explain. It was so empty and hard. “What just happened, and-... And what happened to my body?" He yelled, holding what used to be his hooves in front of his face, trembling.

Instead of ending in stumps, each of his legs now had five smaller appendages on the ends; he'd somehow gained fingers and toes. Stross had tried being a griffon once or twice, so the fingers he could get used to. But as soon as he tried to stand up, he found his new legs giving him problems, wonky and disproportionate as they were.

He imagined the peels of laughter if anyone saw him trying to waddle around on all fours with his butt in the air.

He immediately decided he didn't like this body and tried to use his magic to change back. But trying to dispel whatever magic had changed him and revert back to his normal shape yielded no results, and only left him with a throbbing headache. Whatever had changed him was more than his simple illusion spell, it was something fundamental. And he was stuck like this until he figured it out.

“Well that was pointless.” Stross groaned as a dull pain set into his skull.

Sitting himself down again, Stross patted himself down to make sure he still had everything else. To his relief, he did. He felt his horn protruding out of his forehead, and his trusty wings tucked safely inside his shell. He still had hard chitinous skin that was corroded and full of holes, and though his muzzle was squished into his face, his mouth was still full of pointy teeth.

"Alright." Stross said to himself. "New body, no idea where I am, and I'll need to feed before too long. I can do this. I can deal with it."

Pushing himself onto all fours again, despite the awkwardness, Stross started moving. He soon found himself on an overgrown dirt path in the middle of a chilly forest. Roads usually led somewhere, and seeing no better alternative, he decided to follow it.

Slowly crawling along, the changeling made it to a larger, much more traveled road. Just as he was inspecting it for any direction, he heard a number of loud hoofsteps from his right. Quickly ducking into a dense patch of foliage, he waited to see who was coming.

Soon, the source of the noise showed itself. More than a dozen large figures clad in blue cloth and chainmail made their way down the road, riding atop absolutely enormous steeds that made even Equestria’s largest stallions look like pigmies. As they passed, Stross noticed the giant swords and axes they carried, as well as their wooden shields with blue bear insignias upon the front.

“What are those things? Whoever they are, they’re packing a ton of steel.” Stross thought to himself as they passed “One thing’s for sure, I’m not in Equestria anymore. I could ask them for directions... but somehow I doubt it.”

Suddenly, a shout came from the forest in front of the group. The battlecry was echoed a hundred times over as dozens more of the strange bipedal creatures burst out of the undergrowth and from the trees above, dark red uniforms everywhere, with bows and arrows poised and ready to fire. Shouts of rage and distress echoed throughout the ranks of both sides until a thunderous voice silenced them all.

“ENOUGH!” it bellowed, seemingly commanding authority over them all, “Hold where you are my brothers, we are outnumbered.”

“What would you have us do Jarl Ulfric?” another voice asked.

There was a short pause. Stross tried to see what was going on, but the trees blocked line of sight. He could barely tell what was even going on.

“Stand down and surrender yourselves. There is no need for more bloodshed... not among our own.” the voice said quietly.

“A wise choice Ulfric.” a third voice joined in, spitting the name like a curse.

“-even if our own are a bunch of elf-loving traitors.” The deep commanding voice amended. “To think I have been named a traitor for fighting for my people. Can any of you Imperials say the same?”

“Enough! Take them into custody, and gag this one.”

Stross was starting to feel a bit nervous as he watched from his hiding place, unable to see the exchange directly, but getting an unmistakable vibe from it all. Intrigued as he was, he felt a bit too close to the action. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Got another over here!” a soldier called gruffly from behind him.

Stross whipped his head around just in time to see the sword handle collide with his face before falling into darkness.

"Gods... what is this thing?"

"It was with the rebels. Take it into custody with the rest!"

Stross awoke in a familiar setting, one he knew would surely mean death for him if he couldn’t escape. Stross had heard stories about captured Changelings being locked in cells with nopony to feed on, starving to death due to the negligence of those who didn’t understand them. Heck, even he'd been captured once or twice.

Looking at the bleak stone walls of his cell and ignoring the pounding in his head, he struggled into a sitting position. Saying there wasn't much to the cell was being generous. At best it was a stone box with a wooden-frame bed in it. The ratty clothes that had been draped over him smelled distinctly of something foul, and he wasted no time in ripping them off.

“Sheesh who keeps the standards in this place, the prisons in Equestria are way better than this.” He thought as he looked for a way out. “No windows. And judging by how dark it is I’m probably underground… or it’s night time.”

“Perfect.” Stross sighed as he walked over to the bars.

It was only as he took the first step that he felt something drag at his left ankle. Looking down he spotted the cause: a chain had him shackled to the floor.

“Hmm, so they feel like giving me a challenge, do they?”

He tried to gather energy into his horn for a spell to cut though the chain, a glow slowly grew stronger as he focused. But before he could muster the strength to complete it, the spell fizzled and popped, giving Stross a seizure that sent him to the floor, gritting his teeth.

“No magic to draw from, how long have I been out? How long since I last fed… and how much did that teleport take out of me!? Oh this is not good.”

Stross held out a hoof... no. He held out a hand, checking the corroded holes in his skin to see how much the decay had progressed. Every Changeling had some form of it, the rot that threatened to overtake them. Feeding was the only real way to reverse it, and from the way bits of shell crumbled away, he needed food badly.

With his magic a no-go, he instead grasped the bars and looked around for any other way out. Looking out of his cell for the first time he saw another row across from his, each occupied by one of those big fleshy creatures he had seen before.

"Hey. Psst, hey!" he called to the cell closest to his.

The burly figure within jumped a bit when it saw Stross reaching out at him.

"I need to feed on you! Just a little!" he whispered. "Wait- no! Don't turn away! I can even get the rest of us out while I'm at it. C'mon! I'm starving!"

As he tried to get closer he felt his head pop through the vertical bars. Quickly pulling himself back out, an idea occurred to him. Deciding to test his theory, he turned to his side and tried to squeeze through the cell door. With a lot of pushing, jerking, twisting and discomfort, he managed to get his entire body through the bars and to the other side before the chain around his ankle impeded any further progress.

“This stupid thing… if I had my magic you’d be molten dust right now.” he muttered under his breath as he pulled fruitlessly at the chain. “Come on!”

He turned back to the man in the cell next to him. He could easily reach the bars on the other side. He just needed to feed a little bit, but the man was far too terrified to make it happen.

"Come on man! I just need to drain you for a second! It won't hurt at all, promise!" Stross tried to convince him.

"AHH! Get it away! Someone get in here and help me!" the man shouted.

Stross cursed and looked around frantically. Someone was sure to have heard that. He went back to the shackle around his ankle and tried to get it off somehow.

Before he could find out if he could chew off his own leg, a voice got his attention.

“Spindly one, ain't ya. You’ll need to do a lot more than that to break out of our prisons, bug.” an Imperial guardsman told him passively before turning to another standing nearby. “Get the others ready for transport to Helgen, I’ll take care of this one.” he said, lightly pounding his fists together.

“Eep.”

When Stross awoke with a new throbbing spot on his forehead, he found he was on a wooden cart being pulled slowly through the mountains, one of a few. Seated next to him on his cart were four other prisoners, one wearing the blue chainmail he’d seen when he first arrived, another in a heavy fur coat, the last two wearing the same type of rags Stross had refused to wear himself. None of them said so much as a word, though they gave him strange glances every now and then, keeping their distance on the narrow bench.

At least the view was nice. From where they passed along the open cliffs and hilltops, Stross could see for miles across the land. There were snow-covered peaks and rolling green plains dotted with small wooden houses here and there. The sun hung above, glazing the land in a strange stillness… an uncanny silence that covered them all, with only dull mutters from behind or ahead breaking the monotony. That was how it stayed for the next couple of hours until the fifth member of their wagon-group woke up with a small groan.

Stross had noticed it first when she woke, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. If he was being honest, he’d been watching her for most of the ride; as nice as the scenery was, she was more pleasing to look at. She was different than the rest of them, her entire body was much more slender than theirs, her arms thinner and lacking the rippled layer of muscle. Most notably was her face, it was longer that most others he’d seen, with pointed ears that poked out under her long silver hair. Now that they were open, he saw her large amber eyes had a beautiful shade of deep orange in their sclera.

Stross secretly wished she had woken up sooner. Partly so he might have someone to talk to, and partly so she wouldn't have missed the amazing view as they climbed over the mountains. All there was to look at now were trees, rocks, and some snow.

“So… finally awake I see.” the man in blue chainmail spoke up. “You tried to cross the border when you were caught in that Imperial ambush, right? Same as us, and those two over there: the horse thief and the bug.”

“Damn you Stormcloaks.” the thief interrupted, clearly angry with his predicament, “Skyrim was fine until you came along; the empire was nice and lazy around these parts. If it weren’t for you I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now.” he seethed.

“Wait... Skyrim? Hammerfell? I never even heard of those places, anywhere. I must have been taken a really long way.” Stross thought, not knowing the half of it. "And why wasn't anyone talking like this until the pretty girl woke up!"

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” The Stormcloak spat back.

The man next to Stross tried to grunt something through his gag.

“What’s up with him?” the horse thief asked, “Did he try to bite them or something?”

“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!” the Stormcloak scolded.

“High king? But why would they be treating him like a prisoner?”

“Ulfric, the Jarl of Windhelm? Leader of the rebellion? But if they’ve captured you, where are they taking us?” The thief asked, fear now entering his voice.

“Where do you think? End of the line.” the Stormcloak answered grimly.

“You- You can’t be serious! They can’t do that, I wasn’t even with you!” the thief yelled in disbelief.

“Shut up back there.” the driver of the cart uncaringly threw back.

“Oh... well that explains it. If it's a rebellion, it must be serious if they’re willing to execute anyone even remotely involved. And… I was caught with them-… oh no. Well, I guess I’ll just have to make yet another daring escape from the clutches of the law then.” It was hardly the first time anyway. Stross was practically a pro when it came to running away from angry constabulary. He'd be just fine!

With no magic and a body he wasn't used to.

...yeah.

The wagon train finally came to a small village, and the guards opened the front gates for them to pass. The Stormcloak’s eyes sparkled with memory once he got a good look at the buildings.

“This is Helgen.” he said in a bit more than a loud whisper, “I used to be sweet on a girl from here, would visit 'er whenever I got the chance. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper-berries mixed in. It’s funny, you know?” he chuckled sadly as he looked away, possibly hiding tears, “When I was a small boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe. How times have changed.”

“S-Sh-Shor… Mara… Dibella, Kynareth… Akatotsh! Divines… help me… someone get me out of this nightmare.” The thief begged as he looked skyward, pressing his bound hands together in the hopes that someone would hear him.

“Hey, what village are you from horse thief?” the Stormcloak asked.

“Roriksted… I- I’m from Roriksted.” The thief answered shakily. “Why do you care?”

“A Nord's last thoughts should be of home. Anyone’s last thoughts should be of home.” he answered. “You, wood-elf. Where are you from?”

The silver-haired elf stared for a moment before deciding to answer.

“I was visiting a friend in Elsweyr.” She told them. Her voice was like soft music, yet it was hollow, and she spoke as though she wasn’t completely there. “I was heading back to my home in High Rock… and now I’m here. Funny how things go from bad to worse huh? I think I'm ready to wake up right about now.”

She had obviously caught Stross staring at her, and had stared back in return. Stross didn’t mind though, he liked looking at her eyes. After a moment she gave him a funny look as her eyes focused in on him.

“So where are you from then?” she asked, not seeming to really care.

Stross found himself startled out of his staring by her question. “I umm… I’m from the Duna-mar Badlands, outside southern Equestria.” he stuttered out in his scratchy voice, “I don't think I'm supposed to be here. I'm kind of lost.”

“So… the bug can talk.” noted the Stormcloak. "Well, enjoy your last look at Skyrim... while you can."

The wagons reached their stop at the end of the town. On the way they had passed a military official on a horse talking to some more pointy-eared people in pitch black robes. The Stormcloak identified them as General Tullius and the Thalmor, muttering something at the end about those “damn elves” and how he “bet they had something to do with this”. The elf riding with them all shot him a glare when he said that, but it quickly faded away as her empty, sad stare returned.

Stross looked around when the carriages pulled to a stop, it surprised him to see that most of the townspeople had begun to gather up ahead. Save for a few, like the children who were being led back inside. “A public event? Maybe this isn’t an execution, maybe it’s just some formal disgracing or something. People wouldn’t actually watch this sort of thing, would they?”

Spotting the chopping block and the headsman’s huge axe quickly silenced that optimistic notion.

When they dismounted the wagon with the rest of the prisoners, an Imperial soldier with a book began reading names as they stepped forward.

“Ulfic Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

The man with the gag stepped forward.

“Ralof, of Riverwood.”

The Stormcloak soldier stepped forward with a look of resentment towards the imperial.

“Lokir, of Roriksted.”

At this point Stross had realized that while his hands were bound, his feet were free now. He considered taking his chances and making a run for it then and there, but the thief beat him to it.

Lokir had been cooped up in a panic for far too long, and he screamed his objection into the Captain face. “NO! We’re NOT rebels, you can’t do this!” the second his feet touched the ground he was running, and he sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him. “You’re not going to kill me you Imperial dogs!”

He didn’t get far before the captain signaled to the archers. One arrow hit him in the thigh, another in the small of his back, and a final one drilled him right through the back of his skull. Lokir was dead before he hit the ground.

“Anyone else feel like running?” the guard captain threatened. “Then get on with the list!” she ordered.

“Well… looks like running's out of the question. Poor guy.” Stross briefly mourned for the stranger he had only just learned the name of as he cycled through possible options in his head.

“You there, step forward.” the guardsman continued, but stopped when the elf stepped before him. “Wait, who… are you?”

“Fenora Tandis, herb farmer of High Rock.” she told him, hope creeping back into her voice. “I was just on my way back home when you caught me and dragged me here. I appreciate the ride, but I don’t suppose you can let me go now?”

“Captain, what do we do? She’s not on the list.” The bookman asked.

“Forget the list,” the Captain ordered, “she was caught with the Stormcloaks, she goes to the block!”

“I’m sorry,” the bookman told her, “we’ll make sure your remains are delivered back to High Rock.”

“No!” Fenora snapped suddenly, before continuing in a more somber tone, “Elsweyr, have them send me to Elsweyr. Town of Last Oasis.”

“Very well, next.”

Stross watched as the elf was dragged off and shoved into line with the rest. “You’ve got to be kidding me! These Imperials are worse than the ponies even AFTER we invaded.”

It was true as far as Stross had ever known. Violence wasn't in the nature of ponies. Fear could make them do crazy things, but after the invasion of Canterlot had been repelled, and changelings were on the radar again, the ponies only tried to protect themselves. They searched for his kind high and low... low and high! The ones they found were imprisoned and... died in captivity. But that was just negligence; they never actively tried to exterminate them!

But these Imperials just outright killed anyone they felt like, just on the suspicion of working with the rebellion. There was no fear… just hatred. It was small wonder why there was a rebellion to begin with. But just what had happened, Stross wondered, to make things get this bad in the first place?

he didn't have enough time to ponder. With Fenora out of the way, the guard captain finally spotted Stross, but didn’t know what to make of him. So she settled simply for a hard scowl.

“Oh what fresh Oblivion is this?” The captain asked rhetorically.

“I’m just a friendly, innocent Changeling?” Stross said with a pleading grin.

“Umm… captain?” the bookman began. “What do we-“

“I don’t care what that abomination is, send it to the block!”

“Bitch.”

Before the execution began, General Tullius and Ulfric had a quick, one-sided conversation in which Tullius denounced Ulfrics’ title as a hero of the Nords. He scolded him for using some power known as ‘the voice’ to murder his own king, at which Ulfric could only grunt angrily though his gag.

Next, a priest in bright orange robes walked up to the block, raised her arms to the sky in offering, and began a prayer. “As we commend your souls to Etherius, blessings of the eight Divines be upon you, may you find-“

“How DARE you!?” She was quickly interrupted when a Stormcloak soldier pushed his way up to the block. “I’ll not have you slander our beliefs the moment before you sentence me, and my brothers and sisters to death! Everyone in Skyrim, every true nord knows there are nine Divines now.” he shouted, “So for the love of Talos, shut up, and let’s get this over with!”

“As you wish.” The priestess hissed before stepping down.

The Stormcloak walked over and was knelt down at the chopping block. “My ancestors are smiling at me imperials, can you say the same?” Were his last snide words before the headsman raised his massive axe and cleanly severed his head from his shoulders.

The Imperial Captain shoved the body out of the way with her foot, wearing a disgusted look on her face.

“Murderers!”
“You imperial bastards!” his comrades yelled out as his body was kicked aside.

“Justice!”
“Death to the Stormcloaks!” cheered the village onlookers in contrast.

“Man, they’re going to need to clear some room near that block before this is over. Those bodies are gonna really pile up in a sec- Oh, why am I thinking this?! I need a way out of here!” Stross mentally panicked and started looking for buildings to duck into when he was sure he wasn't being watched.

Two more Stormclaok soldiers had met their end by the headsman’s axe, and still every escape scenario in Stross’s head ended with him dying in some horrible fashion.

“Next, the wood-elf!” the captain ordered.

“No... no, not her. She's not supposed to be here either! She didn't do anything wrong!”

Stross’s mind was suddenly focused not on merely saving himself, but the elf he’d just met as well. He frantically looked around for a way to save Fenora as she was escorted to the block. As far as he knew, she was innocent, just like him. He couldn’t just do nothing.

“You bastards aren’t getting her, and you're not getting me either.” Stross thought as he gathered his magic at the tip of his horn. “Come on, just enough for a stun spell, or a flash-bang spell… something. Now or never!”

A trickle of white light at the tip of his horn became a rainbow orb of light that launched into the crowd and exploded, blinding and staggering everyone unfortunate enough to have stared at the pretty lights.

It was then that Stross rushed forwards through the dazed crowd of fellow prisoners. He grabbed the business end of the headsman’s axe between his bound hands and wrestled it from its still-dazed owner.

It was far heavier than he thought it would be, or maybe he was just really weak. Maybe both, but as the Imperial soldiers began to recover, he dragged both it and himself in front of Fenora, taking a defensive stance between her and the platoon of armed men.

“Halt!” the Imperial Captain shouted, “Guards, kill them! Kill them both! NOW!”

Stross felt too weak to stand. And as the soldiers closed in on them, they seemed to know full well it was an easy fight.

“Stay back!” Stross growled as his horn glowed menacingly. Then he surprised himself again that day and split his stun spell into a wave that washed over the row of soldiers. It slowed them a tiny bit, but not much more.

As he fell to his knees, feeling the elf woman take the axe from him and drag him back towards a corner segment of fifteen-foot high wall, he knew he was finished. “I can't believe I'm going out like this. This isn't fair!" Stross screamed in his head as he thought about all the things he still wanted to do. "Maybe she can use me as a shield when I'm gone. Maybe it'll be enough for her to get away. I want to do something good with my last breath… First of the Fallen, give me that at least...”

The guards closed in to finish them. But fate had a mind of its own that day, and the sky was suddenly covered in dark clouds that blocked out the sun.

The guards around them paused, looking around, confused.

“What in Oblivion is that?!” general Tullius yelled as a dark figure swooped low over the roofs of Helgen.

“Sentries, do you have a bead on it?” the Captain yelled.

“It’s in the clouds!” one yelled.

Then a dragon with scales black as the night sky descended into the village, wrath burning in its bright red eyes.

“No it’s not! It’s right there on that tower you idiots, shoot it!” General Tullius ordered.

The volley of steel-tipped shafts merely deflected off its rock-hard hide as the dragon looked on in contempt. Suddenly the dragon opened its mouth, and instead of a roar, a thunderclap erupted instead. As the sound echoed across the sky, a rain of fire and brimstone began to fall. The dragon itself then took to the air, breathing streams of molten fire upon all those it spotted below.

It was pretty safe to say the execution had been put on hold.

As the dragon set the village aflame, the guards tried desperately to get the townspeople to safety while the Stormcloak prisoners fled for their lives.

“Hey, bug thing, get up!” she shook him as he lay there.

It was Fenora. She was still alive. He could barely see anything through the smoke and fire, but one thing he did see in her was life. Her eyes, those glowing amber orbs were alit with a will to live that had been absent until then. They had their chance to escape.

“We have to get out of here before the whole village burns down around us!” she yelled as she dragged by the scruff of his neck under the cover of what was once the village inn.

“What’s going on?! Where did that dragon come from!?” Stross gasped, smoke filling his nostrils.

“I… I don’t know.” Fenora admitted, “I thought that dragons all died centuries ago. Look, we’ve got to go or we're cooked! I heard a soldier yelling for everyone to get to the keep. We should try to join them.”

“The ones that just tried to kill us?” Stross questioned like Fenora was insane.

“Do you have a better plan?” she countered. “Stone is less flammable than wood.”

While they were talking, the roof of the building they'd taken shelter in exploded in a rain of embers.

“The keep it is.” Fenora decided for them, and ran to the door before they could get buried in burning wood.

Before she made it two steps, Stross called out to her, and made it clear he was too weak to walk. Fenora looked at the burning buildings around them, then at the strange creature that had thrown himself in front of an army to save her mere moments ago. Shaking her head at the idiocy of it, she rushed to him and threw him onto her back, his still bound hands were brought around her neck so he could hold on.

“The gods give me one chance… and I’m stuck with baggage.” She grumbled as she dragged him along.

They made their way through the town, dodging pillars of flame from above and rolling waves of debris from below, staying close to the fort’s inner walls to avoid the fire where they could.

All around them was chaos as the imperial mages and archers attempted to bring the dragon down with only their longbows and spells. They may as well have been firing toothpicks and spitwads as the dragon body-slammed into yet another house, sending destroyed furniture and timbers everywhere.

Out of the chaos, Stross noticed a man laying on the ground. Both his legs were bleeding stumps, and he urged a small boy, his son, to flee the town and leave him behind. It took the calls from a pair of Imperial soldiers for the boy to finally relent and flee. Moments later the great black dragon landed down over the broken man, and the earth shook. One long breath of flame later, and his charred bones were all that was left of him.

When Fenora and Stross finally reached the front door of the keep, they were just in time to witness an argument between the Imperials and the fleeing Stormcloaks.

“Ralof, you damned traitor. Out of our way!” yelled the bookman from earlier.

“We’re escaping too Hadvar, you can’t stop us this time.” Ralof, the Stormcloak who had ridden with them to the block shouted back.

“We’ll see about that, have at it!” Hadvar yelled as he drew his sword.

Ralof responded in kind. But both were interrupted when the dragon torpedoed into the ground, plowing through it with its massive talons. Both the gathered Stormcloaks and Imperials barely had any time to dodge. Even then, some were not so lucky. Those caught by the dragon were dragged into the sky along with it, and thrown into the distance.

“I can see my house from here!” one yelled as he was flung, “It’s on fire!”

“We don’t have time for this meaningless squabble, get inside the keep!” Ulfric yelled to those remaining.

There were no arguments as the men quickly scrambled and shoved their way into the keep. Fenora made to join them, dragging Stross on her back, but was too late, as a giant slab of flaming rock fell in front of the doors and blocked their access before they could get through.

“Great. What now?” Fenora asked.

Stross quickly looked around, trying to find an alternate means of escape.

“Over there!” He yelled as he jerked in the direction of a gate across from the keep's entrance.

With a great amount of effort, Fenora managed to pry the gate open enough to get them both through. As she did, the spot where they were just standing a moment before exploded into flame. The dragon had spotted them and was now intent on gunning them down.

“RUN!” Stross yelled.

“Forget that, ride!” Fenora yelled as she sprinted for a delivery wagon with the dragon swooping down behind her with its talons ready to rend them both into shreds. She pushed the cart onto the road and hopped on the back. Stross managed to shift his weight so that they both tumbled into the cargo bed.

The wagon failed to take a turn in the road and instead rolled off into the woods, narrowly avoiding trees and boulders. Above them, the dragon let out a furious roar as it lost sight, and decided to set the treeline ablaze in spite before it took off into the sky, leaving several dozen dead, and a burning wreck of a town behind him.

But Stross and Fenora managed to escape.

The Dragonstone arc II: Into the River

The wagon had careened down the hill, completely out of control until it came to a crashing halt into a giant tree. Stross was flung from the cart upon impact and landed in the river, while Fenora lay inside the wagon buried under various knick-knacks, rolled up fabrics and cheese wheels. Both of them were singed and aching... but still alive.

“Well, this was a triumph.” A soaking wet Stross announced as he pulled himself out of the water, not making it far before he collapsed, sprawling out face first on the shore as his legs gave out beneath him, “I’m making a note here ‘HUGE SUCCESS’!” he yelled with weak enthusiasm as his vision started to blur.

“I got us out in one piece didn’t I? No thanks to you.” Fenora countered, clearly irritated at Stross and his downer attitude.

“I saved you from getting your head chopped off, didn't I?” Stross reminded her as he tried to get to his knees, only to fall again and roll limply onto his back. His legs weren't working quite right for some reason. The pain had left him some time ago. Now he just felt weak.

Fenora gave a sigh as she rummaged through the wagon’s contents. “For all the good it did, but yeah… I guess it kept us alive long enough for that dragon to show up." she paused for a moment and peered over at him. "Why’d you do it though? You don’t even know me.”

“Well… I knew you weren’t with those blue guys we got captured with, and the red guys were trying to kill us for some… rebellion right?” Stross recalled as best he could. Everything was sounding like it was underwater, and the pain in his chest was becoming unbearable. But focusing on the conversation seemed to keep him from drifting away entirely.

Fenora shrugged and kept looking through the wagon, tossing aside several books and cabbages. “I guess. I haven’t been in the political loop for quite some… A-ha!” she exclaimed as she pulled up a long thin knife, likely used for gutting fish. “Now to get these ropes off.”

“All I knew was that you weren’t supposed to be there, like me… and that thief too maybe. They were going to kill you for something that wasn’t your fault. That's enough to put my life on the line, right?” Stross smiled as he felt himself slipping away, “And you’re really pretty too… that kinda helped.”

Fenora jumped down to Stross, grabbed the rope binding the changeling's hands, and began sawing them free.

While she did, Stross was focused on the state of his chitin. It had nearly crumbled away to the bone at this point. He gave a sigh and looked up at the clouds, and the sun. It felt nice… warm. He liked the sun.

The rope snapped. His hands fell limp across his chest as his breathing turned shallow.

“Thanks.” He muttered.

“Hey, you did save my life in a way. Even if it was a little reckless and kinda… you know what. Just, thanks.” Fenora told him as she knelt by his side and watched a smile curl onto his scaly lips.

“So what are you going to do now?” Stross asked the elf.

Fenora sighed. “I’m getting out of Skyrim,” she told him with certainty, “as soon as possible. I'm done with this place.”

It was understandable. War, near-execution-experiences and dragons can do that to a person.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m probably going to die here in a minute or two.” Stross moaned and felt something sickly warm bubble in the back of his throat.

“What, why didn’t you tell me? Where are you hurt?!” Fenora looked over the deathly skinny creature laying on the wet grass before her, its skin pitted across the surface with black holes. Truth be told, she'd never seen anything like it.

“I need you.” Stross told her, “Come closer… please?”

Fenora didn’t really know how to respond to that, but leaned over him anyway.

Stross reached up to her face, and the elf recoiled a bit at the flaking hand coming towards her, but slowly reconsidered and pressed her cheek against it. It was still wet like the rest of him, but it was cool and felt soft despite how it was falling apart. Stross closed his fingers around a handful of her silver hair and gently pulled her face closer to his.

Stross could see her eyes start to quiver back and forth, focusing on him, but not any one part of his face for too long. “Shhh… just relax. I just need your love.” He whispered softly and let her close the last few inches on her own.

Stross reveled in how soft her lips were, but even more at how she had opened up to him in that moment, allowing him to nab some of her life-force from the exchange, bit by tiny bit. It seemed more potent than most he’d eaten before, denser, but maybe it was because he was so starved.

Slowly, Stross felt clarity restore to his senses starting with the sounds of the river nearby. The blurriness in his vision cleared. He could feel the solid wet ground beneath him, and the warmth coming from the beautiful elf as she kissed him. He broke away, and from the life energy in that one quick kiss, he felt a mile away from Death’s door. He might not be using his magic any time soon, but it was good enough for him.

“Thank you. I really didn't think I was going to make it.” he said, finding the strength to sit up again.

Fenora scrunched her eyes up, feeling dazed. When they opened and focused on him, Stross could clearly tell she was not amused.

“Sure you weren't.” She deadpanned, wiping her mouth on her wrist. “Can't believe I fell for that stupid act. Perv."

"I really was!" he argued in vain. "Are you feeling alright?"

Fenroa shook her head trying to clear it. She still felt dizzy for some reason. "Well... for someone who was nearly killed twice in a row, I’m just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“I thought it’d be rude not to." he shrugged, "I’m Stross, by the way.”

“Fenora.” the elf told him plainly and crawled back up to the wagon for something to lean against, resting the back of her head against the wood with a long sigh.

Stross followed and scooted up next to her. She glared back at him, but didn't attempt to move away.

“Pretty bad way to start a morning, huh?” Stross said as he settled next to her.

Fenora gave him a sideways stare, snorting. “Yeah… you could say that. As if bandit raids and wild animals weren’t enough to worry about on the road, now we’ve got stupid soldiers and dragons too.”

Stross hummed in agreement.

“So just what are you supposed to be anyway?” Fenora finally asked him from a mixture of curiosity, and simply wanting a distraction from recent events. “You’re not any kind of Argonian I’ve ever seen, and you can speak too. Are you a Dremora?”

Stross weighed the pros and cons of telling her, after all, Changelings weren’t exactly well accepted, but having the trust of another could be invaluable, and he didn’t see anyone else around at the moment.

“Have you ever heard of Changelings before?” Stross asked carefully.

“You mean like the fairy people that kidnap children and swap them with their own?” Fenora chuckled, “My mother would tell me those stories when I was young; said they’d take me away if I was bad and didn’t clean up my room.” she laughed a little harder, but then it died down when she noticed Stross staring in silence. “You’re not actually one of those child-stealing fae, are you?”

“Well, not exactly.” Stross told her, “Changelings in essence are magic shapeshifters. We need to feed on the soul-energy of others in order to survive, otherwise we wither and die.”

“So you’re evil soul-eaters.” Fenora deduced.

“Wha- No! No. We’re not evil, it’s just a thing we have to do.” Stross hastily counted, “We use our magic to take the form of someone you care about, or maybe take the form of someone desirable to get close to you and feed through your love for them. Some of us just resort to less pleasant methods in order to get by.”

“So… you’re tricky evil soul-eaters.” Fenora corrected.

“Will you stop that. My kind are hated and feared because of what we are. If everyone would just calm the heck down and accept us, then we wouldn’t have to act all evil and stuff. And we feed on the energy produced by souls, not actual souls themselves. Big difference.” Stross huffed.

Fenora rubbed the bridge of her nose and tried to wrap her mind around everything she’d been told. She regretted asking in the first place. Dragons were easier to understand; they’re big, they fly and breathe fire. Nuff said.

Then a thought struck her. "So that thing you did to me just now... you really were about to kick it?"

Stross nodded meekly.

Fenora turned away and breathed out for a minute. The things she'd had to deal with in the last day and a half. She was going home to her quiet little farm in the middle of nowhere. Now the world was throwing more crazy at her than she knew how to deal with.

Fenora noticed Stross still had his eyes glued to her.

"What?" she asked. "Still dying?"

the changeling shifted. “Well... no. I'm going to be fine for a little while, but... It'd be really nice if you'd let me feed on you a some more.” Stross said and gave her a pleading look with his big sparkly eyes. “Hugs and kisses?”

Fenora cuffed him upside the head.

She immediately felt bad though, seeing his dejected face.

All things considered, a nice warm hug did sound pretty good right now.

"Fine." she groaned, hearing Stross let out a squee of excitement and wrap his arms around her shoulders, smushing his face against hers.

She didn’t complain as she returned the hug. She closed her eyes and let her lips search Stross's face until they found his. After they broke away she still held him close. The dizzy feeling returned, but it wasn't unwelcome after everything else that had happened. For a while they just sat there with each other, letting their worries and traumas melt away and listening to the sounds of the river nearby.

After a bit of resting up, Stross and Fenora set off down river, their prisoner rags replaced with the clothes they found amidst with the rest of the things on the wagon. Stross had donned a grey cloak with a deep hood, and leather boots to cover his appearance. He had to tear a hole for his horn to fit through, but it hid his body and face pretty well. Fenora questioned him about it while she pulled on a thick set of trousers and a fur-lined cloak and shirt. Stross explained that he normally had something better to hide himself, but this would have to do for now.

Fenora had meant why choose to hide himself, but decided not to pry at the moment.

As they walked along the shore of the river Stross couldn’t stop glancing over at Fenora as she dragged along anything she could carry from the wreck. Even after feeding on her a bit more, Stross was still only able to carry himself, and couldn’t help in any way. “Are you sure it’s okay to just take that stuff?” he asked.

“Well, those poor people back at Helgen sure won’t need it anymore.” she answered sadly as she readjusted her oversized makeshift pack, “I guess when we reach the next town I’ll let them have this stuff. Or sell it later. ...probably sell it later.”

“How many do you think were back at Helgen?” Stross asked in a lower tone.

Fenora paused for a moment, her step breaking as she thought about it. “I really don't know.” she told him, “A couple dozen maybe, more or less. Not including the town guards, the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. Why do you ask?”

Stross was silent for a moment before he answered. “It’s… nothing.”

Fenora frowned, “It’s not our fault you know. We were just lucky to have gotten out of there at all.”

“I know. I just don’t like thinking about people dying.” Stross told her, "It feels like we should have been able to do something, don't you think? If we could have... done something. Even if it only saved one, then I-"

"Hey!" Fenora snapped. "Drop it. Just drop it."

"I... alright." Stross whispered, a little shaken. "I'm just wondering if anyone else made it out.”

“That Jarl and some of the others got into the keep. Maybe they got out some other way. Who can say?” Fenora told him.

Before long, Stross and Fenora came to a split in the path; one side continued down the river, the other went back up into the mountains. Each explained that they weren’t familiar with Skyrim as they tried to decide which path they should take. But two pairs of stomping footsteps coming from the path on the right distracted them from the matter. Soon enough, they met who was making them.

“Hey, it’s you two.” Ralof ran up to them, instantly recognizing them. “It’s good to see you made it out alive. I thought we were all goners when that dragon attacked.”

“We need to keep moving, Riverwood isn’t far. We have to get there!” Hadvar joined him.

Both of the soldiers looked weary, but each insisted that they continue quickly. With a total of four members in their party, they hurried down the dirt path towards the town called Riverwood.

“So this town, where is it?” Stross asked as he jogged along breathlessly, barely able to keep pace with the two nords and an encumbered elf.

“It’s right up ahead,” Ralof told him, “my sister Gerdur and her family run the mill there.”

“And my uncle Alvor is the local blacksmith.” Hadvar added. “We have to warn them about the attack on Helgen. I just hope we're not too late. I don’t want to get there and find the town in ashes!”

As the winded group emerged from the trees and approached the town, they were relieved to see that it was neither on fire nor destroyed. Starkly contrasting their fears, the town was downright peaceful. There were children playing and running around, a drunkard sitting outside the tavern, people fishing, and chopping logs, and going about their business without a fear in the world past what would be for supper.

“So, there’s a river… and wood.” Fenora observed out loud, “Three guesses how they named the place.” she smirked.

“Lady, you would love touring Equestria.” Stross thought with a smirk of his own.

“They must have not gotten the news.” Ralof breathed a sigh of both worry and relief.

As they approached the center of town Stross overheard a conversation at the smithy.

“I’ll need those new blades for the mill soon, otherwise the logs won’t split evenly.” a woman said crossly.

“I know that, but give it some time, will ya. You think it’s easy to sharpen all those little teeth?” a man grumbled.

They were interrupted when they noticed they had visitors.

“Ralof, brother is that you?” the woman said, walking over to give a warm welcome.

“Hadvar, what brings you here my boy?” the smith got up from his forge to do the same.

“Uncle Alvor, Riverwood is in danger. A dragon has just destroyed Helgen.” Hadvar explained with dread in his voice.

“It’s true,” Ralof joined in, “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but there it was. It was huge, as big as the inn.”

Gerdur and Alvor exchanged looks as several other villagers gathered around the near hysterical soldiers, drawn by the talk of dragons.

“You see, I did see a dragon fly overhead!” an old woman yelled amongst the rest, “None of you believed me, but I knew I saw it!” she threw an accusing finger at each of the villagers as they gathered round to hear about the dragon.

“Did it fly?”
“Did it breathe fire?”
“How big was it?” the children asked.

“It was just like the legends and the old stories,” Hadvar told them, “red eyes, and scales black as night. Even a platoon of imperial archers couldn’t bring the beast down.”

The crowd gasped and murmured amongst themselves. You didn’t need to be a changeling to smell the fear, there was plenty of it in this town with the talk of unstoppable ancient monsters.

“That’s because imperial steel is weak.” Ralof butted in. “If those had been Stormcloak soldiers, we’d be feasting on that dragon’s meat right now!”

“You mean the same Stormcloaks that were running like cowards while we got the townspeople to safety?” Hadvar retorted.

“Last I checked our hands had been tied up by you imperials. And at least we aren’t a bunch of elf-lovers who won’t even stand up for Nord tradition!” Ralof roared.

“And at least we Imperials know what’s best for Skyrim, and don’t follow a king-murdering rebel!” Hadvar yelled back.

“Oh for Shor's sake!” Gerdur interrupted the two before they could start duking it out. “Enough, both of you; you’re scaring the children.”

Stross looked over at said children and the small pot of gold coins and candies they passed around between each other, with more being added with each hand that it was passed to. Apparently the 'frightened' children were starting a betting pool for the upcoming brawl.

“Honestly, to think you two were such good friends when we were children ourselves." Gerdur shook her head at the two. "If there really is a dragon on the loose, then we need to tell the Jarl up in Whiterun about this so he can give us some protection.”

Both men volunteered at the same time, and with scarcely an angry glare at each other, they immediately began arguing over who was better suited to go, most of it having to do with who was on which side. Hadvar argued that since Whiterun was currently allied with the empire that he should deliver the news, while Ralof argued that Ulfric would be quicker offer his sword in the defense of Skyrim than the Thalmor.

Now that the immediate danger to their home was out of the way, the two were more than okay with wasting time arguing whose side was better than whose. Really, it didn’t matter to Stross that much. With what little he knew about them already, and as far as he was concerned, both sides were stupid.

“Hey,” Fenora got Gerdur and Alvor’s attention, “You guy’s need to tell someone about something, right?”

“Yes, Riverwood is defenseless. If a dragon were to show up now…” Gerdur began, but Fenora stopped her.

“Say no more. I’ll deliver the message myself.”

“Oh, thank you.” Gerdur said as Alvor tried to get the brawling Nords to give their feud a rest, “When you get to Whiterun, speak to Jarl Balgruuf. Tell him we need support in case that dragon decides to come down here.”

“Alright. Stross, let’s go.” Fenora beckoned to the changeling.

Fenora kept up a quick pace until they made it across the bridge and were out of earshot of anyone in town, only then did she finally slow down and allow Stross to catch up. When he did, she fixed him with a hard stare as they kept walking.

“Okay, here’s the plan: we get to Whiterun, tell the Jarl about the dragon and that Riverwood back there needs some soldiers to protect it. I'm not so sure what a few measly guards will be able to do against that thing, but that’s not the point. The point is, we ham it up to make it seem like it’s a bigger deal than it is, and then demand a reward for our bravery. Then I use that money to hire a carriage to travel all the way back to High Rock and get on with my life. Got it? Good.” She finished with a smile.

Stross blinked. “Bwuh? Wait-a-minute. Not that that doesn’t sound very heroic, but… What about me?”

“I don’t know. What about you?”

That really threw Stross for a loop. What did he want anyway?

“Well… I’d kind of like to know where I am right now, and how I get back to Equestria. Getting any kind of bearing would be nice actually.”

“I’ve never seen any place called ‘Equestria’ on any map before, what’s it like?” Fenora asked.

“Well, it’s a pretty big kingdom, so there’re a lot of different places; they’ve got rolling hills and valleys, forests, cities, wild west towns… it’s a wonderful place, peaceful too.” Stross told her as they walked, and Fenora nodded, thinking of places that matched that description. “It’s been ruled over by Princess Celestia for over a thousand years-“

“Okay hold it.” Fenora stopped him, “A thousand years?”

“She’s immortal.” Stross explained, “Or at least everypony thinks she is. She raises and sets the sun using her magic, and her sister Princess Luna does the same with the moon. The weather is always really nice there too thanks to the Pegasi teams that control wind, and rain, and snow, and-“

“Stop… again. Pegasi? You have winged horses in Equestia that somehow control the weather?” Fenora asked.

“Ponies." Stross corrected, "And yes, they make up about a quarter of the population, Unicorns make up about half of what remains, and Earth Ponies make up the rest. There are Griffons and Zebras and the like too, but only really a hoofful by comparison.” Stross counted off the basic figures he remembered, then caught Fenora’s wide-eyed expression. “What? Equestria is the land of ponies.”

“Ponies. You mean there’s a whole kingdom full of little horses?” Fenora repeated, more to walk herself through it as her grip on her mind slacked a bit.

“Little, colorful, talking horses to be specific.” Stross told her. "There's also wild beasts like Hydras and Manticores and Timberwolves and-"

“Stop talking! Stop talking before my head explodes!" Fenora said, clenching a palm to her face. "Let’s just get to Whiterun. We can find you a map once we get there. It should be in that direction.” Fenora said with a sigh, pointing down a cobblestone path.

“How do you know? I thought you weren’t from here either.”

Fenora pointed at a wooden sign that had directional arrows for Whiterun, Riverwood, and Bleak falls barrow among others. “I’m a pretty seasoned traveler. And rule one is: never be afraid to find directions.”

“Oh” Stross said, his ears drooping slightly.

Within a few minutes the path came to a curve and led over a stone bridge which the river flowed under in a rapid current. From the top of the hill they could see across the plains in the early afternoon light. Before them lay several small farms surrounding a tiered city of wood and stone, and the palace of Dragonsreach was visible from where they stood, looking over all from atop its’ perch atop the village below.

This was ~~Edoras, home of the horse lords~~...

Whiterun Hold, domain of Jarl Balgruuf!

“I’m guessing that’s Whiterun.” Fenora gazed out at the city. “Quite a sight. To think I usually take the long way around the mountains to avoid Skyrim.”

Stross looked out at the city as well, but it held as much wonder as it did dread for him. He turned to Fenora and asked in a serious tone, “Hey… do you think that if they knew what I was they’d try and kill me?”

Fenora was a bit taken aback by the nature of the question, but saw the worry in Stross’s eyes when he pulled his hood back to show his fangs and scales. “They won’t just attack me on sight will they?”

“I’m sure they won’t go that far.” Fenora told him, but the slight uncertainty in her voice made him think otherwise.

Most, if not all his time spent in the cities of Equestria, he had been in disguise. But in this new two-legged form, he wasn’t so sure he could pull it off. He had gotten lucky back in Riverwood with his new cloak to conceal himself, plus the people were distracted by the talk of dragons and a pair of bickering soldiers. But he was more than reasonably nervous about going into any kind of large city with just his shell and a big cloak.

“Do you mind if I try something?” Stross asked, “I’m going to try and transform into you.”

“Uh, okay I guess.” Fenora said as she watched, mildly eager to see how this Changeling transformation worked.

Stross focused magic into his horn for the spell, but kept his eyes on Fenora while he did so, studying her figure to see how everything was connected. Changeling illusions were like throwing on a costume, in that didn’t actually change their bodies underneath. But it helped to know what you were supposed to be turning into.

Red flames swirled around Stross as he focused on each individual piece of his elven friend; legs, hips, waist, arms, shoulders, those jiggly things on her chest... and finally her head and face. His magic worked over his body much slower than it would with any practiced form like a Pony or even a Griffon. But soon, Stross finished it, and felt the magic subside along with a new wave of exhaustion.

“So? How do I look?” he asked with his new voice as he twisted around to see for himself.

Fenora however had averted her eyes and was peeking through her fingers.

“What is it? Did I mess up somewhere?” Fenora heard her own voice ask her.

“No you look fine, but you should probably just stick to your normal body for now. This one will probably draw a lot more attention.” Fenora told her clone.

“Why? I could be like your twin sister or something.”

“Not until you find some actual clothes you don’t!”

With Stross back to his normal form to save Fenora the embarrassment, they followed the road past a pair of buildings. “Honningbrew – finest mead in all of Skyrim” read a sign near the small brick fence. Quite a few guards could be seen ‘patrolling’ outside.

Before long they passed by a number of small farms. Everything seemed normal until the pair narrowly avoided half a wheelbarrow that came barreling through the air towards them, and erupted in splinters the second it hit the ground behind them.

Turning to the direction it had come from, Fenora and Stross saw a towering figure in one of the fields. They heard the thunderous crashes as the massive man-thing stomped and swung its club, and the rallying cries of a small group of warriors trying to fight it off.

“What is that?” Stross asked as he tried to get a better look.

"Oh wow, it looks like a Giant." Fenora gazed in awe. "We should probably get some distance." she warned.

The fight seemed to have been going on for some time, evident by the damage sustained to the field around them, as well as the obvious injuries sustained by both sides.

As one woman in armor was punted out of the way by the giant’s massive foot, a large man with a sword wound up a swing and sent the blade into the giant’s side.

This only seemed to anger the battered brute though, and as soon as the man had retrieved his blade, he was using it to deflect blow after crushing blow from the giant’s club, bending and blunting the steel as he fell to his knees under the impacts.

The giant raised its club over the man to deliver a killing blow, but stopped short when a ball of prismatic light stuck to its face. As it brought a hand up to try and wipe it away, the orb detonated in a blinding flash, sending the giant into a panic! It stumbled backwards, swinging its club to and fro as it screamed in rage.

From somewhere unseen, an arrow was loosed and dug into the giant’s back. Then a woman in revealing battle gear rushed forth from seemingly nowhere and leapt at the giant, using the arrow lodged in its back as a hand-hold while she climbed up to its head. With a dagger in hand, she quickly slit its throat.

The giant let out a gurgling moan and fell to the ground, where the archer woman put another arrow into its skull for good measure. After that she turned to where Fenora and Stross had been watching and walked over. “Well I guess that settles that. You there, was it one of you who cast that spell?”

“That was me! Just doing my part to help out and all that. What was that thing?” Stross asked, looking to the corpse.

“A visitor to Skyrim, eh? That was a Giant. The lumbering brutes are a pretty common problem around here, but that’s why warriors like the Companions are such valuable assets.” The archer explained.

“Companions?” Stross tilted his head.

“They’re like the Fighters Guild for Skyrim,” Fenora chimed in, “They work as mercenaries to keep people safe; clearing out bandit nests, dealing with dangerous wildlife... intimidating folks who won’t pay their debts.”

“Indeed, all that and more." the archer said proudly, "If you ever decide to take up the sword, or seek the kind of fellowship and honor that only true warriors know of, come find the Companions in our mead hall, Jorrvaskr, here in Whiterun. We’d be glad to have some new faces.” With that she turned back to the others who were slowly composing themselves. “Vilkas, Ria, are you two alright?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed with a good meal and some mead.” The man in armor replied, “Though I’m not lookin’ forward to what Eorlund’s gonna say when he sees what I did to my sword.”

As they approached the gates of the city, Stross noticed a camp set up outside the city walls, and felt compelled to stop and take a look, perhaps out of curiosity, or maybe it was fate. Probably just stupid curiosity though. When he walked over, he found it populated a strange, cat-like people. Each seemed tired, yet they always kept an eye on both Fenora and him.

Fenora identified them as Kha’jiit, mentioning that she’d met a few caravans in her travels, and more during her visits to her friend in Elsweyr. She also briefly mentioned that they don’t like the cold.

An elder look kha'jiit beckoned him over. He sat on a woven rug, inside a tent full of various wares.

“Warm sands travelers,” he greeted with a slight purr in his voice.

“And may the sun shine on you, good merchant.” Fenora responded, which took the old cat a bit by surprise.

“Ah, one who knows us. Come, sit and stay for a moment. This one's name is Ri’saad, one who leads the caravans in this cold land.” he introduced himself. “What should this one call you?”

“My name's Stross, and this is Fenora Tandis.” Stross gave their names in return.

“It is a pleasure to meet ones such as yourselves; so many in Skyrim refuse to talk to us.” he told them, “You are seeking to enter Whiterun, yes?”

“Yeah, a dragon destroyed Helgen just this morning, and Riverwood is afraid they’ll be next. So we’re here to warn the Jarl.” Stross explained, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to warn a traveling merchant too.

Ri’saad's eyes went wide for a second at the word dragon, and he seemed to be deep in thought for the rest.

“This is troubling news you bring, a doom that many will not be quick to accept. But Ri’saad shall heed your advice, and watch the skies in his travels.” Ri’saad gave his head a slight bow of thanks before continuing, “In any case, this one requires your assistance. There is a young woman within the walls of this city, a promising recruit into our fine and humble trade. This message comes from Ma’dran, who leads the caravan from Windhelm to Solitude. It must reach her.”

“That’s all? Why not deliver it yourself?” Stross questioned, immediately regretting doing so when he saw the wave of anger and regret roll through Ri’saad.

“Because the Jarls in Skyrim are a bunch of bigoted pricks, that’s why.” Fenora told him bitterly. “Some Kha’jiit are forced to turn to thievery and selling illegal substances in order to get by, so it’s law that none of them allowed inside, no matter who they are. I’m remembering why I normally avoid this place.”

Stross frowned, remembering his own situation in Equestria. “That’s… that’s just not right. Someone should change that.”

Ri’saad let out a sigh, “Calm yourselves travelers. It is an unfortunate fact of circumstance that my kind are forbidden from entering the cities, but we do what we can to work around it. The people of Skyrim may frown on us, yet they still crave our wares. The trade is good on the roads, and the opportunity ripe. In time, they will accept the good, in spite of the bad.” Ri’saad held out the letter again, “If you please, find Ysolda and deliver our message to her.”

Stross took the letter from him and nodded.

“May your road lead you to warm sands.” The old merchant said to them as they left, and Fenora gave a small bow in return.

“Do you think what he said was true?” Stross asked, “Do you think Skyrim will get over the idea of the Kitty-Cat people being bad, and let them live in the city one day?”

“Maybe… I wouldn’t hold my breath though. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Nords are stubborn and stuck in their ways, especially when it comes to tradition.”

“Oh.”

“Why do you ask?” Fenroa questioned when she saw Stross slump.

“Everyone in Eqeustria hates Changelings. We’re different, dangerous, and they’re scared of us.” Stross told her.

It instantly clicked for Fenora why he’d asked, but she didn’t know how to respond after her last answer probably crushed his dreams. Instead she reached out and put a soft hand on his shoulder. “Hey… maybe Skyrim is different from Equestria. What do I know, right?”

Stross smiled for her, but wasn’t convinced. From what he’d seen so far, Skyrim and Equestria weren't so different, Skyrim was just harsher.

A few bad apples can spoil the whole bunch, and no one likes eating rotten apples.

When Stross and Fenora reached the city gates, the sight of guards in bright yellow chainmail made Stross freeze for a second. Even in his upright form, they were each a head and a half taller than he was, not to mention bulkier and far more imposing. There was also a subtle difference in the way they conducted themselves. Compared to the guards back in Equestria who stood watch like living statues, these ones milled around between positions, never staying completely still even when at their posts. They were stoic and imposing, sure, but with a certain restlessness, almost like they wanted someone to cause trouble, just so they could beat them up.

To Stross the contrast was almost frightening; Equestrian guards did their jobs to defend their people, Skyrim guards did their jobs because because they were aching for a good fight.

This only made it feel more impressive when Fenora casually walked up to the gate, unwavering until one of them called for her to halt.

“State your business traveler.” He said impassively.

“I’m here to deliver a message to the Jarl; a dragon has just destroyed Helgen, and Riverwood is in danger. We're here on their behalf to request protection for their town.” Fenora told him, emphasizing how much effort they were going through to make sure everyone was safe.

The two guards standing on either side of the gate swiveled their heads to exchange a glare through their faceplates.

“We don’t appreciate comedians and dramatics from the Bard’s Collage here elf, and we won’t have you harassing the locals with your tall tales. Unless you have actual business in the city, move along.” The guard told her and made a shooing motion with his hand.

“Sir… you’re doing your job. I respect that.” Fenora began tensely, “But I’m telling you, there’s a dragon out there. We have to tell someone before we're all killed!” she yelled.

“And I keep telling you, I don’t believe stories from crazies and drunks.” the guard told her in a deep voice. “If you’re going to keep up this nonsense, I’m going to have to make you to leave.”

“It’s true,” Stross came to back up her argument, “we barely got out of that place alive. And we’re not the only ones who know. Ask anyone in Riverwood and they’ll tell you the same thing.”

“Look,” the guard told them, his tone making it clear that he’d had about enough, “I don’t know what kind of joke you’re trying to pull. But the dragons died out in these parts centuries ago, and now you expect me to believe that one appeared out of nowhere, destroyed an entire city, and the only ones who saw it are all the way over in Riverwood?” he raised an eyebrow, though its effect was lost under his helmet. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you two were conspiring with bandits to lure our forces away from the city to make us vulnerable. And wouldn't that make for an interesting tale to tell the Jarl?”

Fenora looked like she was about to explode, but Stross stopped her. “Hah! Yeah okay, you got us! Funny though, right? I mean a dragon destroying a town... classic!” he laughed loudly and nudged Fenora with his elbow, “I guess it does sound kind of dumb when we don’t tell it right, but that's why we need practice! If we could make one of you guardsmen laugh, we’d be sure to make the Bird’s College proud, right Fen?”

Fenora wasn’t laughing though. “It’s the Bard’s College." she corrected. "What are you-“

“Right! Acing our final exam while we deliver this letter to our good friend Ysolda here in Whiterun. You know…” Stross pulled out the letter, “So uh, can we go deliver this?”

The guard looked at the letter. “This is from Ma’dran, part of that shifty caravan.” the guard said, making Stross tense a bit in worry, but then the guard face-palmed (Face-visored?) “Oh darn that girl and her dealings with those filthy felines...” he muttered, “Fine, you can enter the city, but don’t cause any trouble while you’re in there.”

“Mind telling me what the heck that was?” Fenora asked once they were through the gate.

“Thinking on my hooves- er, feet I guess. I didn't think they'd be so skeptical. Did the dragons really die out?” Stross asked as they walked through the streets through the market and towards the palace.

“I’m not really the one you want to ask about lore.” Fenora said plainly, “I know that there were dragons a really long time ago, and that the Nords fought them in some big dragon war, but not much past that. Living dragons haven’t been seen in… anywhere, for centuries as far as I know.”

“That would have been nice to know beforehoof- hand.” Stross said and thought for a moment, “Do you think the Jarl is going to believe us when we tell him?”

“I’m not sure. Hopefully he does, we’ll just have to see.” Fenora told him.

Stross made sure his hood was pulled as far over his face as could be and followed closely behind her.

...

Whiterun was divided into three tiers, with the first area mostly devoted to businesses; there was a blacksmith forge near the gates, then a larger market further up. The wood-shingled rooftops of a few large manors and houses were visible from where most of the shopkeepers stalls were gathered, but they were a bit more out of the way.

Fenora was silent as they walked up to Dragonsreach, so Stross decided to take in the scenery. Whiterun was a pretty small city compared to those he'd seen in Equestria, only about the size of a rural town like Buckwheat, or Ponyville. But all the same, it was bright and full of life. More than once he had to move out of the way from all the people running around on their daily errands.

Slipping into his changeling senses, Stross was able to see and smell all the different colors radiating off the people they passed. This was something he enjoyed doing from time to time, looking at peoples’ passing soul prints and just letting the world blend together. But even this simple thing was different than Equestria. Where ponies looked like they were surrounded by waves and bubbles of feeling, nearly all of these new bipedal creatures kept their emotions contained within them like cold steel, opening themselves only so slightly when engaging with another. All the regular emotions were there, but they were so distant and guarded that it was hard to get a read on anyone from a distance.

Out of curiosity, Stross looked over to Fenora and saw her glowing in a cool blue punctuated with specks of grey. Determined and calculating. Deciding to test a theory, Stross reached over and gave her a quick hug.

Fenora looked at him in surprise, and her aura changed to a shade of dark green, a bit more confused rather than annoyed, but still annoyed.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“Just because I like you.” Stross said with a smile.

Fenora returned his hug for a quick moment before breaking away, her aura flashing purple before slowly returning to blue.

"Affection?" Stross noted. "No. More like comfort."

Unfortunately, Stross was distracted from where he was walking, and a woman in a blue dress stepped into his path. The two collided and fell to the ground, and the basket of flowers she was carrying practically exploded, sending the colorful petals and stems everywhere.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Stross said frantically as he recovered and went to help the woman to her feet. “I wasn’t looking, and I just-“

To his surprise, the woman actually laughed a bit, and he noticed that his flustered response was drawing more attention than the actual incident. “Well aren’t you a curious one?” she said as she got back up and dusted herself off. She had a soft voice that matched quite well with her demure appearance.

“Y-yeah… sorry about your flowers. Hold on a second.” Stross said as he went to start picking them up.

Fenora helped by picking up the basket that had fallen in one of the decorative gutters on the side of the road, and shook off the water. With his telekinesis, Stross was able to quickly gather up the scattered flowers in a sweeping wave, much like a broom. Once he’d gotten most of them, he levitated the messy bundle back into the basket, ignoring the tiny spike of pain that throbbed in his head shortly after.

“Thank you. It’s rare to see such kindness from strangers.” The woman told them as she took the slightly dripping basket, but was clearly more impressed with the display of magic she just witnessed. “You two must be new in town. My name is Ysolda, and I hate to ask, but have either of you encountered one of the Kha’jiit caravans in your travels?”

“Actually, we have.” Stross said and pulled out the letter from Ma’dran, “Ri’saad wanted us to deliver this to you.”

Ysloda eagerly snatched it the small piece of parchment from his hand, and her eyes quickly scanned over the words. A small frown appeared on her face as she finished, but it vanished as she turned to them again. “Thank you for giving me this. You know, I’ve dreamed of joining the caravans ever since I was a small girl. With this I might finally have my chance… now if I can only find a mammoth’s tusk.”

“Good luck to you then. The Kha’jiit are good people if you stick with the right ones.” Fenora said and began to move on.

“W-wait, hold on a moment.” Ysolda stopped them again. “I don’t mean to be a bother, but you’ve helped me twice now. I’d feel dreadful if I didn’t at least show you around Whiterun.”

Fenora and Stross shared a glance with one another. “Thanks but, we don’t really have time. We have an important message for the Jarl. Dragons.” the elf told her.

Ysolda looked skeptical at the word ‘dragons’, and Stross took a moment to face-palm.

“Oh, that’s alright." Ysolda told them, "I can take you there on my way to the temple of Kynareth, and show you the sights along the way.”

Stross gave Fenora a look that begged to at least let her come along, to which Fenora shrugged and nodded.

Ysolda smiled happily and clapped her hands. “Excellent, it’s just up here.”

Once out of the market district, the three emerged into an area seemingly dedicated to an old, withered white tree. Ysolda explained that it was the called the Gildergreen, and was sacred to the temple of Kynareth. She went on to tell them that the temple was where the sick and injured were healed in the city, and she was bringing the flowers to them, hopefully to liven the atmosphere in the temple. It was here that she directed them further up towards Dragonsreach before parting ways.

Opposite the temple was a large statue of a massive warrior impaling a serpent on the end of his sword and crushing its head under his boots. At the foot of it, a man in bright orange robes loudly shouted the praises of a man by the name of Talos. Stross tried to listen in as they made their way past, but with the way the man shouted, it only seemed like so much fanatic gibberish.

Once up the steps to the palace Fenora and Stross were stopped once again by guards on either side of the massive wooden doors.

“Halt, what business do you have at Dragonsreach?” one asked.

Fenora was about to answer, but Stross stepped forward before she could say anything regarding dragons, lest they get barred entrance on lunacy alone.

“We’ve got an important message for your Jarl, his people are in danger.” he told the guard, withholding the information about the source of this danger until they actually held an audience.

“Right, come on inside, he’ll want to hear about this.” The guard opened the door for them.

...

When Fenora and Stross entered the grand wooden hall with its many decorations, long tables and high ceilings, they began to overhear an argument coming from the other end of the room. As they reached the top of the stairs leading to the Jarl's court, they caught the middle of a discussion beyond the small bonfire burning in the center of the room.

“-while bandits nest in the hills, attacking merchants and travelers. Do you suggest we do nothing?” the powerful voice of Jarl Balgruuf asked in a frustrated tone.

“We shouldn’t be too hasty my lord, the Jarl of Falkreath will assume we’ll join Ulfrics’ side and attack him.” replied the more timid and cautious voice of Proventus, his advisor.

They both looked up as Stross and Fenora approached.

“What is the meaning of this?” a grey-skinned elf spoke up and marched towards them with a hand already on the hilt of her sword, “The Jarl isn’t expecting anyone today, explain yourself.”

Already sensing the tension in the dark elf, Stross stepped forward and spoke as calmly and deliberately as he could. “We come with dire news.” He began, “This is going to sound ridiculous and insane, but I tell you the absolute truth when I say that Helgen was destroyed by a dragon just this morning. It burned the entire town to the ground during an execution involving the rebellion, and the guards defending the town were able to do little to stop it. We were lucky to escape with our lives to bring you this information.”

He paused, then quickly added. “We’d also like to be financially compensated for our bravery.” To which Fenora gave an approving nod.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the room. Every eye was on Stross, and he did his best to not even flinch. He could see the Jarl with a considering look on his face, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Then all at once, the entire room burst out laughing. Jarl Balgruuf, his advisor Proventus, the maids, and the guards were clutching their bellies as they gasped for breath. Even the dark elf Irileth, the Jarl's normally stoic housecarl, had to suppress a chuckle.

“Oh, you were right, that did sound ridiculous, but thanks for the laugh.” The Jarl said as he regained his composure. “I needed that after today. You can go now.”

Stross mentally slapped himself. Maybe just coming out and saying it wasn’t the best option after all. But now the only option left was to keep driving the point until they accepted it.

“I’m afraid I can’t leave just yet,” Stross told him, “I’m glad you find this so humorous, but this is no joke. There’s still a flying death-machine on the loose, and Riverwood is in danger.”

The atmosphere in the hall lost its lighter tone and became much more grim, the occupants changing to match.

“Surely you can’t be serious.” Jarl Balgruuf said, now leaning forward to give his full attention.

“I’m serious, and don’t call me Shirley.” Stross answered.

“You realize how outrageous this claim is don’t you?” Proventus chimed in. “Real, living dragons haven’t been seen in Skyrim for-“

“Centuries, we know.” Fenora joined in as well, “But if that giant, fire-breathing lizard that destroyed an entire town just this morning wasn’t a dragon, I don’t know what it was. Real or not, something distinctly dragon-shaped destroyed Helgen, I’d wager that at least a dozen are dead, likely more.”

“Did someone say dragons? I know I heard talk of dragons out here!” a new voice joined in before anything else could be said on the matter. From a small study adjacent to the hall, a spindly Nord in deep blue robes entered the room, adjusting the pair of glasses on his nose and carrying several loosely bound scrolls.

“Oh divines help us, not this again.” Balgruuf rubbed his temples.

“Greetings travelers, I am Farenger Secret-fire. I’ve dedicated nearly all of my life researching dragons. Tell me, is what you two say possible? Have you really seen one of those magnificent creatures, alive with your very own eyes?” the wizard took over the conversation, his voice carrying a distinctive lisp, “What was it like? How big was it? You said it destroyed an entire town?”

These questions and more bombarded them until the Jarl interrupted. “Enough Farengar, what they’re saying is clearly impossible.”

“One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible; though I’d surely hesitate to call you a fool, Jarl Balgruuf." Farengar responded. “And if these travelers are telling the truth, it could be the discovery of a lifetime. If you would permit, I would very much like to borrow them for a certain project of mine.”

“Fine,” Balgruuf sighed, “With their consent, I’ll allow this. Anything to stem the tide of this nonsense. And know that I won’t be acting on these rumors without hard proof, I’ve got enough to deal with as it is.”

“Excellent, follow me to my study.” Farengar motioned them to follow.

...

Once in his study, a large and cluttered room with various maps, charts and scrolls lining every available surface, Farengar explained the results of his research so far. It had seemingly been compiled over several years, maybe even decades, with old theories crossed out as new information was found. Most of it would have made perfect sense to a dedicated scholar like Farengar, but was a bunch of gibberish to an outsider in the field like Stross. Though from what he could understand, there was a prophesy in the form of an ancient chant that foretold the coming of Alduin, the world eater, and how he would raise an army of dragons to destroy the world.

In the meantime, the changeling was far more interested in the several detailed and no doubt expensive maps, absolutely desecrated with notes and scribblings. Even through the mess though, Stross could tell that this land was completely foreign, with names of places he’d never even heard of scribbled across; Morrowind, Hammerfell, the Summerset Isles… but no sign of Equestria, or the Badlands his kind called home, nor the Griffin Kingdoms or… anything. Most disturbing, ‘Nirn’ was scrawled across the top. That wasn’t how you spelled Equus.

“Where am I?” Stross muttered fearfully to himself.

“...and that’s where the two of you come in!” Farengar finished retelling the lore Fenora was raptly paying attention to. “It seems that the time of reckoning is upon us, and the return of the dragons has already begun. But in order to prove my theory, I’ll need someone to fetch an ancient stone tablet called the Dragonstone for me. With it, I’ll be able to locate all of the ancient dragon burial sites.”

“And when you say ‘someone’… you mean us.” Fenora said, putting two and two together.

“Ah, you catch on quickly.” Farengar said with a bit of appreciation, “And when I say ‘fetch’, I really mean risk your lives delving into a dangerous ruin that may or may not contain it.”

“Wait, you want us to what now?” Stross asked.

Farenger let out a sigh. “Okay… let me spell it out for you. I want you to go on a dangerous mission in the name of knowledge and discovery. Simultaneously, you wish to prove that dragons have truly returned to Tamriel. As our interests align, it is clear we should help each other to further our respective goals. But don’t worry, this trivial task shouldn’t be too overwhelming for someone such as yourselves.” Farengar told them, “Unfortunately my skills lay elsewhere, so while you’re off doing the grunt work, I will be here in my lab.

“If my information is correct, the stone we need will be in Bleak Falls Barrow, no doubt interred in the main chamber. Oh, and one more thing,” he picked up a small jar from a nearby mixing table, “Would you please take these frost salts to Arcadia for me on your way out? I’m sure she’ll compensate you for the menial task of delivering it.”

“What are we, a delivery service?” Stross asked indignantly.

“Sure, give them here.” Fenora took the frost salts before she left, pulling Stross behind her.

“But the dragon! Do we seriously have time to-” Stross began before Fenora cut in.

“Come on Stross, time’s a wastin’.” Fenora grabbed him and dragged him out the door.

“I guess we’re going then.” he relented.

“Good luck,” Farangar called after them, “And try not to die!”

"Yeah sure, got it." Fenora called back, "And you might want to turn down the heat on that spriggan sap!"

“What sprig-“ Farengar began right before explosion, followed by a cloud of smoke erupted from the study.

“Oh by the gods, it’s all over the walls!”

The Dragonstone arc III: Bandits of Bleak Falls

Author's Note

Hey everyone. Hope you're enjoying the story so far. I recently had a conversation via PM with a user named GhostGrenade, who was curious as to how Stross worked in the context of Skyrim (What skill trees he's proficient in, perks he had, etc.). And so I shared some of my older guidelines that I used (or rather, ignored) when writing Stross in the original story.

GG said that maybe everyone else would like to see it too, and seeing as how it's about to become more relevant in the coming chapters, here it is. My "Changeling character rule sheet":
-Stross's health and magika bars are linked. They do not regenerate over time like normal PCs.
-Stross's magika meter has no limit cap, but will slowly decrease over time at a rate of about 10magika per hour.
-If Stross's magika is depleted, his HP will drain at a rate of 5HP per hour.
-If Stross's health takes damage, his magika reserves will be drained to heal him at an approx ratio of 5magika => 2HP, every 1 second.
-Potions do not restore Stross's health or magika, but rather transfer energy between the two at a 1 : 1 ratio.
-Stross's magika (or mana pool) is what he will use first in order to cast spells, but can "life-cast" once it runs out at a ratio of about 1HP=>2.5magika

Unique Changeling abilities/spells - Feeding:
-Passive feeding (like when he makes out with Fenora): 0mgaika per second spell.
Will restore Stross's magika by draining his target's magika, then their stamina, and finally their health. This happens at a 2 : 1 ratio; he'll receive 1 point of magika for every two points he drains.
The faster Stross drains his target, the more noticeable and painful it is.

-Syphoning: 0magika spell.
Similar to Passive feeding, but with a more profound effect.
Steal a large amount of magika (150 points per cast) from target.
Target's health, magika and stamina are permanently reduced by 5.
Targets have a higher chance to resist based on level and aggression towards Stross.

-Soul eater (Similar to soul trap, but an AoE effect instead of a single target, with Stross's stomach acting as the soul gem): Once per day ability. Duration - 120seconds.
When this ability is active, any enemy killed near Stross gets their souls absorbed by him.
Each soul absorbed restores magika based on their soul's quality.
Petty - 100 magika
Lesser - 250 magika
Common - 550 magika
Greater - 900 magika
Grand/Black - 2000 magika

Dragon - Whoa now... no spoilers.

The Dragonstone arc III: Bandits of Bleak Falls

Stross sat in the corner of the potion shop known as ‘Arcadia’s Cauldron’ that Fenora insisted on stopping by before they left town. The second they entered, the pungent smell of boiling herbs hit them and proceeded to cling to the insides of their nostrils. Where Stross was merely able to tolerate the mix of strange odors that made his eyes water, Fenora took it in, suddenly seeming a bit more relaxed and even nostalgic.

While Fenora talked with the shopkeeper, Stross took a closer look at the small bottles of liquids and the many plants on display. Each of the ferns and patches of mushrooms looked ready to be picked and used. Stross had no idea what they were supposed to be used for, but then again, Stross wasn’t a zebra. He'd known some zebras, he'd hung out with some zebras, then he'd been stomped into paste by those same zebras when they found out he was a changeling, but he never picked up their weird potion-making.

“Thanks for the frost salts,” Arcadia said as Fenora handed her the small pot of freezing powder, “They’ll be important for this love potion I’m making. Perhaps I’ll test it out on Farenger for having others do his leg-work for him.” she joked, “Here, take these as payment.” she passed Fenora some mixed-and-matched potions from behind her counter.

“I’d prefer to be paid in coin if it’s all the same to you.” Fenora told her.

“And I’d prefer if people would actually buy my potions and reagents.” Arcadia admitted with a sigh, “I’m afraid with the lack of customers lately I’ve got no septims to spare; I’m barely able to pay for new stock as it is. Still, take these anyway, and be sure to tell anyone you meet in your travels that Arcadia has cures for any ailment.”

“Right, thanks I guess." Fenora pocketed the potions. "And good luck with that little 'experiment'.”

The two shared a quick laugh, and Arcadia grinned, “I do hope I can make Farengar realize there’s more to life than studying those dusty old books. Perhaps a little surprise in his supper will bring him out of his shell.”

Fenora strode quickly through Whiterun towards the gate, intent on leaving.

Stross nearly scrambled to keep up with her. He was moving so fast that he didn’t notice the tall muscular man in red leather armor coming around the corner until it was too late.

The collision sent Stross to the ground while barely fazing the man, yet he seemed displeased by it anyways. It was at that point Stross realized that the man's armor was the same type the Imperial soldiers wore, only in more pristine condition. The memories of almost being captured and executed by them just that morning were springing back into his mind, and he pulled at the edges of his hood. He had to get away before he was recognized.

“Hey, watch where you’re going.” the soldier barked.

“Sorry about that sir.” Stross said as he picked himself up and tried to reach the gate where Fenora was waiting for him, but the man got in his way.

“Sorry huh? We’ll see about that. Greymane or Battle-born?”

“What?” Stross asked, not understanding the question.

“You got stones in your ears, or just stone for brains? I asked you what side you’re on; Greymanes back the Stormcloaks, Battle-borns stand with the Empire. So which is it, Greymane or Battle-born?” the man asked again, angry that he even had to clarify.

“W-what? Neither!” Stross said and tried to back away.

“Undecided, or just lying. Are you new here or something, stranger? Where are you from?”

“What? I… I-” Stross stammered, now fearing he’d be exposed as a changeling and thrown in prison, or worse.

“’What’ ain’t no country I ever heard of! Do they speak English in ‘What’?” the man thundered, “Well do they?!”

“I uh… I dunno. What are you-“

The man drew his sword, clearly past the point of mere annoyance, “Say ‘what’ again! I dare you, I double dare you. Say ‘what’ one more gods damned time!”

In a flash Fenora was on the man, grappling his sword arm with both hands and easily ripping the weapon from his grasp and turning it on him.

“Step off!” she hissed, “I'm with him on this. Both sides are stupid, everyone supporting either are stupid, and thanks to you I hate both of the Imperials and the Stromcloaks even more. Now back. Away.”

It was at this point that a pair of guards decided to come to the rescue as well.

“Idolaf,” one called the man in armor by name, “Enough of this already, I’m going to have to ask you to cease this violent behavior, or there will be trouble.”

With the odds suddenly stacked against him, Idolaf grudgingly decided to back down. “Fine, but this isn’t over. I’ll take my sword back now.” He said and reached for his weapon.

Fenora tightened her grip on the sword and fixed him with a hard stare, making him pause, but finally relented and returned it to him.

With his weapon back in his scabbard where it belonged, the Imperial supporter turned his back on them and walked away, but not before a few last words about how everyone would have to choose a side soon enough, and how if they were smart, they’d choose the Legion.

“Sorry about that,” the guard apologized, “ever since the war started, the Greymanes and Battle-borns have been at each other’s throats. It’s a shame too. Before the war started the two clans were as close as kin. Ah, but nothing to worry yourselves about, safe travels, adventurers.”

“I used to be an adventurer,” another guard started, “then I took an arrow-“

“We know, Torr! Arrow in da knee! We’ve heard it a bazillion times. Give it a rest already.”

Ri’saad watched patiently as Fenora emptied the entirety of her improvised backpack onto the ground in front of him, finally she placed the three potions Arcadia had given them atop the mess. Honestly, Stross was surprised she’d kept the all of that stuff the whole time and still managed to walk; it must have weighed more than a hundred pounds!

“So… how much can you give me for all this?” she asked.

Ri’saad took a quick moment to sift and sort through all the miscellaneous junk before him, and another second to consider a price. “Hmm… kha'jiit will give the elf lady eighty gold septims.”

“That’s all?” Fenroa stared at the cat merchant, “How about a hundred.”

Ri’saad sucked his teeth. “This is no good. Ri’saad can give no more than ninety.”

“Ri’saad, you’re a resourceful man. What I’ve brought you is worth twice that much, and we both know you could sell it for thrice.” Fenora reasoned with him, “All I need is enough money to get to the border of Skyrim and a boat across the straight, into High Rock.”

“Wait a second Fenora. What are we doing again?” Stross asked her.

Fenora sighed, “Well since the plan involving Balgruuf opened a can of worms, I’m just going to sell everything on me and hope it’s enough to get me home.”

“But… but what about Farengar’s dragonstone?”

Fenora looked him in the eyes. “Stross, there’s no way I’m going into an ancient crypt filled with gods-know-what just to get some condescending wizard his dumb rock. After a while he’ll just assume we died, maybe send someone else who’s better equipped, I don’t know.” she said dismissively and attempted to return to trading, but Stross stopped her again.

“And what about the dragons?! Balgruuf isn’t convinced yet, Riverwood is still in danger, and if those things come here,” Stross shuddered, “It’ll be Helgen all over again. Everyone in the city will die and… Fenora? You’re not just going to leave them are you?”

“Stross,” Fenora said and put her hands on his shoulders, “Think. Think for one second about what it is these crazy people are asking me to do just so they’ll wise up and see the where that smoke is coming from. And now think about what’s happened to us both since we’ve gotten here. We were going to be killed Stross. Killed... for nothing. We owe these people nothing.”

Fenora leaned her head against Stross’s chest and sighed, “I’m not a hero Stross. I’m not a warrior, or a fighter, or a mercenary, or some chosen one. They can’t deny it forever, and when they finally realize what’s happening they’ll find someone else to solve this, like the Companions, or… I don’t know. Someone. The best thing we can do is get clear while we still can.”

“So that’s it?!” Stross snapped, “You’re just going to run away and leave them all to burn?!”

Fenora’s breath hitched and her pupils shrank. Stross noticed and pressed on.

“I've barely known you for half a day, so it might be too soon to judge, but what the hay Fenora!? These people in Whiterun, in Riverwood… they aren’t the bloodthirsty soldiers that tried to execute us in Helgen. They’re just normal people with homes and lives and families. If a dozen trained guards and a battalion of soldiers couldn’t stop that flying monster, what do you think old women and children could do against it? By the time they realize they’re even in danger they’ll be roasting alive!” Stross yelled as Fenora started trembling, “We’re the only ones who know the dragons are coming and decided to take some initiative here. I won't just leave them! We need to follow through or everyone’s going to die, and it’ll be all our fau-“

“VENNIK!” Fenora screamed and grabbed onto him. It was only then that Stross noticed the tears spilling down her cheeks like rivers, “Okay… you don’t need to say any more. Please don’t say any more.”

“F-Fen, I… alright.” Stross tried to apologize, but nothing came out, and instead he just held her until she stopped shaking.

It would be a while before she did.

Before they left, Ri’saad gave them one-hundered and ten septims for their loot; a small ‘saving the people bonus’ he told them with a smile.

The walk back to Riverwood turned out to be quiet and uneventful. Once or twice along the way, Stross tried to ask Fenora about her sudden breakdown, but she refused to say a word to him, and made no attempt at conversation herself. His emotion sense showed a cold shell around her with a powerful guilt buried far underneath.

Stross hoped that he’d be able to make her like him again. Making the jump from Ponyville had depleted him from the start, not to mention the time spent in that cell, and the spells he used during the escape. The fact that Fenora was there to feed on was the only reason he was still alive. Even still, an ache had settled in the pit of his chest and had been gnawing at him all morning.

Stross looked up to see that Fenora was several paces ahead of him, and realized that his movements were much more sluggish compared to hers, so he hurried forwards despite his feet suddenly feeling like bricks of lead.

They reached the bridge leading to Riverwood a bit past mid-morning. When they reached the interior of the town they were treated to the sight of a small mob forming near the inn. Stross instinctively got behind Fenora as they approached, and again made sure his cloak covered as much of his face as possible.

Two figures were arguing at the head of the crowd. One of them was a man shouting furiously and rallying the townsfolk behind him, the other was Gerdur, standing firm against his tantrum.

“They have my sister, we have to get her back!” a man shouted, “Who knows what they’ll do to her?”

“Calm down Lucan, we can’t just go charging up to the barrow.” Gerdur told him, “Those bandits have been dug in there for months, and are too well armed for the likes of us.”

“But we have to do something.” an elf named Faendal joined Lucan’s side, “I love Camilla!”

“I love her more!” a bard by the name of Sven countered, and shoved the elf aside. “And she said she would pick me over you any-day.” he added.

“She would not!”
“Would too.” they argued back and forth, and the children once again handed around the betting bowl.

“Oh will you two stop it already?” Gerdur interrupted them, “We don’t need another drunken brawl. If Hadvar and Ralof were able to control themselves, maybe they would be dealing with this problem right now instead of nursing their concussions in bed.”

“At least these two are willing to help!” Lucan shot back, pointing to Faendal and Sven. “If we wait for the guards to show up, it’ll be too late by the time they arrive!”

The second the word ‘bandit’ was spoken, Fenora decided to see what the commotion was all about, and shoved her way to the front of the crowd. Once through, she stepped up onto the deck of the inn with the others. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Ah, you’re back.” Gerdur said, “Please tell me the Jarl has sent some guards.”

Fenora shook her head. “Dragons don’t exist to them, and they’re not willing to divert their guards on nothing.”

“We’re trying to convince them.” Stross told them from the crowd, “We need to find something called the dragonstone from Bleak Falls. Is something happening up there?”

“A few nights ago, bandits broke into Lucan’s shop and stole his golden claw.” Gerdur explained.

“And my sister decided to be a big damn hero and get it back!” Lucan butted back into the conversation, “Now they have her too, and we can’t get her back because miss ‘wood-chopper’ over here says it’s too dangerous.”

“Those bandits would tear us apart before we even get close to the barrow.” Gerdur countered. "You know this."

“Bandits…” Fenora hissed, “I’m heading up there anyway, I’ll slaughter the lot of them and get her home on my way through.”

This earned her several gasps from the crowd.

“Here here! I’m coming with you! Sven the heroic bard at your service m’lady.” the bard stepped up with an exaggerated bow. “Let’s go and rescue fair Camilla!”

“Hah, don’t bother taking this joker with you.” the elf archer tutted as he stepped up as well, “You need someone with skill and deadly instinct for such a task. And I don't like to brag, but I once took down a bear at three hundred yards… In a blizzard. The name’s Faendal.”

“Have either of you killed a man before?” Fenora asked bluntly.

Both of them seemed taken aback by the question, each mumbling something sort-of-affirmatory.

Fenora sighed into her palm. “Just get ready, both of you. We leave in ten minutes.”

As the crowd dispersed she turned back to Stross. “So, you’ve been with me this far. How good are you in a fight?”

“Umm…” Stross thought on that for a minute, “Does running away from fights count?”

“Well, it should be fun clearing out a stronghold of bandits single-handedly.” Fenora groaned sarcastically.

“Faendal and Sven are coming too though.” Stross reminded her.

“Single. Handedly.”

After receiving a cheap steel sword from Lucan the merchant in exchange for rescuing his sister and retrieving his golden claw, Fenora and Stross met up with Faendal and Sven, who were more than ready to get going.

The second they started making their way up the mountain to the bandit stronghold at Bleak falls, the temperature dropped significantly and snow started to fall around them, covering the trail in a layer of crunchy flakes almost three inches think.

“It’s freezing up here, how much further?” Stross complained as he shivered under his cloak.

“It shouldn’t be too far now; you can actually see the entrance of the Barrow from the river down there.” Sven told them, “It’s always given me chills looking at it.”

“To think that poor, sweet Camilla is in that horrid place.” Faendal grimaced, “I hate to imagine it.”

As they rounded a bend in the path, Fenora immediately pulled them down behind some snow-covered bushes. When they threw looks of question, she responded by pointing out a bandit lookout in an old desolate tower, partially hidden amongst the falling snow. A lone figure stood with his back against a tree with a small fire burning nearby. He was armored in dented iron, and had a warhammer propped up next to him.

Snatching Faendal’s bow and an arrow off his back, she trained her sights on the bandit’s exposed neck, and drew back the string. Long repressed memories of anger and regret surfaced as she overdrew the string a final inch. Slowly exhaling, she released the arrow, and watched with a slight satisfaction as the bandit collapsed on the ground in a heap.

Faendal and Sven simply sat back in awe, clearly impressed by the feat of marksmanship they’d just witnessed. Fenora paid them no mind however, and simply handed Faendal back his bow.

Stross however had an expression of horror and he grabbed Fenora by her shirt. “What the heck was that?! You just… you just killed that guy!”

Fenora grit her teeth and shoved back. “He was a bandit. They’re nothing but a bunch of criminals, thieves and murderers who only care about themselves.” She jabbed a finger at him, “Don’t ever forget that, and don’t ever try to stop me. Got it?”

Turning away, she walked over to the corpse of the now dead bandit and began searching his body for anything useful; there wasn’t much. A crude shank, a dozen wooden arrows, and twenty-seven septims were pocketed. A half drank bottle of mead, some leather strips, and a necklace of rodent skulls were quickly discarded. She didn’t bother with the clothes or his armor. Not only would it protect you less than tin-foil, it also stunk to High Hrothgar. Seriously, didn’t these people ever bathe?

However, while she was looting and the others stood near the campfire for warmth, a second bandit wandered out of the old tower. The second he spotted them his eyes lit up, and he drew his weapon.

“Fresh coin!” he yelled as he charged at them, caring little about his dead friend and more that he wouldn’t have to share the loot now. The trio around the fire scattered as he swung his axe in a wild arc at them. “Now which one of you should I cut open first?”

While the bandits eyes shifted back and forth between the three of them a sword came down on him from behind and carved a deep line in the backplate of his armor.

He spun around to block a second blow with the shaft of his axe, and shoved Fenora away. He advanced, considering her his first victim, he wound up for an mighty overhead swing.

A blast of white powder was kicked into his face, causing his swing to miss and come down on a treebranch instead.

While he wiped the snowy slush out of his eyes and tried to pull his weapon free from the bark it was wedged in, Fenora didn’t give him the chance to recover. He barely dodged her decapitating swing. Even so, it clipped his right arm and he was forced to abandon his weapon.

Growling, the bandit ducked down and pulled a knife out of his boot before lunging at Fenora again and taking a number of wild swings, all of which she easily backstepped. Her return swing caught him just as he finished his charge and raked sideways across his face in a splatter of blood.

While he was cursing and clutching his face in pain, Fenora kicked him to the ground and drove the tip of her sword into his unarmored gut. It took only a second longer for her to finish the job by driving the rest of the blade through him and into the ground on the other side. Finally the bandit let out one last shudder before going still.

Fenora huffed, retrieved her weapon and shook the blood from the blade. “Well, I think that takes care of this one.” she called out to Faendal, Sven, and Stross as she continued onwards, “Thanks a lot for the help!” the sarcasm was palpable.

“She needed help?” Sven asked incredulously.

Once they reached the massive courtyard leading to the entrance to the barrow, they noticed several more bandits patrolling the outer edges. With the help of Stross’s changeling life-sense, they were able to pick out a few more standing watch with longbows from the carved stone overlooks. While Stross was making whispered conversation with Faendal and Sven, wondering why so many would turn to banditry, Fenora was trying to decide the best way to eliminate them without the others taking notice.

Then, the main doors to the barrow ground open, and what could only have been the voice of their leader called them all inside.

“What’s going on, did they spot us?” Sven asked.

“No,” Fenora replied as she watched them leave their posts, “it’s something else. Let’s move up for a better view, quietly.”

It wasn’t hard to get in unnoticed, as the bandits didn’t even bother to close the door behind them.

The large inner room beyond the doors was dark, only sparsely lit by torches and a hole in the roof that let in sunlight and snow from above. Several barrels were lined up against the walls. The amount of stolen crates made the whole place just feel more claustrophobic than it was already. The ones that weren't broken or stacked into precarious pillars served as seating or tables instead. The sheer number of empty cloth sacks, scattered wine and mead bottles, and discarded remnants of meals made it clear that these people had either been living in this place for quite some time, or were just complete slobs. Perhaps both.

Slinking through the shadows, our team of heroes saw the bandits converging around a table in the center. In total there were ten of them, all clad in fur and hide armor, most wielding either bows or hand axes, though one or two carried large swords.

Once they’d gathered, their leader, a tall muscular orc wearing full iron platemail and a fur cape spoke up. “Alright, listen up you lot, I want all o' you to hear this! Arvel's just stolen the claw and ran ahead. He’s probably trying to take the treasure in this barrow for himself.” He said in gruff, displeased tones.

This revelation was met with sneers and angry yells from the rest.
“That damned traitor, I knew he was up to no good.”
“He was a dunmer, what do you expect from an elf?”
“Hope the traps down there get him!” they said in disgust.

They continued this talk until the leader silenced them with a raise of his arm.

“Forget the claw!” he shouted, “Whilst he was escaping, something better has happened along.” He then walked to a darkened corner, and when he returned, he carried a woman in a yellow dress with him, heavily bound and gagged. He set her atop the table and grinned at his gang.

“This lovely lady has come to us from that town down near the river. You know... the one with all the wood. I forget the name. Point is, she's our ticket to the biggest score of our life, lads. Here’s the plan. It’s no secret she’s gone missing, so we’re gonna bring her back, and tell those idiots we’ll let 'er go in exchange for a bit of coin.” The bandit leader explained before breaking into a grin, “But that’s just the distraction. While two of us go down to make the trade, the rest of us will attack the town from behind and catch them all off guard! We’ll have about an hour tops to ransack the place, take anyone still alive as our prisoner, and steal anything not nailed down. Then we’ll escape south across the border before any of those Whiterun guards ever knew what hit ‘em.”

One lone bandit raised his hand and waved it back and forth. “Ooh! Ooh Ooh, I got a question!” he said, “Can we do things with the pretty lady first? You know… with the whips and leather outfits and the chocolate syrup?”

The bandit leader looked at him like he’d committed a sacrilege. “Are you serious?” he asked in a grave tone. “Of COURSE we’re going to have bloody brutal sex with her first!”

There were resounding cheers from the other bandits. Even from the female bandits! Especially from the female bandits.

“Not so fast you fiends!” Faendal shouted as he jumped out into the open and nocking an arrow. “If anyone’s going to have hot kinky sex with Camilla, it’s going to be me.”

“He mean’s me, but we’ll figure that out later.” Sven joined in, brandishing his woodsman’s axe, “Release her or face our wrath!”

Meainwhile, a certain changeling was hiding in the darkness, cursing them and their aversion to stealth-based tactics.

As Stross set about finding a way out of this mess, Faendal and Sven were busy being set upon by ten rowdy bandits. But even though they were outnumbered and outmatched, against all odds, through the power of righteousness and love, Faendal and Sven…

Still totally got their butts kicked, and the bandits were now celebrating over their two newest hostages.

…

“Fenora?” Stross called softly as he worked his way through the shadows on the edge of the room, trying his best to not be heard over the sounds of the bandits as they took turns punching Faendal and Sven into submission. “Feeeeenooooraaaaa… Feeeeno- mphf!“

A hand clamped firmly over Stross’s mouth while another wrapped around his waist and dragged him into the corner. “Shut. Up.” Fenora breathed.

She pulled him further over to where a large number of barrels, at least a dozen and a half, had been precariously stacked on their sides, held in place only by a single chunk of firewood.

“Luckily those idiots were able to distract them long enough for me to figure something out, so here’s the plan. These barrels are full of mead, and it’s a shame to waste it, but mead burns really well.” Fenora explained while she shoved a few crates aside and cleared a path for the barrels to roll out on. “So we’re going to flood the place and set it all on fire, grab the hostages in the confusion and escape back to Riverwood. Any questions?”

“Just one…” said a menacingly familiar baritone voice. “What do we have here?” the bandit leader said as he looked over the elf and changeling, “This day is just getting better and better! Five hostages for the effort of one!” he yelled triumphantly, his call echoed by his followers.

“Shit…” Fenora grumbled, “Okay then, time to improvise. Stross, just get everyone out of here. The big one and his cronies are all mine.”

“Is that right little bosmer?” the orc taunted with a hearty chuckle, “And just how are you gonna take on all of-“

“I’ve got a sword!” Fenora said and plunged her blade into one of the barrels, withdrawing it covered in amber liquid. She thrust it at a torch and the blade went up in flame.

“And now my sword is on fire!” she yelled as she charged at them.

The assembled rabble of bandits scattered before her, only their fearsome leader being brave enough to meet her challenge.

“Get them out of here!” she yelled to Stross before putting all her focus into parrying the orc’s massive greatsword.

Stross spotted Faendal, Sven and Camilla near the large table in the center of the room. Several bandits were pulling back to secure them while Fenora kept slashing away at their boss.

A quick spark sent a bright ball of light hovering above the bandits and their hostages. Their eyes were drawn to it, lingering for a second before it exploded in a blinding spectrum. The already dim light of the barrow meant that Stross’s flashbang had an even more profound effect, and every bandit was clutching their eyes and ears while Stross rushed over to the three.

“We can’t stay here! We’ve got to get out of the barrow!” he yelled over the chaos, only they didn’t respond. “Hey! Can’t you guys hear me?!” he yelled and patted them to get their attention.

It seemed his flashbangs didn’t care weather they hit friend or foe. Everyone got blinded and deafened equally!

As the bandits started to recover, Stross grabbed the three of them with a combination of his hands and his mouth and started dragging them to the exit… well okay, more like weakly tugging at them until they followed his lead and limped forwards with him to the exit.

An arrow whizzed past Stross's head, and he realized that the bow wielding bandits were taking aim at them.

Another flashbang was cast, and a sudden spike of pain went through him. He knew he was empty again. The energy he'd taken from Fenora was spent. Any more spells would be taking the energy he needed to sustain itself, leeching the life from his body to provide the magic needed.

Unfortunately it seemed that he wouldn’t have a choice. The bandits had smartened up after the first round, and had shielded their eyes while they waited for the flashbang to go off. Archers were readjusting their shots, and axe-wielders had kept charging forward with their eyes closed and were now in swinging range.

Well… an axe to the face would probably be more lethal than a spell fired on empty. Right?

That’s what Stross reasoned as he charged up a tranquilizer and blasted the bandit charging his right. The satisfaction of seeing the man crumple on the ground mere feet from him was offset by the wave of pain that rolled through him.

Next up was a woman with a viscous looking mace. Again a spell was fired. Again the bandit came crashing to the floor in a twitching heap. And again a wave of pain shot through the changeling foolishly casting spells on an empty mana pool.

While Stross grit his teeth against the pain swelling in every part of his body, he saw Fenora battling against the orc on the other side of the room. Her sword was no longer alight, but she was somehow managing to hold her own against the much more powerful opponent. But holding her own or not, Stross somehow doubted she could win against the bandit leader AND the remaining two thirds of his gang at the same time.

Stross’s feet felt like they were made of cement slabs and glued to the floor, but he dragged himself as fast as he could.

“I’ll give ya one thing little elf.” The orc growled at Fenora over their clashing steel, “It’s gonna fell really satisfyin’ when I kill ya! Now, just… die!”
The orc shifted his weight and powered forward, pressing his blade ever closer to Fenora’s face.

Then a glowing orb stuck to the crossing point of their swords, and he wondered for a moment why the elf had pulled her eyes shut. Then the world was nothing but white light and ringing in his ears.

Fenora looked over and spotted Stross weakly stumbling over to her amid seven of the bandit leader’s henchmen. One got too close to the changeling and was rewarded with a stun spell to the face. Both of them collapsed onto the ground.

She rushed over to the changeling and picked him up with her free arm while pointing her sword threateningly at the remaining bandits surrounding them.

“You need to run!” she heard Stross yell into her ear through the high-pitched ringing, “Let me hold them off, just get the others and run!”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you here.” Fenora told him, or at least that’s what she thought she said as the ringing faded.

Then she felt a smooth pair of lips press against hers. An odd sense of happiness overtook her for a moment before an equally strange fatigue set in.

Stross pulled away and looked into her eyes. “I’ll be fine. Just go. Save them.”

Fenora looked over to Camilla, Sven and Faendal. A pair of bandits were already making their way over to recapture them. That left four still dealing with her and Stross, plus their leader once he recovered.

One second of hesitation was too long, and Stross was already running at three of the four surrounding them. Fenora yelled in frustration as she made the choice to trust the changeling and save the others. The remaining bandit tried to block, but she decided to show him why she rocks, and drove the hilt of her sword into his face.

When she reached the Riverwood trio and fought away the bandits cornering them, Fenora realized even at a glance how messed up they were. The bandits surely hadn’t pulled any punches on Faendal and Sven, they were so bloody and bruised she was surprised they could stand. And Camilla, while in far better shape, was still in no position to fight.

Stross had made a good call it seemed.

“Get back!” Fenora yelled as one of the two bandits got a bit too close. She slashed her sword across the bandit’s belly, making her retreat.

“Out, quick!” Fenora ordered while a couple arrows embedded themselves in the wall behind her, “Now!”

Once the Riverwood trio had stumbled out the door while she covered them, Fenora turned her attention to finding Stross again. She spotted him hovering on filmy wings above the bandit chief and three of his goons on the other side of the room, the high ceiling gave him just enough room to stay out of their reach. A crate full of stolen wine bottles was held in his hands while he used telekinesis to chuck them at the bandits below. Still, while the annoyance was just the distraction they needed right now, it worked a bit too well, and the bandits were doing everything in their power to bring the changeling down.

“Stross, we’re out. Come on!” Fenora yelled while the second bandit facing her took the opportunity to attack.

Fenora blocked the downward swing of his mace and re-angled the blade of her sword to plunge in into his shoulder.

Stross tossed the rest of the crate and began zooming toward the exit.

“Oh no you don’t.” the bandit chief muttered as he pulled out a scroll, “Eat this!”

A fireball flew past Stross in the air, the heat singing his cloak as it passed. It hit the far wall and exploded in a brilliant blast of fire that spread across the stone surface. Another flew towards Fenora, and she barely had time to dive outside before it hit.

With Fenora out of the way, the fireball hit the heavy door instead, and the force of the explosion slammed it closed. Immidiately, a stack of burning crates tipped over and collapsed in front of it, ensuring it wouldn’t be opened again any time soon.

“Like ‘em?” The bandit leader chuckled as he strode forward, “That mage, Thomas, made quite a few of these pyromancy scrolls for us before he finally went and killed himself fighting a troll. I’ve been savin’ these for a special occasion. We’ll have those four back soon enough, but first I’ve got a pesky gnat to deal with.”

Stross suddenly perked up as the bandit told him this. An idea popped into his head.

“Oh yeah, well then you’d better not miss! Think you can hit a moving target?” Stross yelled in a mocking tone and shook his butt at the bandit.

The bandit chief just laughed and hurled two more balls of flame at Stross, which he nimbly dove out of the way of. “Missed me!” he sang and continued to dart back and forth through the air.

Three shots later and the ceiling was ablaze, but the changeling was still flying, and the bandit leader snarled, “Shut up so I can blast you!”

“Okay then, I’ll even make it easy for the little bandit baby.” Stross said and made a pouty face. “I’m just gonna stand right here for you. You take all the time you need to line up your shot, maybe take a nap first, have a nice glass of warm milk-”

“GRAAAAAHH!” the leader shouted in pure rage.

“Boss no!” one of his men tried to stop him, but it was too late, and he flung fireball after fireball at Stross until he ran out of scrolls, not realizing what the changeling had been making his way towards the whole time.

“Not the mead!” one of the bandits shrieked in dismay when the barrels full of the strong-smelling drink caught fire. They bounced and rolled everywhere, exploding when they crashed into walls and stacks of stolen loot, spilling flaming liquid everywhere.

With fire sloshing across the floor, setting much of the bandits’ stolen loot ablaze, and smoke quickly filling the air, Stross decided it was finally time to make his escape. He concentrated on an illusion spell, gathered nearly every bit of energy he’d pulled from Fenora mere moments ago, and cast it on himself.

Stross’s vision blurred at the edges from the amount of energy it took, but he knew it had worked. He moved around a pair of bandits panicking and flailing, trying to extinguish themselves, then a pair who were trying to save some of the stolen goods before it was consumed by the rapidly spreading fire. None of them noticed him as he ducked and weaved around them, right in front of their noses.

It had been a really long time since Stross had used this spell. It wasn’t a normal disguise. No, this one was different. It was costly to use, and only lasted about a minute, but is was possibly the best disguise of them all: nothing.

Stross spotted the archway that led deeper into the barrow. This was his only way out now, but he’d take it.

Then he heard the thundering footsteps behind him and turned to see the bandit leader behind him… and heading right towards him! But he was invisible!

Maybe the bandit was just going the same way he was going to get away from the fire and smoke. Stross quickly stepped to the side to allow him to pass, and started thinking up ways to avoid him later. But the massive orc adjusted his course to match his.

Before he could move, Stross felt an armored fist clamp down on his throat.

He pulled off Stross’s cloak and held it in front of his face so he could see that it was still on fire. “That little vanishing trick doesn’t work too well when you’re lit up like a damn torch.” the orc said with a sinister grin, “Now where was I? Oh… I remember.”

With a ferocious yell the bandit leader ran back into the fire and smashed Stross into a pile of burning crates, then a stone pillar, then through the table in the center of the room. Stross was little more than a ragdoll to him as the orc smashed his body again and again into everything around him. With every impact he felt something break, and wasn’t sure if it was just the furniture, or his shell.

Finally, huffing from the effort, the orc grabbed Stross’s head between his fingers and started squeezing. “You and that stupid elf just ruined the biggest score I’ve ever planned! So I’m gonna crush you like the bug you are, and then I’m gonna burn that whole town to the ground just like you burned my stash of loot!”

While the orc snarled into his face, Stross could feel his shell start to crack under the pressure, and for some reason his arms and legs hurt too much to move.

He could feel his hearing start to fade, the shouts of bandits and the crackling of fire were swallowed up by silence. He couldn't even hear his shell cracking. Soon even the pain faded away, and he was only aware of the sensation of his head getting squeezed, but it didn’t hurt, it only felt strange.

At last his vision blurred away to nothing, the orc’s expression of rage blurred and obscured until it was no more.

There was nothing left to see hear or feel… except his changeling emotion sense.

Before him he could see nothing but a big blob of dark red. Anger, fury, rage, killer instinct. But beyond that were tiny little flecks of white. If he could just reach them… but they were so far away; the red wouldn’t let him through to get them.

He was so hungry. He would just have to yank the little specks out by force.

Fenora slammed her fist against the door again and again, hearing the panicked shouts and sounds of battle just beyond. She had tried jamming her sword in between the opening, but only managed to pry it open about half an inch before the steel blade bent under the strain. There must have been something heavy blocking the other side. In her head she berated herself for dodging backwards instead of diving into the fray. Now Stross was inside there with all those angry bandits, and while she was stuck on the other side of this stupid metal door, they were going to tear him apart.

“This isn’t happening… this can’t be happening. Gods damn it, not again!” Fenora swore as she kicked the slab of metal in frustration, “Think Tandis think! There’s got to be a way back in there. What would your dear ol’ dad do?” Fenora wracked her brain.

Then she paused, and a smile slowly spread across her face. “He’d think of another way to the treasure.”

It was then that Fenora remembered the hole in the roof that let some light into the room, and she turned around to find some way to get to it.

On her way though, her eyes met with that of Camilla. Lucan’s sister sat next to where Faendal and Sven where laying, aching and bleeding on the snow-covered ground. Her hands and feet where still bound, and she couldn’t talk around the balled up cloth shoved in her mouth.

Fenora grabbed the sword from where it had been dropped. The blade was bent at an odd angle and pretty useless in a fight, but could still slice through a couple ropes.

“Sorry about the rough treatment, but the rescue doesn’t seem to be going quite as planned.” Fenora apologized while she helped remove the gag.

Camilla grimaced while the last bit was retrieved from the back of her throat, but smiled up at Fenora all the same. “At least someone decided to do something. My brother said it would be too dangerous for me to go alone, but he wouldn’t stop sulking over that old hunk of gold. I guess he was right.”

“You mean Lucan? He was rallying a mob down in Riverwood when we showed up. These two,” Fenora motioned to the smitten hunter and bard, “insisted on coming along, thinking it would win your affections if they saved you.”

Camilla brushed a hand over each of their faces, and choked back a sob when they each smiled despite their injuries. “I didn’t mean to put you all in danger because of my recklessness. I’m sorry.”

“They chose to come. And I’m sure you’ll make it up to them.” Fenora told her.

Suddenly an agonized wail came from the barrow behind them. It sounded like someone was having their skin slowly peeled off, and lasted just as long.

“I’ve got to get in there. Stay here until I get back!” Fenora ordered them and began scaling an uneven wall up to the roof of the barrow. She reached the ledge just as the scream finally petered out.

The skylight was easy to spot, but it was far smaller than what she would have liked. Fenora peeked through the hole into the darkness below. Flames were slowly dying out everywhere she looked, but nothing was truly visible until a torch lit up, and a pair of bandits wandered into view.

One held an axe out in front of him while the other stood at his back holding the torch and a dagger.

Suddenly the torchlight went out and there was another horrible scream as the axe bandit stumbled away.

The weapon shook in his grip as he frantically looked around in the darkness. He jerked to the left when he heard something move, then from behind him a shadow swooped past, snatching the weapon from his trembling hands.

“N-no… No please- NO!” he begged in vain as he was grabbed and dragged off into the darkness, and another blood-curdling wail filled the air.

Fenora wasted no more time and kicked the loose stones around the skylight to make an entrance big enough for herself to jump through. She landed on the floor below with a quiet thud. The floor was covered in soaking wet ashes, ruined sacks of vegetables, and pieces of splintered wood.

Keeping her guard up, she took a gamble and called out into the dark surrounding her, “Stross?!”

She felt movement from her left and backstepped while turning to face it.

A familiar figure lurched into the pillar of light. “Stross, you’re alright! You look… different.”

Different was certainly the word. Where Stross’s scales had been cracked and crumbling before, they were now whole, glossy and black, and his skeletal form had filled in so that his ribs no longer showed through his upper torso shell. In fact, for a changeling, Stross looked immaculate.

Yet there was something off about him; he was hunched over, and he made little gnawing motions with his mouth when his eyes... his pitch black eyes stared at her. His lips curled back revealing every gleaming fang.

Oh, and there was the fact that he pounced on her and started snapping his jaws at her face.

That’s kind of different too.

“Stross, what the ‘Blivion are you doing!? It’s me!” Fenora screamed as she shoved and wrestled him away.

But Stross wasn’t listening to her as he grabbed her head in his hands, brought his face close to hers and opened his mouth wide.

A chill filled the air, and Fenora felt like she was… slipping into Stross’s open maw. And even in the darkness she saw her reflection in his empty eyes. In that moment she realized it; she was afraid. Worse, she didn’t even understand why, but she felt like she was slowly dying as bits of her warmth slipped away, starting with her fingers and feet.

With a shout of defiance, Fenora kicked Stross in the stomach and knocked him away.

“Stross, what is going on with you?!” Fenora demanded as she put some distance between herself and the changeling.

Stross merely let out a hiss before dropping to all fours and skittering into the darkness again.

Fenora took slow deliberate steps towards the nearest wall, something she could put her back to, and she listened to the room around her for even the smallest noise. Tiny pops of crackling wood, the slosh of ash-filled liquid around her feet… then a metallic scraping.

Ducking down, Fenora found the blade of a large iron sword, the one the bandit chief had used against her. She searched for the handle, glad for any kind of weapon, but found it lodged on something. With a swift tug upward, she found out what.

The bandit chief was pulled from the burning ashes along with his sword, his hands still clutching the blade tightly. He was anything but alive, and without his helmet on Fenora could see the fear and pain frozen on his face. His eyes, once so filled with ambition, pride and hate were now as milky grey as a long dead corpse.

A sharp inhale drew her attention forward again she pulled the blade free just in time to intercept another attempt by Stross as he let out an unearthly shriek. She shoved him back again and made one last attempt to reason with him.

“Stross, stop right now or I’ll cut you down!” she threatened as she raised the sword and pointed it at him.

The changeling paused for a moment… then lunged at her again.

His attack was met with a strike using the flat of her blade. Fenora watched as it collided with the side of his head and sent him staggering.

What had happened to the strange bug-like creature that had tried to save her in Helgen?

The changeling recovered and came at her again. This time her sword cleaved across his chest and splattered gobs of black blood everywhere, and the changeling let out a screech of pain.

Where was the being who selflessly followed her to a bandit hive, throwing himself into harm’s way to save people he’d never even met, likely at the cost of his own life?

To her shock, Fenora saw that the huge gash across his chest was already closing, stitching itself back together. The changeling charged again, failing to notice or simply not caring about the blade pointed squarely towards it.

The sound of iron piercing scale echoed through the room as Fenora drove the length of the blade through the monster’s chest, resting the cross-guard firmly against its shattered sternum. It let out a howling wail that slowly petered out as its body went limp. She released the handle and let the whole changeling kebab to the floor as the black liquid slowly oozed out around it into a growing pool.

At her feet lay a mindless beast.

Where was Stross?

“Are you three going to be alright on the way back down?” Fenora asked Camilla as she helped them each to their feet.

It had been a tremendous task shifting enough debris to open the door again, and searching the bodies wasn’t easy on the mind. Each of the bandits Stro- the changeling had killed were cold and rigid, with the same expression of fear forever locked onto their features. Though luckily, a few had some minor healing potions on them which were quickly put to use.

“We should be fine. Thank you all for rescuing me.” Camilla told her, “I’ll make sure we get back to Riverwood safely. What will you and your friend do now?”

Fenora averted her eyes. She’d neglected to tell them about what had happened. “I’m going to get that claw… and the dragonstone.”

At first there was only a tiny flame. Surrounding it was nothing but darkness and cold that went on forever in all directions. In that lonely void, that little red flame flickered and faded until it was almost extinguished.

But then something miraculous happened. Another flame joined it. It too was small, but its white light blazed brightly compared to the little red fire.

The little red flame jumped for joy when it saw the white flame, and knew it wanted more of them.

Soon it got its wish, and more white flames came, each burning brightly and surrounding the little red flame in the middle of the great nothingness.

The little red flame basked in the warm glow the white flames gave off, and grew stronger, bigger, and brighter. Now the little red flame was happy, for it was no longer alone, and the white fire’s light made it feel safe.

The white flames were not happy though, they were angry and afraid… confused even. They told of how they had been ripped from their shells and forced into this horrible place where their light could no longer shine for all to see. Now they were contained for the pleasure of the red flame.

The red flame didn’t understand, but it didn’t care, for as long as it could see them shine, that was enough.

One by one though, the white flames faded away, having bled the last of their light for the red flame. The red flame tried desperately to hold onto the white flames and their light that it loved so much. But every time it touched them, they burned even faster until there was nothing left but its own red light.

Finally, the last one burned out, and the red flame… once so weak and so close to going out, now towered over the darkness with its bright red, consuming light, shining out into forever… alone.

But then the red flame saw it. Through the infinite darkness it saw another fire, golden and grand and so very… very far away. The red flame moved closer, hoping, praying, perhaps even willing for that gold fire to come toward it as well, just to see its wonderful light.

Fenora crouched over Stross’s body where she’d left him, the sword still through his chest like a pin through a moth.

“I’m going to find the dragonstone Stross, and when I do they’ll have to listen. No matter what I won’t let anyone die because I didn’t do anything. Not again.” Fenora said as she stroked his cheek. They had only met that morning, but she had seen enough to honor his wish. She wouldn’t run from the coming fire or the dragons that breathed it. “I promise… I’ll-“

Stross took a sharp inhale and his blue eyes shot open. “Fenor-“

“GAH!” Fenora screamed and reflexively stomped on his head.

“Oooowww. Fenora that hurt.” Stross whined as he sat up and rubbed where she'd kicked him.

When he did though, he felt metal scraping against his shell, and looked down at his chest. His jaw dropped, and his eyes stared unblinkingly at the blade pushed neatly through him. “I… there’s a-…” Stross tried in vain to use his words.

“St-Stross? Are you… are you okay?” Fenora said, barely believing what she was seeing. Just a minute ago she’d been sure he was dead. And before that…

“No I’m not okay! There’s a sword in me! I'm the complete opposite of okay!” Stross sputtered as his breathing quickened. " I… I feel sick."

“But you’re alright otherwise right? Nothing… weird going on?” Fenora asked cautiously.

Stross hummed in thought for a second, “Well now that you mention it, I’ve got an itch between my wings that I can’t quite reach, my feet are killing me, and- oh yeah. THERE’S A GIANT SWORD IN MY CHEST! Like… all the way through! I’m like one of those bug collector’s trophies! Help me, please!”

“Alright, hold on a sec.” Fenora told him and grabbed hold of the sword handle.

“AHH! No- Stop!” Stross shrieked, “You can’t just yank it out. You’ve gotta pull it out slowly while you use a healing spell to close the wound.”

Fenora thought for a second and then gripped the handle again, bracing herself with a foot on Stross’s shoulder. “Okay, now hold still and try not to scream too much.”

...

On that day, Fenora managed to extract nearly four feet of steel from Stross’s body like a King from a old fable pulling a legendary sword from a stone, and to the changeling's credit… he only screamed loud enough to wake the dead. Somewhere in Riverwood, scary stories about the banshee of Bleak Falls Barrow were already in the making.

...

“GAhh, okay. Pulling all the way out works too. Now for the healing spell.” Stross said and looked at Fenora expectantly while he clutched the three inch hole in his chest. “You have one right?” he chuckled painfully, “Right?! I don’t wanna die!”

Fenora rolled her eyes and pulled his hands away from his chest. She ran her fingers over the slight crease in his shell where the hole had been seconds ago, and Stross did the same, dumbfounded.

“There’s your healing spell.” She told him, “Now come on, Camilla and her boyfriends are already on their way back to Riverwood, and we’ve got a dragonstone to find.”

“What happened in here?” Stross asked and looked around at the ashes and debris. “Last thing I remember was fighting that big one, and him trying to pop my head like a tomato. I guess that didn’t end so well.” He said and passed his hand over the remnants of his wound.

“Er, yeah… not well at all. But they've been... taken care of.” Fenora said awkwardly before pulling him forward with her. The whole thing where he went berserk and tried to kill everything, including her, would have to wait for another time. But right now…

“Hey Stross,” Fenora said and pulled him into a hug. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

Stross smiled and rested his head against her shoulder. “Me too.”

After a moment they broke away from each other and made their way to the door that led deeper into Bleak Falls.

...
And so the gold flame looked out from its shell at the bright red flame, and shined its light towards it. The red flame smiled, keeping its distance as the two flames burned together in the darkness, side by side.

The Dragonstone arc IV: Freaking zombies man

Fenora and Stross descended deeper into the ancient tunnels of Bleak Falls Barrow. The stone archways that held up the ceiling had been overcome by large creeping roots that spread all the way across the floors, and huge spiderwebs formed barriers across entire hallways. The further down they went, the more roots invaded through the stone ceilings, allowing water to drip down into the stone chambers. A couple passageways had even collapsed from disrepair years ago, and were now completely overgrown.

Once they got deeper in by a mix of shifting rubble, and simply hacking their way through vines and webbing, the two of them happened across a room with the exit barred by a grate.

Spotting the obvious lever in the center of the room, Stross went to pull. But Fenora quickly stopped him.

“What?” he asked.

Fenora smirked. “First time dungeon delving, my little changeling? It’s too easy. Just look around, there’s way more going on here than just a lever.”

Stross looked around and found that there were a set of carved pillars with animal pictures on them. They seemed to match a set of carved faces on the walls with the same animals set into their stone mouths, but one had been damaged, and was now laying on the floor below.

Fenora nodded. “Yeah, that looks like a combination.” she then pointed out a series of small metal holes set in the surrounding walls that Stross had glazed over. “And I bet those holes up there…” Fenora threw the switch and quickly dove away. A second later while the ground was pelted with a hail of the tiny needles. “Yep, poisoned darts. Ancient trap-makers just loved their poisoned darts.”

“So let me get this straight, we just need to match that combination up there: snake, snake, fish thingy.” Stross pointed to the stone heads, “On the pillars over there.” he pointed to the rotatable pillars.

“Pretty much.” Fenora said and brushed her hair out of her face.

“That’s stupid.” Stross said, “Like… really stupid. It couldn’t keep anyone out of this place. It’s not even difficult, just a waste of time really. Why’d they even put it here?”

“Maybe it’s not to keep someone out, but to keep something in.” Fenora said cryptically. “Woo-oo-oo-ooooo…” she added with a smile.

The way she said it made Stross shiver. “Fen? What do you mean ‘keep something in’?” he asked while the elf set the correct combination.

On the other side of he gate, Fenora spotted a small wooden chest. Seeing as how no one would be down here for a very long time, she decided they might as well take whatever was inside.

Unfortunately, it was locked.

“Oh, damn it.” she swore, “Stupid locks. Why does everything have to be locked?”

“Hmm,” Stross thought aloud, his changeling sneakiness kicking in, “maybe I could try and pick the lock to get it open. Do you have any small pieces of metal I could use to work the mechan-“

He was interrupted by a shout as Fenora brought the sword down on the lid, smashing through the old rotten wood. She flashed a grin his way as she retrieved the contents of the chest.

“Or just… do that.” Stross sputtered, “What’d you find?”

“Fifty-three septims... a pair of steel daggers and a set of leather armor that’s seen better days…” Fenora listed off as she removed the items and pocketed them, “...a couple potions, and a lot of dust.”

Stross looked questioningly at the two bottles of thick green liquid still covered in a thin layer of dirt. “Are you sure those are still good. I mean, who knows how long they’ve been sitting down here?”

Fenora just looked at him like he was crazy. “Potions don’t go bad Stross. Not as long as you keep them sealed tight enough.” She said and tapped the corks.

“Oh.” Stross mumbled, "Seems legit."

"Same thing with random cheese wedges!" Fenora said, holding up a block she pulled from the chest. "Food stays good for decades as long as you put it in a chest!"

"Fen don't-"

But she had already eaten the wedge of cheese in a single bite.

“You know," Stross commented after a while, "you really seem in your element down here.”

Fenora laughed a little. “I guess. I’ve got some experience when it comes to treasure hunting. My father was a treasure hunter, actually.”

“Oh, do tell.” Stross said, showing his interest.

“Trey Sure-finder,” Fenora said and shook her head with a smile, “He gave himself the name as some corny joke, but after a while it was a name that everyone knew and respected. He wasn’t even the best treasure hunter, but he was a quick learner, and an amazing teacher. He was the one that would lead expeditions into old buried ruins, and teach the newer members all the little tips and tricks that would keep you alive a little bit longer, or help you stuff just a bit more loot into your pack.

"And then he joined an archeological dig, they unleashed an ancient curse and woke an army of the dead. Everyone else was slaughtered and he lost three of his limbs, leaving him to crawl his way through a sweltering desert for five whole days.”

“Ouch.” Stross cringed.

“But it wasn’t all bad. A blind bosmer named Elaura found him and healed his wounds. Things happened with them. And nine months later, I was born.” Fenora then continued with a big sarcastic grin, “And now I’m here! Barely escaped an execution with my life and trying to convince the stupid Nord-folk that they’re going to be killed by fire-breathing monsters! Ain’t life just grand?”

Stross’s ear twitched and he stopped her mid rant. “Hey, do you hear that? Listen.”

The two of them strained their ears for a moment, and indeed, they heard someone shouting for help. “Is someone there? Is that you Harknir, Bjorn, Soling? Anyone, everyone, I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help, please.” The voice called out.

They hurried to the end of the tunnel, the amount of webs intensifying as they went. It got to the point that their feet got stuck to the ground as they walked.

Fenora drew her sword again and slashed the webs that had been plastered over a doorway. It took several swings, as her sword could only cut so far before the sheer amount of webbing caught her sword, and she had to pull it free before winding up the next slice. But soon enough they were through, stepping into what was clearly the lair of at least several million spiders… or perhaps just one big one. At least it was well lit by the giant hole high up in the ceiling.

At the far end of the room, they saw a bandit cocooned against a wall.

“That must be the bandit the others were talking about.” Fenora pointed out. “The one who took the claw."

“Yes! The claw!” he exclaimed as they approached, “I know how it all works! The claw, the symbols in the hall of stories, all of it! Cut me down and I’ll share the treasure with you.” he bargained, “Just hurry before- oh no, here it comes again!”

When they turned to see what he was talking about, they were greeted by an enormous spider dropping down from the open sky-light. It hissed and snarled as it walked towards them, its legs making a horrid popping noise with each and every step, and they noticed an iron dagger lodged in one of its eyes.

“EEK!” Stross shrieked and shoved Fenora towards it, “Oh by the Fallen, kill it! Kill it!”

“Fine! Geez!” Fenora snapped as she gripped the greatsword and stared down the massive thing as it clicked its mandibles and made swiping motions with its legs.

The spider was the first to attack, lunging forward trying to grab the elf with its legs. But Fenora was able to quickly dodge to the side, bringing the sword with her as she severed one of the reaching limbs. Then she just as quickly spun around and hacked off another.

Now missing its two foremost legs, the frostbite spider hissed in anger and threw itself and the full weight of its body at Fenora.

This time she was unable to get out of the way, and found herself pinned under the thrashing arachnid. As the spider reared its face back and bore its fangs, she brought the flat of her sword up to keep it at bay while it snapped and hissed in her face.

“Urk… a little help here!” Fenora called. The spider’s venom was dripping around the edges of her blade and onto her face. Already she could feel the burning chill from the green substance where it touched her skin.

Then Stross’s head popped up on top of the frostbite spider’s. His horn glowed and an orb of light stuck to the spider’s face. Fenora closed her eyes just on reflex and waited for a bang.

But instead of a bang and a blinding flash of light, there was instead a muted pop and a loud hiss of agony from the spider. As Fenora felt the weight shift off of her, she looked up to see a jet of flaring white light shining down on the spider’s face as it flailed and hissed in pain. Then she realized that the light was actually melting through it!

A couple seconds later and it fell to the ground, a couple of its remaining legs still twitching.

“Well that’s… new.” Stross said in surprise. “Do you think it’s dead yet?”

Fenora took a second to look over the corpse. She sighed in disappointment when she saw that the whole head had dissolved into a burnt puddle of mush. Some bottles of frostbite venom could have been useful later on. “Yeah Stross, I think you got it.”

“Thank goodness! I hate those things no matter what size they come in.” Stross said and shivered, “All those freaking legs.”

“Aren’t you some kind of bug too though?” Fenora pointed out. “Aren’t spiders like… your distant cousins or something.”

“That’s racist.” Stross said.

“No… it’s species-ist.” Fenora corrected him.

“If you two are done bantering, could you cut me down already?!” Arvel yelled from behind, offended that they had forgotten him.

“Oh, right… you.” Fenora said with a frown as she sauntered over to where the dumner thief had been imprisoned by a thick cocoon of spider web. “What to do with you? You’re the one that took the claw, leading to Camilla coming to get it back only to get captured by your scumbag friends. We could just gut you right now and take it back.” she told him, leveling the tip of her blade at his neck, grinning when he squirmed away from it.

“Oooo-or, we could let him go so he can take us to the treasure!” suggested Stross as he nudged the blade away.

“Or we could kill him now so he doesn’t stab us in the back later.” Fenora told him with a dead serious expression.

“Fenora please,” Stross pleaded and took her hands in his, “I know you don't like bandits, but you already killed all the others, and he’s willing to help us... at least for now. Just this once?”

Fenora rolled her eyes, knowing that for one, this was totally idiotic and going to bite them both in the ass later. And two, she wasn’t the one that killed all the other bandits.

Man it was going to hit Stross hard when she told him the truth about what happened.

“Alright. But he stays in front at all times and doesn’t make a move unless I tell him to.” Fenora begrudgingly agreed and snapped her head towards Arvel, “Got it!?”

Arvel quickly nodded several times, and Fenora raised her sword to get cutting. Stross was quicker though, and with his changeling talons he made quick work of the cocoon, revealing in the process that there was actually a door hidden behind Arvel the whole time.

“Ah, thank you both. It feels great to be able to move my legs again!” Arvel said as he stretched, hearing a few pops from his joints. “And thank you again for sparing my life, you won’t regret it.”

“Don’t get chummy. Move.” Fenora ordered and pointed through the newly exposed door. “Oh and, I’ll be taking this.” She said as she took the golden claw from Arvel, “For safe keeping.”

And so, the three of them continued on. Stross was curious about the little clay urns with decorative tops that were showing up with increasing frequency. Aside from a few shriveled up pieces of meat, he found quite a few gold pieces by popping them open. He giggled to himself, wondering why anyone would hide presents down in a place like this.

He also decided to take along some of the interesting metal tools he’d found on the tables. They reminded him of ones foals used for arts and crafts, and so he took one of each: a hook on a long stick, a pair of scissors, a curvy metal spiral, and a small sharp blade likely for making precision cuts.

It was then that he noticed Fenora giving him an odd look.

“What? He asked cluelessly.

But Fenora just quickly looked away and kept moving.

It wasn’t until they reached the next chamber that Stross actually got a look at their surroundings. Lit by braziers near the ceiling above (don’t ask me how they stayed lit), Stross could see the many alcoves carved into the walls… and their occupants.

Stross gasped at the realization. “This is a tomb.”

“Well yeah,” Fenora said as though it were obvious, “Why do you think it’s called Bleak Falls Barrow? I thought you knew that when you looted those burial jars and took those embalming tools back there.”

“Embalming tools?” Stross asked and pulled out the scissors and knives.

Once again Fenora rolled her eyes. “You’re not too versed on ancient burial rites, are you?” she sighed, “The Nords thought that if they removed the organs from their dead and put them in special jars before they entombed them, that they could stop them from coming back as vengeful spirits. Some would even bury them with their belongings or make offerings to keep them peaceful. Not like it actually works though.”

“So you mean these tools… and those jars… and that dried meat! That was-“ Stross started shaking, “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Stross, don’t start getting sick on me just yet. We’ve still got to walk through this house of the dead.” Fenora said and gave him an encouraging pat on the back.

“Alright. Alright I can do this, I-“ suddenly Stross noticed something and slipped into his changeling senses. Fenora was her usual mix of blues and grays, while Arvel was a nervous shade of green and yellow, but he could see ahead of them that there were many more soul lights, most so dim and weak he was surprised they were still lit.

“What’s up?” Fenora asked.

“There’s something else up ahead,” Stross told them “Whatever they are, they’re alive. But it’s… wrong somehow.”

“Could it be more bandits?” Fenora asked.

“No way!” Arvel cut in, “Even we’re not crazy enough to live down here with all the dead things.”

“It’s really strange, it feels so cold and empty compared to any other life I’ve sensed.” Stross said as he walked over to one of the burial crevices, “It feels like it’s coming from these corpses, but that can’t be righ-“

Suddenly, the corpse grabbed Stross, latching onto his face with its decomposing fingers.

“Braaaains. Umm, I mean… Aav dilon.” it said as it grabbed him with its other arm as well.

Stross let out a high-pitched shriek as he tried to stun the draugr with his magic. The spell hit the corpse warrior square in the face, but it didn’t seem to do anything to its dead shriveled flesh at all.

The draugr opened its mouth and groaned at him, giving Stross the unpleasant view of its slimy, decomposing tongue and the stench of death from deep in its throat.

In a moment of panic, Stross remembered the embalming tools he still had on him, grabbed the long twisted one and shoved it through the bottom of the draugr’s chin and into its upper skull cavity.

He kicked away from the corpse as it tried to pull the utensil out again. But as it did, Fenora was already upon it with her greatsword, and beheaded it with one well-placed swing. The head rolled away from where its body slumped, and the pale blue light faded from its pearl-like dead eyes.

Stross gasped for breath a few seconds before he jabbed a finger at the headless zombie. “What in Tartatus was that?! I thought these things were supposed to be dead! What with all the embalming, and the jars, and the no coming back nonsense?!”

“Yeah, and remember how I said it doesn’t actually work?” Fenora reminded him, “Let’s just hope there aren’t too many more of these things in here.”

“Why are there so many of these damned things in here?!” Fenora shouted angrily as she cleaved another of the wandering dead in twain.

The next few rooms turned out to be more winding catacombs filled to the brim with draugr. Using a sword he’d found, Stross had been sneaky enough to finish some of them before they woke. But more often he wasn't able to kill them in one hit, and Fenora had to finish them off. Arvel had been kind enough to be completely usele- I mean… stay out of the way.

The three of them snuck, stabbed and hacked their way through a few more rooms filled with draugr, a river that led to a frozen cave filled with draugr, and finally a tunnel with a ton of glowing mushrooms growing on the walls. Stross immediately picked several, stuffed them in his mouth, got sick, and was scolded by Fenora for eating weird plants off the walls. Also it was filled with draugr.

“Freaking zombies, right? Can’t live with them, and they can’t live… cause they’re dead!” Stross said with a cackle, waiting for Fenora to join in. When she didn’t he just let out a sigh, and looked to a series of orange-painted jars suspended right above a trio of draugr archers by a very flimsy rope.

“What I want to know is why there are so many traps and jars of oil just hanging around.” He said as he used his magic to throw a piece of broken metal at it. The force from the throw was all it took to send the jar crashing to the floor where it shattered, and the combustible contents erupted into a roaring flame that incinerated the undead underneath. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

Truthfully, utilizing the traps had made the journey easier. Some of the rooms had pressure plates that triggered walls of spikes, swinging axes, or simple patches of highly flammable oil covering the floor. Useful tricks when used properly, but a pain in the flank for when they inevitably had to get past them.

“They're probably here to keep these things from getting out, or maybe to discourage graverobbers.” Fenora theorized. “The person I want to punch is whoever thought to bury these things with their weapons and armor.”

“Hey, now that you mention it, I think I’m recognizing a pattern here. Only the ones wearing clothes are getting up to attack us.” Stross pointed out.

“Are you being serious?” Fenora asked as she gave a nearby draugr a sword to the face before it could do the same to her.

“Totally serious. Look,” Stross walked over to a drauger resting in an alcove, bound by its cocoon of linen wraps. He gave it a cautious tap on the skull. “See? This one isn’t wearing anything, and it’s out like a light. But that one,” he pointed to another on the far side of the room, “has its armor and weapons with it.”

Deciding to humor him, Fenora pulled out a bow she’d acquired during their trek and fired an arrow into it. Sure enough, the drauger woke up and began to climb out of its crevice.

“Huh, that’s good to know.” Fenora said as she fired another arrow and finished it off.

“You know… I wonder.” Stross said and picked up a sword and shield and moved to the mummified draugr.

The second he placed the weapons on top of the bundle the draugr’s eyes sparked to life and it started thrashing against its bonds. Stross let out an ‘eep’ of surprise and backed up.

Fenora facepalmed while the draugr exploded out of the linen wraps, grabbed the shield and bashed Stross upside the head with it. She knocked an arrow and let it fly into its head.

After making it through the final set of tombs, they finally made it to what Arvel referred to as the hall of stories, a large empty room with intricate carvings on the walls. The murals depicting some sort of embalming and entombing process that ended with an ascension into a light in the sky. Stross wasn’t sure what it all meant, and Fenora only had a couple theories, but that didn’t really matter, as their goal was now in sight.

But before they could make their way to the door at the end of the room, Arvel snatched snatched the claw off Fenora’s belt, shoved her down and ran ahead of them.

“You fools!” he shouted back with a laugh as he placed the golden claw into the keyhole, “I found the treasure, and I’m not sharing it with anyone!”

It would seem that karma had a way of catching up however, as the second Arvel turned the claw, he was pelted with poisoned darts from the walls encircling the doors. He gasped as the poison rushed through his veins, and fell to the floor. A second later, he was dead.

Fenora gave Stross an ‘I told you so’ glance.

Stross returned it with one of sullen acknowledgment.

Together they walked up and took the claw off the twice traitorous thief, and pondered how they themselves would get through the door. The dragonstone was surely on the other side after all.

“It’s probably these symbols on the door.” Stross spied the animal images on the rotating rings, “We probably need to put them in the right order just like the gate from before. If I adjust each one in by one rotation at a time, and use my magic to turn the claw from a safe distance, then by process of elimination I can-“

Once again, Fenora interrupted his ramblings. Quickly adjusting the panels to bear, moth, owl, she then turned the claw.

“Nnnnnnnoooooo!” Stross yelled dramatically and grabbed his elf friend, diving away from the door before the hail of darts could kill her.

Any second now…

Any… Second…

...Now?

Then, instead of the sound of tiny poisoned needles hitting stone, he heard the doors mechanisms grinding, and looked up to see the whole thing slide into the floor, allowing them to move forward.

“What the- How did you know?” Stross asked Fenora.

Fenora simply held up the claw, revealing the correct combination on the under-side.

“Oh… that’s a really obscure place to put a combination.” Stross said, “And really stupid. I mean, who puts the combination for a door on the key?”

“I don’t know Stross, but… could you maybe, get off me now?” Fenora asked, a blush spreading across her face.

Stross looked at the position they were in for a moment. Then he looked back at her with a cheeky grin, lowering himself on top of her, resting his chin just above her cleavage. “Hmm, I dunno. You’re really comfortable.”

“Stross,” Fenora began with a smile and cupped Stross’s cheek in her palm.

“Yeah?” he said dreamily.

Then Fenora grabbed his waist, gave a heave and flipped both of them over in a single motion. “I prefer to be on top.” She said and pecked his nose before getting up and walking through the door, leaving the changeling blushing furiously before he followed.

The main burial chamber was actually quite beautiful, if not also foreboding. Holes in the ceiling let daylight inside, and waterfalls rushed down the rocks surrounding a massive black wall. In front of this wall was an ornate metal coffin like many they’d seen in the tombs. Next to that… a chest.

This is naturally were they checked first, searching the chest and the nearby pedestals, both of them waiting for the coffin to burst open at any second like the ones they'd passed before. It never did, and to their disappointment the dragonstone was not there. Suddenly regretting the fact that they hadn’t asked Farengar what the dragonstone even looked like, Stross and Fenora set about searching the rest of the chamber.

...

“What the ‘Blivion did we miss?!” Fenora yelled up to the sky peeking down through the rocks. She’d found nothing but two additional chests behind the waterfalls, each containing more minor loot, but nothing that looked even remotely like a dragonstone.

“I dunno, but check out what I can do!” Stross said from the table where he sat swinging his legs over the edge.

He raised his hand and a small plume of flame ignited between his fingers. He’d found a spell tome inside the big chest and decided to flip through a page or two, finding out shortly after that there were only two pages to read.

“I always thought that learning new spells was supposed to be hard. But those unicorns in Equestria were totally wrong! I just had to get the basic concept and play around with it a little until it worked!” Stross said as he happily juggled a trio of tiny fireballs.

“Stross, that’s great… but I really don’t care.” Fenora said. She laid down on the floor and spread her arms and legs out with a sigh, “What do you think we should do?”

“You’re asking me?” Stross gave her a quizzical look.

“Well you’re the one that insisted we not leave Skyrim until they were made perfectly aware of their imminent demise by dragon. So yes, I’m asking you. What are we supposed to do?”

Stross hummed thoughtfully for a moment. “We could try and convince the Jarl to let us take just one… or maybe two of his guards back to what’s left of Helgen so that they can see that it’s really gone.” Stross suggested, but quickly shook his head, “But that still wouldn’t prove that a dragon did it.

“Hadvar and Ralof were there when it happened. But I’m not sure if Balgruuf would believe them since they’re both part of that whole rebellion thing; he might even think it’s some kind of trick to make him choose a side. They might not even be able to make it all the way to Whiterun without breaking into a fight anyway.”

Stross parked his train of thought for a moment and looked at Fenora. “I’m throwing ideas to see if they stick. Feel free to join in any time.”

“Sorry,” Fenora apologized, “I just can’t think with all this stupid chanting.”

“What chanting?” Stross asked and hopped down from the table.

“Are you joking right now? How can you not hear that, it’s like there’s a choir in here or something.” Fenora told him, getting up as well.

Fenora noticed it before, but it had been quiet at first. Now though, it sounded like a dozen someones were chanting right into her ear, over and over. Now that she was trying to find the source of it, she found it grew steadily louder and clearer as she approached the massive black wall in the center of the room.

“Do you hear it now?” she asked as she approached it.

“No… nothing.” Stross said as he followed her up to it.

Fenora looked at the numerous scratches on the wall, and realized that they weren’t damage, they were too uniform for that… too carefully scratched in rows.

“Looks like something’s written here.” Stross said, realizing it too. “Do you know what any of this says.”

“I’ve never seen writing quite like this before. It’s all kind of… kind of-“

Fenora seemed to pass into a trance as she stared at the wall. The scribbles carved into it were entirely foreign to her, and yet it all seemed to make perfect sense. She couldn’t read it, but somehow she knew exactly what was written.

“Here lies the guardian, keeper of dragonstone and a force of unending rage and darkness.” she said in an even monotone, “Force... force” she lingered on the word as the others became shrouded from her view. That one word, ‘force’ seemed to glow now, staying with her… resonating with her. It was only when Stross finally spoke up that she snapped out of her trance.

“Here lies the keeper of the dragonstone? Wait, does that mean what I think it-“

It seemed the universe wanted to confirm the changeling’s suspicions in the most dramatic way it could. Because before he could finish, the solid metal coffin behind them was blown apart from the inside, and from it stepped a heavily armored draugr with a glowing sword.

“Oh shi-“

“Fus Ro Dah!” it shouted, and its voice became a wave of Unrelenting Force that slammed into Stross like a train, blasting him off his feet and into the word wall.

“Stross!” Fenora yelled only to be blindsided by the draugr while she was distracted.

The sword bit into her side, but rather than the warm flow of blood, she felt an icy tingle.

Grabbing the draugr’s sword arm with one hand and its shield arm in the other, Fenora kicked it hard in the stomach. Doing this, she managed to get it away without causing further damage to herself. Still, the freezing wound was already bleeding down her side, and when the draugr recovered, she saw why.

“Enchanted weapons huh? That’s all I need right now.” She muttered and drew her own blade.

“Fus…” the draugr began, and Fenora dived to the side as the last two syllables left its mouth in the same rippling shockwave as before.

Seizing the opportunity, she rushed forward and swung her blade in a full arch that smashed against the draugr’s shield, and another that came down on its helmeted head while it was staggered. Her attacks were strong, but her large blade couldn't get into the weak points of its armor.

When it came time for the undead warrior’s counterattack she brought her sword back and blocked the strike. But still she could feel the chill of the enchanted sword channeling its cold through the metal of her own, and her fingers started to feel numb.

“Bolog Aaz, Mal Lir!” the draugr shouted as it battered against Fenora’s defense, with more and more magic frost cutting through to her with each strike. “Qiilaan Us Dilon!”

Just as she felt she was going to break, a wave of flame swept over the draugr, giving her time to retreat.

“Get away from her you Dawn of the Dead reject!” Stross screamed as he blasted more flames from his hands.

The draugr raised its shield and pushed through the sheet of flame, meeting fire with ice as it swung its enchanted steel and smacked Stross’s hands away, canceling the spell. Raising its sword over its head, it prepared a killing blow.

Fenora wouldn’t give it the chance however, and with a wild swing she slashed the tip of her own sword along its back.

Both heroes retreated a safe distance as the draugr’s dead eyes swapped between the two of them, choosing who to go after first.

“Stross we need to take him together!” Fenora called to her changeling ally, “You distract him, and I’ll finish him off.”

“What? That thing will kill me!” Stross objected, “You tank his hits and I’ll whittle him down with my flames.”

“Tank his- NO! I’ve already gotten hit, it’s your turn!” Fenora argued, pointing to the wound on her side.

“But I’m a delicate flower! And you’re like, um… you’re like a tree… or something.” Stross stuttered. “Be my meat-shield.”

The draugr, who’d had quite enough of their exchange, decided to interject.

“Fus ro DAH!” it roared and set Fenora cartwheeling through the air and into one of the shallow fissures running the perimeter around its tomb.

“AHH! The meat-shield has failed!” Stross screamed and began casting flames at the draugr as it charged at him. “Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO get away from me!”

The draugr was on top of him in less than a second, and raised its sword again with a menacing growl.

“Nope.” Stross cut his flame spell and leapt away, “Nu-hu-hu-hurr! Woop woop woop!” he screamed as he ran in circles with the draugr’s sword slashing at his heels.

“Ow...” Fenora groaned, managing to get up after getting her ass knocked into a ditch. “What’s going-“

“Tag! You’re it!” Stross said as he jumped the gap, letting the draugr fall in with Fenora.

“Geh tiin sih kov diss!” it retched through its rotting teeth while Fenora scrambled away and climbed out of its reach.

This back and forth continued for quite some time; Fen and Stross would hit and run, only to lead the relentless undead warrior into the other. During it all, neither our heroes nor their foe were able to gain the advantage for more than a few short seconds, and thus the chase, hit, and run tactics would begin all over again.

“Okay Fen, I’ve got a plan. But it’s pretty risky.” Stross said as they finally managed to regroup.

“As long as it doesn't involve me making a heroic sacrifice, I’ll take just about anything at this point.” Fenora admitted, huffing for breath.

“Okay, just wait for my mark.” Stross said as the draugr managed to get a foothold and pull itself up over the edge towards them like it had several times before. “Wait for it…” he said as the draugr got out and lifted its weapons, banging them together in a show of challenge. “Wait for iiiiiiiit...” Stross readied a flashbang.

The draugr let out a battlecry and dashed forwards.

“Now!” Stross threw the flashbang at the draugr’s face, and like last time it let out a soft ‘pop’ as the beams of light began melting away its eyes and face like hot wax. “Fen, go for its legs!”

Fenora complied, charging forward and ducking low under the draugr’s blind swings. She swung the weight of her sword at its unarmored thigh and managed to completely sever the limb as she made her pass.

Now blind, hopping around on its remaining leg, and still swinging its shield and sword, the draugr was left wide open to another hit from Fenora. The elf swung her greatsword as hard as she could, causing a massive dent in its armor and the draugr stumbled forwards, pirouetting as it tried to regain its balance.

“Fus...” it began its shout again.

But Fenora was too quick and gave it a swift blow to the face with the pommel of her sword, redirecting its thu’um and sending it to the floor.

By some miracle of luck, its sword arm twisted around during the fall, and the blade ended up cutting through its owner’s neck all the way to the bone. With a final few jerks, the draugr finally died for good.

Fenora stood over her recorpseified enemy and smirked. “I can’t believe that worked. Good plan Stross! Stross?” she looked around for her friend.

“Is it dead?” the changeling in question called from outside the large hole in the ceiling, “Wow! I didn’t think you were actually going to finish it, I thought we were just going to cripple it and run away!” he admitted, “But that’s awesome that you won. You rock!”

Fenora couldn’t help but be a little annoyed at how he’d abandoned her in the middle of the fight, but he did have a point. She did indeed rock. And speaking of rocks…

“We’ve finally got it.” Fenora said with a smile and held the Dragonstone up to the light of the sun as they walked down the side of the mountain back towards Riverwood. It was a lot of trouble, but the good news was that with this in their hands they could finally convince the Jarl that his people were in danger, and having done all they were obligated to do, finally get the heck out of Dodge… er, Skyrim. Dodge-rim.

“And might I add that you, my little changeling, are completely worthless in a fight.” She said to Stross who had been happily skipping alongside her until then. “I mean you tried to use me as a meat-shield for Shor’s sake.”

Stross took a breath and raised a hand to make a snappy comeback, but then he actually thought about it for a second. “I won’t argue that point, nor will I say that I have secret mad fighting skillz.” He said nodding smartly, “But I will say that in Equestria we don’t have to deal with bandits and magic zombies. All I have to do to survive is mingle with the friendly ponies and convince any suspicious guards that I’m just your average, friendly, not-evil good-pony’.”

“And what about the times when they don’t believe you?” Fenora asked, “Don’t tell me you’ve never had to fight your way out of a situation.

“Well… okay. Maybe I haven’t been able to talk my way out of every situation. But a quick flashbang or solid kick to the reproductive organs is usually enough to let me get away, swap disguises, and hide in plain sight until the danger’s passed.”

Fenora winced at the mention of kicks to the genitals, but they kept walking anyway.

Once they found themselves on a familiar trail, Fenora decided to ask, “So how’d you end up here anyway?”

“Teleportation.” Stross answered.

“Oh? That's kinda neat. Any particular reason you decided to come to Skyrim, as opposed to, oh I don’t know… literally anywhere else?” Fenora asked.

“I wasn’t really able to focus at the time.” Stross answered, “Lots of guards…. I'm a big scary changeling... You can guess how that song and dance goes." he said with a sigh. "So what were you doing in Skyrim? Before those Imperials got to us I mean.”

“I was going home after visiting a friend in Elsweyr.” Fenora told him simply.

Stross waited for her to continue, then cocked his head to the side. “That’s it?”

“Does there have to be more?” she said, a bit of irritation creeping in to her voice.

“No but… hrmm.” Stross muttered as he backed off. It seemed so underwhelming. He’d just found out about another changeling’s conspiracy and cracked it wide open, only to be hunted all morning by a town full of guards, teleporting to safety at the last minute.

Fenora… was just walkin’ along minding her own business, and got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time? That isn’t dramatic or exciting. Heroes were supposed to have exciting backstories!

Right?

When they reached the outskirts of Riverwood, Fenora suggested they go to Lucan’s shop first.

“Yeah, he’s going to want this back.” Stross said and waved the golden claw, “And he’ll want to know that his sister’s okay too. It's nice to know you care about these people enough to check on them.”

“Actually I just wanted to sell off some of this junk I collected from those bandits.” She said, lightly jostling her newly reinforced pack.

Stross gave her a small frown.

“But yeah. What you said is good too.”

Making their way to the Riverwood trader, Fenora entered first.

Stross lingered outside for a second however, realizing how quiet it was even for a small town like Riverwood. He felt eyes watching him, and he looked around to see a pair of townspeople staring at him from behind the corner of a house. When they noticed him staring back, they quickly moved out of sight.

From one doorway, one of the village children poked their head out and tried to get a better look, but was hastily taken pulled back inside.
That didn’t sit well with Stross, he knew the looks in their eyes, the sneaky behavior. They were the kind he would receive in Equestria right before all Tartarus broke loose.

Stross was suddenly aware that he no longer had his cape to hide himself with. But it was okay, right? No one in Skyrim no one knew what a changeling was, save for Fenora, and she hadn’t had time to tell anyone.

The door to the inn creaked open. A hand stuck out and beckoned him to come over. "Hey, you. Over here! Quick!" it whispered.

Despite the bad feeling in his gut, Stross felt his curiosity getting the better of him, and he walked to the inn, checking behind and him every other step.

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped inside, activating his changeling senses as he did. The only other person in the inn was a large man with a stony expression cleaning mugs behind the counter.

“Hey buddy, did you see anyone come in here?” Stross called over to him.

“Uh-huh.” The man replied in a deep murmur.

“Well do you know where- Grrm! Rur-fu-mrrph!“

Stross wasn’t able to finish before he was wrapped up, hit once over the head, picked up and carried off with a swiftness he would have thought impossible.

“Standin' right behind ya with a bedsheet.” He heard the man behind the counter deadpan.

Inside the Riverwood Trader, Fenora had just finished returning the claw to Lucan.

“Hah, well I’ll be there it is! Strange, heh… it seems smaller for some reason.” Lucan said with several small chuckles as he placed it back on his countertop, overjoyed to have it back.

“That might be because of your eye.” Fenora pointed to the large bruise on Lucan’s left eye, “What happened?”

“Oh you mean this.” Lucan laughed, “It was when Camilla returned with Faendal and Sven. I made the mistake of asking about the claw before I asked if she was alright.”

“And now you won’t forget it!” came Camilla’s voice from upstairs.

“Think she'd be glad just to be rescued.” Lucan grumbled in response. “None the less, I owe you a debt of gratitude. I’ve got some money from the last shipment, and I think you’ve more than earned it.” he said and passed Fenora a bag containing a few hundred septims at least.

“I’ve also got some things I want to sell to you if you’re interested.” Fenora said and unrolled her pack onto the counter.

Lucan looked over the contents with his non-swollen eye; inside were at least twelve draugr swords, twice as many daggers, five bows with a hundred or more matching arrows, six shields, a set of old leather armor, half a pantry’s worth of mildly charred vegetables, twenty rolls of linen strips, and even a couple metal ingots. All in all it must have been at least twice her own weight.

“So how much can you give me for these quality wares?” she asked.

“Well I don’t have too much of a market for weapons, you see.” Lucan answered slowly, his eye wandering over the assortment of junk, “Plus these look pretty used.” He picked up one of the daggers, noticing the nicks in the edge, “And those look like burial weapons to me.”

Fenora raised a scrutinizing brow.

“Let’s say… a hundred and sixty septims.” Lucan offered.

But before Fenora could haggle with him, Camilla shouted down from the stairs, “Lucan Valerius, your sister would be dead right now if weren’t for her! Give her a fair deal!”

“Oh all right. I guess you have done a lot for us too.” Lucan groaned, “I’ll take this stuff off your hands for three hundred gold, but I really can’t offer any more. Most of these swords will probably be melted down by Alvor to make new sawblades for the mill anyway.”

“Good enough.” Fenora said and made the trade, “By the way, do you have any healing potions? This is starting to get sore.” She said and pulled open her shirt to reveal the bloody linen wrap around her waist.

Lucan rubbed his neck and let out an awkward chuckle, “Heh, about that… the thing is, we had a few in stock, but once Camilla came back with Faendal and Sven and we saw the condition they were in, we kind of…”

Fenora sighed. “No, it’s alright, I can deal with this. I’ll just keep a couple of these linen wraps until I can get fixed for real.” Then she thought of something. “Do you have any tundra cotton?”

“Actually, I do.” Lucan said and pulled several handfuls of the fluffy white flowers from the shelf, “It’s left over from a shipment of fabrics I got a while back. It’s yours for five septims if you really want it.”

Fenora took a few pieces in her fingers. She’d read in a book once that tundra cotton, a hardy and stubborn growing plant found only in frigid climates, was often spun into thread to make clothes. It was also great at absorbing liquids, and might make her improvised bandages a little more substantial.

“Perfect. And there’s one other thing I’d like to buy…”

Fenora walked out of the Riverwood trader, happy that her pack was significantly lighter, and her purse fuller than when she entered. With well over five hundred septims, she was confident she had enough to make the trip out of Skyrim once they gave Farengar his slab of rock. She even had enough left over to buy a little something special.

She held the cloak and robe she’d bought for Stross out in front of her, examining it before folding it up and hiding it in her pack for a surprise. It was grey like the one he’d found in the wagon, only a much lighter hue, and she hoped he’d like it.

Fenora didn’t really know what to make of Stross, but she guessed he was alright. The fact that he lost his mind and tried to kill her was kind of a turn off, and she’d have to find out more about it later, but otherwise he seemed helpful... nice. He might have forced her through more than she wanted, but he had stuck with her through it. Maybe if she offered, he’d come along with her to High Rock. It’d be nice to have some company in considering… No. No she didn’t want to think about it.

She was about to wonder where the changeling had gotten to, when she saw the townspeople milling around outside the inn, talking in hushed whispers to themselves.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” she asked, poking one man in the shoulder.

“Shh!” he quickly hushed her and turned his fearful eyes back to the inn door. “There’s a monster in th’ inn. We saw it come into town right behind you, and we hid. The next thing we know it wanders in there, and then… nothing! We’re all too scared to go in there. But we’ve got to do something! Who knows what it’s going to do to us once it- Hey! Where are you going!? Are you crazy?!”

“Calm down, all of you. I’ll take care of this.” Fenora told the crowd sternly as she kicked the door open, walked in and slammed it in the stunned villagers’ faces. “Honestly.” She scoffed.

Fenora looked around at the inside of the inn, searching for Stross, but she didn’t see him at any of the tables.

She walked up to the man behind the counter as he idly flipped through the pages of his book. “Hey, have you seen anyone come in here lately? Black scales, big blue eyes?”

“Mh-hrmm.” The man grunted in reply.

Just then a series of knocks came from the door to her right.

The man slowly looked up from his book and at the door, then to Fenora. “He’s in there.” he said and returned to reading.

Fenora was skeptical, but walked over to the door and found it unlocked.

Orgnar sighed at the things he had to put up with from time to time. He’d told everyone that he was just the cook. But it never seemed to matter.

To say that Stross was terrified would be a bit of an understatement. He was tied to a chair, still wrapped in the bedsheet used by whoever absconded with him, and it acted as a decent blindfold. He couldn’t see a thing, and each time he tried to use his magic to escape he was smacked with what he guessed was a frying pan.

For the past few minutes a deep reverberating voice had asked him questions hard and fast, and they were so vague as to what they wanted to know that he didn’t even know how to truthfully answer.

“Were you in Helgen when it burned down?”

Yes.

“Was it a dragon that destroyed the town?”

Yes, a big black one that made it rain fire.

“And you were in Bleak falls?”

Yes.

“What were you there for?”

We went up there to save Camilla from a group of bandits.

“AND???”

And to find a dragonstone for Farengar. We need it so he can prove-

“I don’t care. Where is it now?”

Why do you want it?

*Clang* “I ask the questions. Where?”

“I don’t have it!”

*Spang* “I know you don’t have it. Where!?”

What are you going to do with-

*Clang**Clang**Clong* “Tell! Me! Where!?”

Fenora has it! She held onto it since we got it! Please stop!

To his relief, whoever was doing the interrogation had stopped hitting him, and simply pulled a piece of cloth tightly around his mouth, gagging him. But now he was worried about what would happen to Fenora. He wished he hadn’t caved and given her up so quickly, and shuddered at the thought of her getting beaten right next to him.

He can’t believe he missed Equestria’s prisons. By comparison, their interrogations felt like a soothing massage while the guards fed him chocolate.

Past the thundering of ichor rushing through his head, he could hear sounds in the distance, but couldn’t make them out. It sounded like people talking, but he couldn’t hear what was said.

But someone in the room with him could, and knocked a few times on the wall, letting the wooden sound ring out between each knock.

The sound of a door getting kicked open reached his ears, followed by a familiar voice he was overjoyed to hear.

“Stross! Gods, what happened?! I left for five minutes!” Fenora gasped as she rushed over to the small figure bundled in a sheet made filthy with wet black stains. She tore open the cloth where his horn had punched a little hole through and looked into his tear-filled blue eyes. “Stross…”

Stross’s eyes darted off over her shoulder though, and she whipped around to see a man in all-enclosing black platemail. He slammed the door shut behind her and blocked the way with his hulking armored form.

“You! Why did you do this?” Fenora demanded as she drew the draugr frost sword.

“Don’t even think about it.” the tinny voice of the warrior came from inside his helmet as he drew his mace and patted it against his free hand. “The dragonstone… give it to me.”

“Drrn drr rrt!” Stross loudly mumbled around his gag.

“And why should I give you it?” Fenora challenged, “I’ll have you know I went through a lot of shit to get that rock.”

“And it shows.” The man answered slowly. “That doesn’t look too healthy. A cut like that must hurt when you move.” He said pointed to the bandage on her side, making his implication clear. In the small space the room provided, she’d be at a disadvantage due to her sword’s length. Couple that with her injury impeding her movements and the fact that her opponent was wearing a full suit of armor…

Still, Fenora didn’t back down, holding her sword in front of her defensively as she stood in front of Stross.

“You were in Helgen.” The man stated in his deep droning voice, taking Fenora slightly aback. “You saw what that monster did. Do you think you could stop it if it happened again?”

“What are you on about?” Fenora asked, losing her patience.

“What I’m ‘on about’… is that you’re an outsider who’s in over her head.” The metal-clad man told her, “The dragons are coming... returning to Skyrim, and I intend to find out why. For that, I need the dragonstone. You have it. Turn it over. See the inscription?”

Fenora let her pack strap slide off her shoulder, her eyes not leaving the armored man, and she rummaged through the remaining contents until she found the dragonstone. Turning it over, she indeed found a short passage scratched into it in the same kind of lettering as the chanting wall.

“Here lie our fallen lords until-“ Fenora read the words without actually ‘reading’ the words.

“Until the power of Alduin revives.” The man finished, “Alduin. The world eater. Prophesized to bring about the end of men and mer alike. Hundreds of years ago an ancient order of dragon slayers killed off the last of his kind. The dragons aren’t just coming back,” the man said in an even grimmer tone, “they’re coming back… to life. That dragonstone is supposed to have every ancient dragon burial site marked on it, a source more reliable than any other that exists. I need that map.”

“And I need to bring it to Farengar so he can prove to Whiterun that even half of what you just said is true.” Fenora shot back.

“Farengar is an associate of mine, we seem to share a common interest. I’ll pass the news on to him once I’ve done my job.”

“And why should I trust you after what you did to my friend?” Fenora said and gestured to Stross, still covered in splatters of his own blood.

“You mean your dremora servant?” the man asked.

“No…” Fenora grit her teeth, “I mean my friend. My not evil, nice person, non-monster friend.”

The man shifted in his armor to look at Stross, then at Fenora, then back at Stross.

“Oh…” he muttered “Sorry. I thought he was some creature from the planes of Oblivion, conjured or bound to you.” he shifted awkwardly. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen it.”

Fenora frowned harder at him.

“Wait here.” he said and left the room.

While he was gone, Fenora got to work untying Stross the rest of the way, and he practically glommed onto her the second he was free.

“I’m sorry.” The changeling cried into her shoulder, “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Shh, it’s alright Vennik, it’s alright.” Fenora hushed him.

“Vennik?” Stross asked, and felt Fenora’s breath hitch.

Before either could say anything else though, the armored man came back in with a pair of large red bottles hanging from a string in his fist. “Here,” he said and held them out, “this should help the two of you.”

Fenora took one and uncorked it, giving the content’s a sniff. It smelled correct for a health potion, or at least, she knew it wasn’t anything poisonous.

“I still want the dragonstone.” The armored man reminded her.

“Wait.” Stross interrupted them, “You just need the dragonstone for the map on the front right?” he asked, and the armored man nodded. “I think I’ve got a solution.”

Fenora and Stross made their way out of Riverwood as quickly as they could. Stross could still feel eyes on his back as Fenora helped him to not fall on his face. They stopped at the banks of the river, just a little ways from the bridge overlooking the Whiterun planes. It was here that Fenora decided it safe to apply the potions they’d received from the mysterious armored thug.

“That was some quick thinking back there Stross. Pretty impressive drawing skills too.” Fenora complimented as she shifted the dragonstone in her pack aside to get at the glass bottles.

“Really? I mean, I do it a little now and then, but it’s nothing too special.” Stross said sheepishly.

“Stross, you drew it using your mouth. That’s pretty impressive.” Fenora told him, “Are you… talented in doing anything else with your mouth?” she asked, averting her eyes slightly.

Stross stared at her for a moment. “What?” he quacked.

“Nothing!” Fenora said hastily, “Just come here and kneel down for a second.”

“What!?” Stross yelled louder and scampered backwards.

Fenora rolled her eyes. “So I can heal you?”

“Oh…” Stross said and did as she told him.

Fenora had two pieces of linen wrap ready, one to clean off the blood and another to apply the potion. She’d already soaked a small area of the stiff fabric with the red-tinted fluid, and used the river water to wet the other. But when she used the wet one to clean off his shell she found that the gashes were already closed, and the bruises and cracks that had formed on his shell were gone.

“How the…? Stross, you’re already healed again.” She whispered.

This seemed to scare Stross even more though.

“What?” Fenora asked, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Of course not! Changeling bodies heal by using the soul energy they’ve stored to repair themselves. You see this?!” Stross shoved his hand into her face so she could see the teeny-tiny holes appearing on his shell’s outer layer. “This is what happens to us when we run out! Our bodies start cannibalizing themselves to repair essential organs using nonessential parts like our hooves- er… hands now.”

Then Stross remembered the sword Fenora had pulled out of him.

“Oh by the Fallen! That hole in my chest must have taken days worth of energy out of me!” he said and grasped his head as he panicked. He then turned to Fenora with a hungry glint in his eyes, and she backed up slightly.

Despite how she put her arms up to shield herself, Stross lunged for her...

...and pulled her into a crushingly snuggly hug. “Fenora, can I feed of you so I don’t die?” he asked sweetly and rubbed his cheek against hers.

“NO!” Fenora yelled and kicked him off. She remembered exactly why she’d had to impale him in the first place. That feeling like she was being sucked into a frozen abyss, the feeling of despair, and the fear etched onto the faces of the bandits he’d eaten. She was NOT going to end up like that! Even for… for…

Ah mammoth crap.

“B-but. Fen…” Stross said, lying where he’d landed from her kick. His lip quivered and tears started welling up in his big blue eyes. “I… I’ll starve to death. Don’t you like me? I thought we were friends.” He said and the tears started spilling down his cheeks. “I don’t want to wither away!”

Fenora knelt down by him and helped him to stand. “Stross. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” she began, but didn’t know what else to say.

She let out a long sigh, knowing that if her changeling was sad, she might as well get it all out of the way at once.

“Stross, you’re going to be just fine.” she said, and stopped him from interrupting until she finished. “How much do you need to feed on someone to stay healthy for… let’s say one day?”

Stross thought about it. Feeding wasn’t exactly a science, and was hardly consistent. But if he had to take an educated guess, “About enough to make whoever I feed off of really tired for twice that long. Or…” he added slowly, “enough to make them get tired a tiny bit faster… for the rest of their lives. Souls give off a lot of energy, but they take a really…. really long to recover when damaged.”

Fenora nodded. “And what about souls themselves? What if you just, I dunno… swallowed the whole thing?” she asked, hoping to build up to revealing the truth about the bandits at Bleak Falls.

Stross gave her a terrified look, like she’d just suggested mass slaughter, or baby-eating… or mass slaughter followed by baby-eating.

“F-Fallen… by the Fallen, I’d never do something so horrible! To anypony! No matter how close I was to withering. What kind of changeling do you think I am?!” he shouted.

Fenora really didn’t know. She’d only ever met one after all.

“So it’s pretty bad then. But… how much would you get, just hypothetically speaking?”

Stross forced himself to calm down before answering. “I wouldn’t know for sure. I’ve never done it. But the soul is what produces the energy we changelings feed off of, so in theory if we… ate it… we’d get everything it could produce. All of it at once.”

“And I’m guessing that’s a lot.”

“More than a lot.” Stross said grimly, “There’s a reason why the Grim Reaver hive was so powerful before they were destroyed. Most changelings will try to leave their victims alive after they’re done sucking them dry, it only makes sense; dead ponies don’t have anything left to leech. But the Grim Reavers would take their victim’s souls, and their influence reached further and further as they grew stronger and stronger, scouring Equestria for more souls to eat until they weren’t even changelings anymore. They were like demons.”

“You said 'was'. Something took them all out?” Fenora asked.

“Yeah. I don’t know exactly what.” Stross admitted. “Some stories say that Princess Celestia descended on them like a righteous pillar of light, and cleansed the world of their presence with her sun fire in a single afternoon. Others say that it was a long and bloody war where Unicorn archmages and Earth-pony alchemists made a poison to wipe them out, and the Pegasi made it rain acid or something. Either way I’m glad they’re long gone.”

“So what hive were you from?” Fenora asked, and at the quizzical look he gave in return she clarified, “You said it like this Grim Reaver hive was just one, so are there others?”

“Well yeah! And we’re normally called factions now; modern term.” Stross said, “I was actually a part of Queen Heartsong’s faction. She was wonderful. She wanted her changelings to be more like ponies, to care about them as much as we tricked them into caring about us. It was her that taught me how to make my own disguises instead of taking the form of somepony else.”

Then Stross’s smile faded. “And then she left us. We were a small faction, most of us split off from another hive. It made her sad that so many of us shunned her teachings, and so she just vanished one day. The rest of us split up after that. I never saw any of them again.”

Fenora pulled him into a careful hug. “So she led a faction of good tricky-evil-changelings.” She said with a small chuckle, and Stross smiled along with her. “And you’d never do that soul-eating thing on me, would you?”

Stross shook his head. “Never.”

“Let me know whenever you get hungry. I’ll see what I can do for you.” Fenora told him and kiss his forehead. She was such a softie. And it was going to be a crapstorm when she actually managed to tell him what happened in the barrow. But for now Stross closed his eyes and hugged her back.

He pressed his cheek against her shoulder, skimming a little of her soul-juice while it was available.

“Ow!” he heard her cry out, and his eyes shot open. But he was surprised when he saw her cringing and clutching her side.

“Don’t… hug there ‘till I get this fixed. Kay?” she said as she began pulling off the old bandages.

“Oh, right.” he chuckled, relieved that everything was alright.

Everything was going to be just fine.

Enter the dragonborn

“No Stross, everything is not okay!” Fenora yelled at the top of her lungs, rounding on him.

Ever since they got back to Whiterun, things had gone to Tartarus one step at a time.

===000===(Flashback time) *Whoosh!*===000===

The sun was hanging low over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a dull orange glow. Fenora and Stross were exhausted from all the walking around and dungeon delving, but the changeling kept an upbeat attitude for the both of them. He loved the new cloak that Fenora had gotten for him, something he’d be sure to use all the time lest they have a repeat of Riverwood.

As they approached the city gates though, they noticed a number of people milling about outside. There were only about a dozen or so, but these weren’t guards or townspeople; they were injured travelers and even soldiers, each of them covered in a myriad of burns.

It was up at Dragonsreach that Fenora and Stross learned those people were survivors from Helgen, and all of them were claiming it was burned down by a dragon, just as our heroes had explained that morning. With the news of dragons spreading, and his people calling for action, Jarl Balgruuf was unable to deny the truth of it any longer. He had already sent his guards out to patrol the borders of Whiterun hold, and to the smaller towns in case of an attack. Though this essentially meant that Fenora and Stross had wasted their time retrieving the dragonstone. Something that Fenora was none too happy about.

But before she could voice her displeasure (by letting her fists do the talking), there was more bad news to be had.

“Everyone, come quickly. There’s been an urgent development.” Irileth beckoned to them from a set of stairs. “You two come as well, we’ll need your help.”

Jarl Balgruuf and Proventus followed her up, and seeing as how they had little choice in the matter, Fenora and Stross went as well. They all gathered in the war room, where an injured guard was barely able to stand at attention.

“We’ve just got news that the dragon was spotted near the western watchtower.” Irileth told them and addressed the guard. “Go ahead, just tell them what you told me.” she said with a slight tenderness that seemed unlike her until then.

“We saw it coming from the south. It was fast-... faster than anything I’d ever seen in my life. One second it was just circling overhead, and then-” the man suddenly broke into a coughing fit. “Fire! It turned the whole tower into a damned chimney. Everything was on fire… so I ran.” A bit of shame washed over his features. “I ran so fast and I still thought I was done for. I have no idea why it didn’t come after me.”

Balgruuf scowled and leaned on the table. “It let you escape to send us a message.” He muttered, “Well if it thinks it can scare us, it won't work! I won’t just stand by while this menace burns my hold and slaughters my people.” Balgruuf pounded his fist on the table again for emphasis “Irileth, prepare a squad, have them ready for battle!

“And you.” he turned to the guard who was clearly on his last legs, “You’ve done well to bring us this news. Get to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Now… you two,” he turned to Stross and Fenora, his features relaxing slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before, but we need your help more than ever now. I know it’s a lot to ask of anyone, but you were at Helgen, so you have the most experience dealing with dragons. I want you to accompany Irileth and her men and help them fight this dragon. Kill it before it reaches the city if you can. Understand that you’d be doing us a great service, and we’d be forever grateful for your help.”

Stross found himself in a state of mild shock. He wasn’t sure if such a thing was common in the world he found himself in now, but on Equus the term ‘Dragon Hunter’ was synonymous with ‘suicidal idiot’. Still, unending gratitude sounded pretty tasty.

He was going to ask Fenora about it, but when he looked at her, he was even more conscerned to see the manic grin stretching across her face. And then the bosmer laughed. This laugh wasn’t lighthearted or even sarcastic. It started as a small, nearly inaudible chuckle, but built quickly until it echoed through the wooden halls of the palace.

With every eye on her, Proventus backing up fearfully and Irileth nearly drawing her sword, Fenora’s laughter finally petered out, and her manic smile settled into a smirk.

“Nope.” She said simple before preforming an about-face and walking out on them.

Everyone else just stood there dumbfounded.

“I- uh… hold on a sec- I just.” Stross sputtered, “You guys do your thing, I’ll be back in a minute- Fen! Wait up!”

And with that he chased after the disappearing flap of her coat as she strode out the front doors of Dragonsreach.

===000===(End Flashback)===

“Okay… granted… maybe fighting a dragon is asking a little too much from us.” Stross admitted while he twiddled his thumbs. “But we have to- I mean… we could try and help them. I mean you saw what that one did at Helgen. They’re all going to die if we don’t.”

Fenora gave him a deadpan stare as they stood on the stone steps leading up to the palace. Or in her case, away.

“Stross, you’ve guilted me into helping them one time, but even I have limits. We haven’t done nothing. We got this stupid dragonstone for Farengar, and it turns out we didn’t even need to." Fenora said and held up the dragonstone before dropping it on the ground at her feet. “We tried to help them already. Now it's time for them to help themselves, because I’m done. This is where I draw the line, alright? Fighting dragons is where I draw the line!”

She turned to leave, but Stross dashed over and grabbed her wrist. “You can’t go!”

“Why not?!” she snapped and pulled free.

“Because I don’t want you to!” Stross cried, “Don’t you get it? I’m all alone without you! Equestria is gone, and Skyrim is… Skyrim is cold. I know you want to leave, because you have a home to go back to. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to mine. Right now this is all I have.” his eyes looked into hers from under his hood, “You’re all I have. Please don’t leave me. Stay with me?”

“Stross,” Fenora moved closer and put a soft hand on his shoulder. “You could come with me. We’d go together and live on my farm in High Rock.”

Stross closed his eyes. He wanted to. It sounded nice, like something he could be comfortable and content with for a really long time. He really wanted to.

He sniffed back a few tears and pulled Fenora into a hug. “I’m sorry. But I just can’t.”

The words of the mysterious armored man, and the legend of Alduin rang in his mind.
“The dragons aren’t just coming back. They’re coming back… to life.”
“Alduin, bane of kings, ancient shadow unbound with a hunger to swallow the world.”

Stross could be sure that Skyrim would burn under the dragon’s assault, and it wouldn’t stop there. He could run away from it with Fenora and live a peaceful life… but how long would that last? One little changeling might not be able to do much against an army of dragons. But if he could provide even that last little push that held them back just a little longer- long enough for someone to do something…

“I have to try.”

Fenora let out a sigh. “Then you’ll have to try without me. Goodbye Stross. Warm sands.”

She pulled away from him gently, but Stross felt something inside him cry out in pain as she slipped out of his arms. She gave one last parting glance behind her before turning away for good.

Her shouting had drawn a lot of attention, Stross noticed, and a crowd of townspeople had gathered to watch the exchange. Fenora shouted for them to move out of her way, then gripped the hilt of her sword so they’d comply. Stross watched as she left, one of a dozen sets of eyes looking on as the bosmer abandoned them.

With a heavy metaphorical heart, Stross turned around and headed back to Dragonsreach. If Fenora wouldn’t be the hero these people needed, then he would.

“Alright, got all my panicking and crazy out. I’m ready to move when you are.” ‘Fenora’ announced as she came back to the war room. Stross believed that if he was going to charge into a fight, then the form of a beautiful elf warrior was better than his changeling body in the ‘not taking friendly fire’ category.

“Glad to hear it, we’ll need all the help we can get if we’re going to bring that monster down.” Irileth told her while she, Balgruuf, Farengar, and a woman in leather armor and a cowl debated over tactics.

“Remember Irileth, this isn’t a death or glory mission.” Balgruuf warned her like it was a bad habit of hers. “Drive it off if you can, but live to tell us about it. We need to know what we’re facing in case more show up.”

“Jarl Balgruuf, if I may be so bold,” Farengar put his hand on the table, unable to stay quiet any longer, “I must insist that I go with them as well; I value the chance to see an actual dragon, and will be able to learn much about their behavior from an actual encounter with one.”

“No,” Balgruuf told him, “I can’t afford to lose you out there; I need you to continue your research so we’ll know how to defend ourselves. I’m sure that if the situation warrants, we’ll be able to provide you with enough materials for your research. In the meantime, we have to learn how to defend ourselves against these *sigh* dragon attacks.”

“Face it Farengar, that dragon would rip you apart if it got its claws on you.” Irileth told him before he could retort, “And don’t worry, I’ll be back to tell you all about it once I have that dragon stuffed and mounted on a wall.”

Farengar sighed in defeat. “Well, I guess it’s back to the books. I envy your chance to see an actual dragon.” he told Fen-Stross.

“Well if it’s any consolation, I do have the dragonstone from Bleak Falls if you still want it.” Fen-Stross offered.

The woman in leather armor, who had previously stayed a silent observer was suddenly right on top of her, snatching the dragonstone from her grasp.

“Of course we still need it. Come Farengar, I need you to transcribe this map and have it ready for when I return.” The woman said and dragged the court wizard off.

“Right then, if you’re done switching clothes, you’re with me bosmer.” Irileth ordered, “I hope you’re as good at killing dragons as they say.”

“I dunno. How good do they say I am?”

At the main gate, a group of four guards had assembled in front of the barracks, though the only way you could tell them apart at a glance was by their different helmets.

“Alright men listen up, a dragon has been spotted!” Irileth called them to attention. “As soldiers of Whiterun, it’s our duty to stop it.”

The men began murmuring amongst themselves, and in his changeling vision, Stross could plainly see the worry surfacing in them. Bright patches of sickly green and yellow bubbled over the surface of their souls like cold pea soup.

“Shape up men! This dragon threatens our families and homes; could you call yourselves soldiers if you did nothing to stop it? Could you call yourselves Nords?” Irileth paced before them, “And think of this, the first dragon to be spotted in Skyrim since the end of the last age. We shall have the honor of slaying the beast, the triumph this day shall be ours!”

The whole time Irileth had been giving her rallying speech, Stross watched as the shifting mass of green was perforated by spots and streaks of bright red as their morale increased. By the end they were cheering and glowing bright, and Stross had a newfound respect for the housecarl.

“Forward men, let’s kill us a dragon!” Irileth shouted, and her men charged out the gates.

Fen-Stross held her back a moment once they were out of earshot and asked, “What about what Jarl Balgruuf said about this ‘not being a death or glory mission’ and ‘finding out what we’re up against’?”

“They don’t need to know that. Worst comes to worst and I’ll order a retreat.” Irileth told her, “I’ll hold that damned beast off myself if it means getting them home safely.”

When the group spotted their destination the sun was beginning to set, sending its orange rays across the ground and illuminating the smoldering wreckage that was Whiterun’s western watchtower. The walls had been reduced to rubble, and the training area was in shambles. Provisions and weapons lay scattered everywhere. The main tower itself had been decimated by flame, and there was the distinct smell of burning flesh in the air.

Irileth and her group stopped at a hill, getting a spectacular view of the destruction.

“Well, I don’t see a dragon here now. But it sure looks like he’s been here.” Irileth examined the tower and skies from a distance, “Alright men, let’s move out. Check for survivors, and watch the skies.”

The smell of burnt flesh only intensified the closer they got to the watchtower, and a couple of the men had to hold their noses in order to move forward at all. They immediately began calling out names, digging through the smoking debris and uncovering bodies scorched beyond recognition.

“Ahck, that stench!” one of the soldiers wrinkled his nose, “These poor sods got hit hard.”

“Does anyone remember if Froki or Torr were posted here?” another asked, and only received shrugs from the other three.

It was Irileth that spotted a guard’s body lying in the center of the wreckage, pinned down under an overturned wagon. She found he was alive, and called for help in moving the wagon off of him.

“Ackbar, speak to me. Are you alright? Did you see what happened to the dragon, where did it go?” she questioned once he was free.
He was weak though, and mumbled something illegible. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Ackbar grunted again.

“Didn’t quite catch that.”

He finally found the strength to shove her off him, “You’re kneeling on my chest!” he choked out, “Also… it’s a… trap.” He breathed his last, but the message was clear; they’d followed the lure and taken the bait.

The dragon that had destroyed the watchtower had been watching them the whole time, waiting not in the skies, but on the ground. It exploded out of the treeline to the south with a boost from its powerful wings, and landed in their midst with a thunderous crash that sent the guards staggering to their knees. It spotted Irilith and roared in her face, covering her in saliva and chewed-up bits of steel.

“Halt!” a guard passing on the road shouted as he ran up to the dragon’s maw with his sword drawn. “You’ve committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?”

The dragon squinted down at the mere mortal. “What do I say?” its mouth seemed to curl into a smile at this. Its eyes lit up as it spoke only three words: “Yol…TOOR-SHUL!”

A torrent of fire was released from its gaping mouth, showering the guard in a red-hot gout of flame. As the guard screamed and frantically rolled on the ground to try and put out his burning flesh, the dragon took to the sky and began to circle the area.

“Don’t just stand there, shoot it down!” Irileth ordered.

The soldiers drew their bows and began taking pot-shots at the dragon as it passed overhead. But between the streams of flame it shot along the ground and the sheer speed at which it flew, nearly all their shots missed, despite Irileth’s instructions to ‘make every arrow count’. Even those that hit their mark would simply bounce off the dragon’s hardened scales more often than not.

“This isn’t working!” Stross yelled as she stuck close to Irileth while the dragon took another pass. “What’s the plan?”

“We shoot at it until it lands. Then when it does we group up and hit it ‘till it dies.”

Stross blinked. “That’s a terrible plan!” she shouted over the torrent of flame that passed overhead.

“Do you have a better idea?” the houscarl countered. She pulled Stross out of the way just in time to dodge the dragon's diving attack and its talons raking across the ground. “I hate to admit this, but we’re completely outclassed, and it’s not as though we can just run away without that thing chasing us down like a hawk- Take cover as it flies overhead!” she shouted to her men, who took her advice just as they were about to get roasted.

Eventually, the dragon grew tired of the air game, realizing that it would have a bigger advantage on the ground. It touched down once more, shaking the ground on impact.

“Now is our chance, charge!” Irileth yelled as she drew her sword and ran headlong into battle.

“For Skyrim!”
“Fall to me dragon!”
“Never should have come here!”
“LEEEEROOOOOY JENKINS!” her guards shouted as they drew their hammers and maces and joined her.

Without a fighter's raw strength and no weapon to use, Stross could only stand back and watch as their tactic of ‘run up and start swinging’ failed miserably. One after another the soldiers were pimp-slapped through the air by the dragon’s tail.

[Mirmulnir used tail whip]

*Crunch* “My leg! Oh gods, it broke my le-” *Qu-wumph!*

[It’s super effective!][Whiterun Guard’s speed harshly fell]

“Ah, I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!” the dragon said as he slowly pressed down on a soldier trapped under his winged hand, slowly crushing the man to death. “Such easy prey. Your screams are my music.”

“Stop! Killing! My! Men!” Irileth yelled as she leapt up and furiously slashed her sword at the dragon’s face, aiming for its eyes and nose holes.

Her sword was sharp, but even with her strength it wasn’t enough to do more than scratch the surface, and after she’d gotten a few good swings in, Mirmulnir had had enough. Irileth let out a scream of pain as he chomped down on her sword arm, weapon and all, and lifted her off the ground.

“AAH! Let go of me!” Irileth shrieked as razor sharp teeth the size of knives tore into her flesh.

A glittering beam of magic splashed over the dragon’s face. Stross’s stun spell was no match for the dragon’s sheer size, but it served as a decent enough annoyance.

Mirmulnir whipped his neck and threw Irileth away before turning his full attention to the silver-haired elf standing defiantly before him.

“Yeah, how about you chew on someone your own si-… someone closer to your own relative size!” Stross taunted.

Mirmulnir stalked closer, making sure the ground shook with each tremendous step. He lowered his massive maw and snorted a puff of hot air into her face. “Mu los hin oblaan. (We are your end.) Quake in fear, tiny mortal filth. Your world shall burn. Pah fen saluk ful mu aal alok. (All will perish so we may arise.)”

“Burn this.” The elf said and threw a cone of flames from her outstretched palms.

Mirmulnir scoffed. He was a dragon; they were resistant to fire! That pitiful spellcraft mortals used in a mockery of his kind’s power was little more than a warm summer breeze to him.

“Yol…” he inhaled, ready to show an inferno only a dovah could produce, “TOOR SHUL!”

When the blindingly bright flames cleared, nothing remained but scorched earth, and Mirmulnir smirked victoriously.

Then something struck his side with a soft *pop* and suddenly it felt as though the fires of oblivion were burning through his scales. He fell to the ground and rolled trying to get it off, but the scalding light persisted. Out of the corner of his vision, the dragon saw something briefly before it flickered out of view.

Meanwhile, Stross was making good use of his invisibility to stay out of sight. Every time he got behind the dragon he’d fire one of his augmented flashbangs and then patch the hole made in his disguise. He couldn’t keep his invisibility in place while trying to channel that much magic through the gaps, and every time he had to fix it he felt himself use up another chunk of energy. Even the augmented flashbangs took a lot more out of him than the normal kind, but the melting effect seemed to be the only thing he had that could even hurt the dragon, so he was willing to sacrifice a bit for that if it meant getting Irileth and her men to safety.

Realizing that they were in no condition to fight, or even move at that point, Stross let another spell fly. This time though, he didn’t bother putting up his disguise again, instead he stood in plain sight as the dragon thrashed, and another hole was burned in its hide. He’d have to lure it away from the injured soldiers.

“Hey you big stupid lizard, over here!” Stross yelled, jumping and waving his arms over his head. “Come get me!”

You’d have to be pretty dumb to fall for a taunt like that. But Mirmulnir was too angry and blinded by pain and annoyance. A hurricane fanned from Mirmulnir’s wings he charged through the air at Stross, darting towards him faster than the hooded changeling expected.

The dragon slammed into Stross and took him through the air on the end of its muzzle. It came to a skidding halt in the fields a short distance from the watchtower and squinted its eyes at the bug that had splattered on his face.

“Yol…” it began and opened its mouth wide.

Stross took his one opportunity and threw a flash-melt into the dragon’s open maw.

Mirmulnir’s eyes went wide. The dragon thrashed and whipped its head and shot streams of fire into the air, roaring in anger and pain as its throat was disintegrated.

Stross tried to get some distance so he wasn’t caught in the dragon’s wild, pain induced flailing. But it wouldn’t allow it; if it was going to fall to a mere mortal, it would at least take that mortal with it!

It bounded the distance between itself and Stross with bloodlust burning in its eyes, becoming weaker as the cauterized hole in its throat made it slowly suffocate. What would have definitely been a threatening roar only came out as a loud, retching gurgle.

Giant claws smashed and carved at the ground as Stross backed up and the dragon struggled forward. A few got too close for comfort, and soon Stross’s back hit a wall. He turned his head and saw that he’d backpedaled all the way to the watchtower.

Mirmulnir reared his head and neck, ready to bite Stross in half before he had to bite the dirt.

In a stroke of inspiration triggered by imminent demise, an idea came to Stross: if he could overcharge his flashbang for a more powerful effect, then it should work for his other spells too.

The last time, his stun spell fizzled off the dragon’s hide… so what about flames?

He held out his hands and sent out the bright orange cone of fire, but focused in on them, channeling into the spell as much magika as he could as quickly as he could. He willed the flames to burn hotter, brighter, stronger, more intense!

The fire burned white, even burning the changeling’s hands as they flew. It became like liquid on contact, like white lava spewing from a volcano on the surface of the sun.

Mirmulnir was covered in the molten, sticky substance that burned through his scales and to the bone nearly in an instant. Unable to take any more, the massive beast collapsed to the ground. The burning white goop lost its color and evaporated into smoke, leaving only the charred bones of the dragon it had finished.

Stross breathed heavily and slid down with his back against the wall. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. It was incredible, and scary. He should have felt exhausted using up that much power so fast, but he didn’t. His vision blurred a couple times, but quickly refocused. He looked at his hands, burned and blistered from where his own spell had damaged him, but to his shock, they were already healing. The charred and cracked scales were either filling in, or falling off to reveal new, undamaged ones beneath. He was probably burning through his energy like crazy healing like this.

It was then that the acrid smell from the dragon carcass hit him. He still couldn’t believe that he actually brought it down. It was actually dead. Irileth and her men wouldn’t get eaten. Whiterun was safe!

Then… why did something feel wrong?

Stross slipped into his changeling senses, and the bones before him seemed coated in a radiant gold that shined from within them. The changeling could barely breathe, realizing he was looking at the dragon’s soul. It was amazing, but the dragon was dead now, and souls dissipated when their living body died, as every changeling should know.

Why then was this soul still clinging so tightly to its body?

“Mirmulnir, dii ah, huznu ahrk boziik. Vir das hi lost kosaan krinaan. (Mirmulnir, my hunter, heedless and bold. How soon you have been slain.)” a dark and disembodied voice echoed out softly in a language Stross couldn’t understand.

“Alok ontzos. Funt zey ni. Slen Tiid Vo!” (Arise again. Fail me not. Flesh Time Undo!)

As soon as the last words were spoken, the dragon’s soul flared like the sun, and Stross had to pull out of his changeling vision in order to not get blinded. The light swirled around the dragon’s dead body, rebuilding flesh and scale at a miraculous rate as the entire thing rose up above him.

Mirmulnir’s eyes popped open. He spotted Stross, and his pupil contracted as a rekindled fury rushed through him. He had returned with a vengeance.

“How!? I- You were-“ Stross stammered in disbelief, “What the buck?!”

“My lord Alduin will ensure the Dovah survive. Mu nis funt, nuz hi fent dir. (We cannot fail, but you shall die.) Yol...”

Stross’s mind raced a mile a minute looked for a way out, but he was cornered by Mirmulnir’s outstretched wings. He couldn’t fly fast enough to dodge a moving stream of dragonfire, and there was no way he could crawl under the dragon’s legs without him just sitting on him. He doubted he could even heal fast enough to survive being roasted alive.

“Toor…”

This couldn’t be the end! This just can’t be-

*Shink*

Mirmulnir went silent mid thu’um and his eyes turned from furious slits, to pained pinpricks as someone shoved a broadsword blade into a VERY tender area.

The dragon roared in pain and bolted up into the sky, revealing the silver-haired elf that was standing behind him.

“F-Fenora?” Stross felt himself tremble in glee at the mere sight of her. “Fenora!”

Suddenly nothing else mattered. The only thing he needed to do now was run up and tackle her into a big hug with every one of his limbs.

“Stross… there’s a-“ Fenora tried to say as she strained under the sudden weight.

“Fenora, you came back! You came back to save me!” Stross said and affectionately rubbed his cheek against hers. “I love you for this!”

“Stross the dragon-“

“Doesn’t stand a chance now that we’re together again! Nothing in the world can stop us now!”

Suddenly Mirmulnir crashlanded on the ground right next to them with Fenora’s two-hander still firmly planted up his… you know what, not gonna go there. The point is he was pissed!

But Stross wasn’t worried, ‘cause Fenora was back!

“Oh fuck me!” Fenora yelled and took off in the other direction, dragging Stross behind her by his hand.

“I’d love to! But first let’s finish this fight!”

Fenora rolled her eyes and pulled them both behind a pile of rubble, and a wave of fire washed over them barely the second after they were safe. Still, the heat managed to catch their clothes on fire, and Fenora started frantically patting herself down to put it out.

Stross just smiled and wrapped her in another hug. “This is awesome!”

“What was I thinking?! This is not awesome! This is the opposite of awesome! What are we going to do now?!” Stross yelled as he dove behind a pile of wrecked training equipment before it was turned to ashes by yet another stream of flame.

The joy of Fenora’s return had quickly worn off when Mirmulnir proceeded to utterly obliterate everything even remotely near them. Even if Stross could bring himself to leave Irileth and her wounded men behind, there was nothing around the watchtower except wide open plains. With nowhere to run, the only thing left to do was fight.

That led to the problem that Mirmulnir was unkillable. Oh… and he’s also a very pissed off dragon with a sword up its ass.

That didn’t help matters any.

Stross didn’t have time to think of a substantial escape plan, so he just did the first thing that came to mind: running around in circles trying to keep the dragon’s attention off of Fenora.

It was working pretty well so far.

That was a very bad thing for him.

“Why do I always have to come up with the plan?! I don’t have all the answers!” Fenora shouted as she popped out of cover to fire another arrow. It bounced off the dragon’s scales just like the last twenty. She ducked back down and snuck out of sight as Stross threw up his invisibility illusion and did the same.

Mirlulnir growled and snorted, taking to the sky again in search of his prey.

“Nothing works on this thing. Did they seriously expect us to kill it in the first place?” Fenora asked as they regrouped. “Why the ‘Blivion did you agree to tag along with these maniacs?!”

“We weren’t. We were just supposed to chase it off or some stupidness, I don't know.” Stross admitted. “I don’t think… that they were fully prepared… for this offensive! And even if they were it wouldn’t matter anyway. I killed it once already, but it just came back to life!”

At that, Stross checked his fingers, thinking for sure that he’d be corroding away by now. But much to his confusion, they were still fully intact, with only the tiniest of holes dotting the very surface of his shell. And with all the magic he’d been using and the burns he’d healed, that shouldn’t be right. If he wasn’t using his own energy, then what was fueling-

“Stross. Stross! Back to Nirn.” Fenora shook him out of it, “What do you mean you already killed it?”

“Huh? I shoved a flash-melt down its throat and then overcharged my flames spell and covered it in molten lava.” Stross told her like it was simple, confused at the shock on her face.

Mirmulnir swooped overhead again, and they kept close to the wall, hoping he wouldn’t look in their direction.

“So why are we wasting our time screwing around.” Fenora asked, “Just melt the damn thing again.”

“But there’s no point! It’ll just get back up good as new the second it dies, just like last time. It’s got some kind of… mega healing spell that can reverse death! That giant flying bringer of flaming death is unkillable! And that's just cheating." Stross said with a pouty face, "And I don’t know how many more times I can do that anyway. For some reason my magic isn’t draining me like normal; I have no idea if this fight is slowly killing me or not.”

Fenora knew why. She wanted to tell him, but couldn’t risk him breaking down while a dragon was trying to kill them. “Don’t worry about that now. We’ll figure it out later, but we need some way out of this or something else is going to kill you really fast.

“And if you mention anything about me being a meat-shield, I’m going to leave you here for real.” Fenora warned him.

Stross’s ears perked up as an idea came to him. He turned to her and opened his mouth.

“I freaking mean it Stross.”

“No no- not that!” Stross assured her, “Well actually… kinda like that, but not-”

Mirmulnir’s thunderous roar right above them cut him off, and they knew their break was over. A pillar of flame hit the spot they were standing and they made a run for the central training area.

“Fen! I need your sword.”

“Sure, I’ll just fire giant toothpicks at him while you’re gone.” She snarked and tossed him her frost sword. He caught it and collapsed under its weight.

“I can’t lift this thing!” Stross complained at he tried to carry the enchanted weapon.

“Get stronger!” Fenora encouraged.

Stross had no time for a witty response before Mirmulnir caught up to them. As Fenora took cover again, Stross dashed towards the ground entrance of the tower.

The dragon spotted him immediately and gave chase, diving straight for him with a mouth full of fire. Turning on his heel, Stross threw another glowing orb.

Mirmulnir had learned that trick though, and dashed to the side to avoid it. The dragon dug its claws into the ground to correct its course and snapped its jaws angrily at the changeling. Stross had only just enough of a lead to made it inside the tower.

Trying his best to ignore the charred remains of people covering the stone floor, Stross quickly climbed the stairs to the top of the watchtower. He gripped the hilt of the sword and approached the side of the roof, hoping Mirmulnir was still at the bottom of the tower. To his dismay, the dragon’s face rose up to greet him as he peered over the edge.

“Yol Toor Shul!!”

Stross jumped back, narrowly avoiding its fire-breath. Mirmulnir’s giant wings appeared over the side, and razor-sharp talons scratched against rock as he pulled himself up over the edge and onto the roof.

“Nowhere left to run.” Mirmulnir growled. He lunged forward, and Stross dove off the edge.

Mirmulnir stopped just short of the edge, thinking his prey had fallen to its death to deny him the satisfaction of the kill. But then Stross hovered up into the air in front of his muzzle.

“What’s the matter, big scary dragon can’t catch a little bug like me?” the changeling taunted and shook his butt in the dragon’s face before flying upwards as fast as his translucent wings could carry him.

Once again, in his anger Mirmulnir took the bait. He shot off from the top of the tower, pumping his wings and readying a mouthful of crackling flame.

Stross saw his chance. Drawing Fenora’s frost sword he slammed on the brakes and turned to see the dragon coming at him at full speed. He had to wait for the opportune moment. Just like in the barrow.

Mirmulnir got closer. "Wait for it…"

The dragon opened its mouth full of teeth and fire.
"Now!"

Stross twisted and rolled to the right, but still got nicked by the teeth on the side of the dragon’s mouth. Stross felt something in his side tear, but it was eclipsed by the crushing force he felt when he hit the dragon’s shoulder. Or rather… when the dragon’s shoulder hit him. The dragon barely registered the impact, but that didn’t matter, because Stross’s targets all along were the dragon’s wings. This was his chance; he couldn’t waste it. He took the tip of the frost sword and dug it into the leathery wing before he could roll off. It took a second for the blade to catch, but when it did, the effect was immediate.

Freezing steel tore through hard scales and membrane until the largest section of the right wing had been slashed through.

After being thrown off by the dragon’s frantic flapping in a futile attempt to stay airborne, Stross dove back to the ground while the beast fall to the earth dozens of feet below.

Back on the ground, Fenora was beginning to wonder why she had bothered to come back. Stross, that strange soul-devouring changeling she’d met just that morning had just brought down a freaking dragon for the second time in a row. Even after everything she’d been through that day, what that bug had done was just the most unbelievable thing she’d ever seen.

He landed beside her and tossed her back the frost sword as she wordlessly stared at him. “Fenora, go for its legs! We need to cripple this jerk as much as possible without killing him before we can run!”

Mirmulnir was just recovering from his fall to earth, and actually showed signs of weakness as his got back up again, more enraged than ever due to the loss of its wing.

“Pahlokaal mey! (Arrogant fool!) Your efforts are for not. Alduin shall ensure my revival… again and again. This means nothing!”

As he began indiscriminately breathing fire on everything around, Stross got his attention and charged forward despite the flames. Fenora saw her chance when the dragon turned to track him, and with the frost sword from Bleak Falls, she rushed at its hind legs.

“This ends here!” she yelled as she charged.

They say that gravity and momentum are great allies when they’re on your side. Fenora learned this to be true today as she plunged the entire length of the sword into the dragon’s thigh and out the other side.

The dragon howled in pain, bucking and stomping as the enchantment on the sword froze its meat and blood as the blade cut through its flesh. Despite this movement Fenora kept a firm grip, and the jerky, spastic movement only helped to work the blade back and forth and saw through the leg.

Craning its neck to face the accursed mortal, the dragon prepared to incinerate her. Stross saw this, and leapt atop Mirmulnir’s head. Before he could place a flash-melt though, the dragon kept shaking him off. But he couldn’t let him get to Fenora.

Stross got an idea, but it was going to be painful, he knew. He sucked in a deep breath and aimed his horn at his own hands. “Oh this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.” he said through clenched teeth.

His horn flashed twice, and two flash-melts stuck to his palms. He shoved them into the dragon’s eye sockets the second they popped, and both he and the dragon let out agonized shrieks as the rays of light started dissolving scale and sclera alike.

It. Was. Horrible. Stross screamed like a banshee as he and the dragon shared this pain. It was so hot it felt cold. Freezing even, yet it felt wet and melty at the same time.

“Fallen, I promise if I live though this I’ll never do this to anyone ever again!” was his one congruent thought throughout the pain.

Finally the light faded and he was able to retrieve his hands.

Mirmulnir reared back, but as it placed its weight on its hind legs, there was a crack, followed by a snap. Its leg bent at an unnatural angle and it fell to the ground again, breathing heavily and finally submitting its will to move.

Stross fell onto his back, doing the same, and Fenora rushed over to him as he looked at his hands. They were a melted mess; he saw that all the flesh had been melted off, leaving the bare bones underneath, and even those seemed to be fused together at the joints. They resembled glass more than actual bone now.

“Stross.” Fenora knelt down next to him. “Are you going to be alright?”

Stross nodded weakly. He at least hoped he’d be able to recover. “I’m never using flash-melts again. Let’s just get back to Whiterun, maybe they can keep it trapped somehow.”

As Fenora helped him up, Stross looked over at where Mirmulnir lay, mutilated and down for the count. Stross couldn’t help but feel bad for what he’d done. Yes it was trying to kill him, and yes it had already killed at least half a dozen guards for sport, and finally… yes it would have killed everyone in Whiterun given the chance. But looking at the dragon now in its pathetic state, Stross felt pity for it.

In a way they were a lot alike; they were both dangerous creatures no one understood. But that’s where the similarities ended, Stross told himself. He tried to be better, to adapt, to coexist. These dragons just destroyed whatever they didn’t like.

Knowing this would have to be enough for him to justify what he did.

Then the dragon stirred. “Alduin…jaaril zey. (protect me).”

“What’s it doing?” Fenora asked as the dragon raised a talon to it neck. “Oh don’t tell me-“

Mirmulnir dragged his talon across his own throat, the sharpness easily cutting through the tough scales. Mirmulnir let out a gurgled chuckle as he began to bleed out.

“NO! Shit, it’s killing itself!” Fenora yelled and tore off her singed fur coat and shoved it in the wound, “We can’t let it die or it’ll just come back again!”

Stross was in no position to help, and wouldn’t even know what to do if he was.

“Al…du…in.” Mirmulnir gurgled out before his chest’s rapid rise and fall stilled again.

“No…” Fenora breathed as the fearful realization set in. Any second now Mirmulnir would be back again, good as new. “How long do we have!?” she asked Stross.

“A little longer than we’ve been talking.”

Once again the golden embers began to appear on Mirmulnir’s corpse. Fenora backed up and Stross just fell to his knees, both of them utterly at a loss for what to do.

But this time, something was different. Despite the blinding glow, Stross slipped in to his changeling senses. What he saw made his eyes go wide and his jaw drop. Fenora’s soul started glowing in the same golden light, and the light in the dragon’s body seemed drawn to hers. The spirit took form and rose from the dragon’s body as what remained burned away. Like a piece the night sky illuminated by the morning sun, it spread its ethereal wings as the last little embers joined it.

“Dovahkiin… No! Impossible.” It spoke before it became a whirlwind of energy and light that rushed towards Fenora. Her own soul glowed brighter and brighter as the remnants were absorbed into her being. Finally, everything was still.

Fenora looked between herself and the dragon’s skeleton.

“What… the actual fuck?”

===Meanwhile in Sovngarde===

Alduin, the World-Eater and firstborn of Akatosh stirred from his healing slumber in the metaphysical realm. So many long years had passed since his banishment, and though he was gone from Nirn, the decay of time was still felt on him.

His attack on that mountain village, a short detour on his way to revive his dormant brethren, was just what he needed to remind him again of what it was to be alive. But he had overestimated what power he still had. Only two of his once mighty army were awoken before he felt the strain threaten to overtake him. It would take time to recover, and to gather his forces. But the mortals he sought to eradicate were just as weak if not more so than he remembered, and their petty civil war was providing him with all the nourishment he could ever need to regain his former strength; every battle, every siege, every raid and skirmish led to more dead soldiers whose souls were his to prey upon.

Time would be needed to ensure his victory. And fortunately for him, time was something he had plenty of.

But then Alduin felt something... a sort of disruption in the energy that binds all life in the world together. A spike of pain shot through the very essence of his being.

"Mirmulnir..." he gasped, "No.."

Time was no longer on his side. Alduin sensed something that could ruin his plans forever. Something that could ultimately destroy him if it were allowed to persist.

Alduin scowled, and spoke the word with a bitterness unparalleled by any curse. "Dragonborn."

...

"Fuck my life!

Author's Note

Sorry this chapter took so long to come out. I was playing around with the idea of diverging from the original story at this point, with either:
-Fenora leaving for good and Stross taking her place as pseudo Dragonborn with his 'soul eater' ability.
-Fenora leaving, Stross finishing Mirmulnir with 'soul eater' and tracking her down later.
-or- Simply revise the original version.

The last week was spent figuring out how each would effect the story as a whole, then writing each one out and deciding which ~~contained the least amount of pointless sidetracking bullsh*t~~... had the most entertainment value.

In the end, revising the original version won out. But even though I made my choice, I'd like to know what you, the readers thought. Which of the above would you have chosen, or how would you have done this differently?
Let me know in the comments, and as always, thank you for reading. :twilightsmile:

Aftermath

“KREEEEEEEEEEEEE-KEE-KEE!”

“Stross come down from there!”

“Kre-ki-KEEEEE!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise!”

“WREEEEEEE-eeeer!”

“I don’t even know what I did, I just want- OW! Stop throwing things at me!” Fenora yelled at her changeling as he sat trembling in fear on the roof of the destroyed watchtower.

“What do you mean you don’t know?! You ate its soul Fen! You were there, and it was dead again, and then you slurped down its soul like a mug of cider!” Stross yelled down at her.

“Well the dragon isn’t coming back now. Isn’t that a good thing?” Fenora asked.

Stross hesitated before answering. She did have a point. “It doesn’t make it right though!”

“And what would?” Fenora shouted back, “Do you want me to bring it back to life and give it a big apology hug, huh? Is that what you want? Do you want me to free its soul; should I dig through my intestines, or wherever the ‘Blivion it went to and puke it back up!? Because I can’t do any of those things!”

Fenora huffed and tried to calm herself down before explaining the workings of Nirn.

“Stross, look… I realize that being a… repentant changeling or whatever, means that soul-eating is a big deal for you. But manipulating souls isn’t uncommon here. It might be frowned upon in places, but it isn’t strictly worse than just straight up murdering someone! And besides, people already loot the dead, so if you’re gonna kill someone it’s not unreasonable to steal their… souls… too...”

Fenora then realized how bad that sounded and took a moment to face-palm over her smoothness.

“Okay, bad example but... Actually you know what? I shouldn’t have to justify my actions! Because the fact that I ate that dragon’s soul means that we, and everyone in Whiterun are going to live to see tomorrow. If I hadn’t, it would have just kept coming back over and over until everyone was dead. And trying to contain it would have put everyone in danger anyway. Plus we’d have to hack off all its limbs and chain it up somewhere… and-”

Fenora paused again, realizing that she was trying to justify her actions.

“Stross, please just come down.” Fenora finally begged, she wasn’t even sure that the changeling could hear her voice all the way at the top. “I’m scared. I hate to admit it but I’m really, really scared right now. I don’t know what’s going on with me or what I just did and… and you’re the only one who seems to have the slightest clue.”

Fenora waited, then looked up when she heard the soft humming of bug wings. She reached her arms out to Stross as he descended towards her, and pulled him into her embrace once he was close enough.

For the first time since they’d met, Fenora truly felt as though she understood Stross’s fear of being seen. Even after the stranger in Riverwood had beaten him, it wasn’t quite the same as fear. That was just hostility, a clear right and wrong. But now she had an idea of the loneliness that came with being feared, and also how wonderful it felt when someone was there with you. It gave her a stronger sympathy towards the changeling, realizing this was what he felt all the time.

“Thank you.” Fenora whispered to him.

“You’re welcome.” Stross replied and hugged her tighter, “I’ll help you figure out how you... I'll help you figure it out. Promise.”

Fenora looked at the setting sun on the horizon, then back to the city they'd saved. “We should get back to Whiterun and tell the Jarl that the dragon isn’t going to be a problem anymore.” she said and started to lead the way.

“Oh buck, I completely forgot about Irileth and her guards!” Stross yelled and took to the air in search of them, but in the darkening twilight it was impossible to tell the difference between a person and a rock.

Instead Stross entered his changeling vision again and swept the ground. It wasn’t long before he spotted a single dark blue light, and rushed towards it, calling to Fenora to follow him.

When he landed, Stross realized why he only sensed one life force.

Irileth sat with her eyes closed, propped up against the outer stone wall of the courtyard, closest to the mountains and treeline, and furthest from where the battle took place. All around her were the bodies of her men, even the ones long dead and charred beyond recognition; from the marks on the earth, she had dragged each of them here herself either trying to save them, or to keep their remains from being desecrated any further.

He carefully stepped over them as Fenora arrived on the scene as well.

“Irileth.” He shook her.

The dunmer housecarl’s eyes opened, they were puffy and red, yet she regarded him as coolly as ever. “Are you some monster from Oblivion sent here to kill me? If you are, then make it quick.”

“What-? I’m not- Are you alright?” Stross asked, realizing he forgot to put on a disguise or even his hood first.

Irileth looked at him in confusion, then at Fenora as she approached as well. But then she just shook her head and let her gaze fall.

“I did this. I got those poor stupid fools riled up and told them we were going to win, and then I sent them into a flaming meat-grinder." She choked, "All of my men… they trusted me- they trusted me to lead them and I couldn’t save even one. Not one!”

“Irileth it’s not your fault.” Stross tried to console her, “None of you were prepared.”

“And I knew it. Yet I led them on anyway. What kind of a leader does that make me?” Irileth choked again before looking between Fenora and Stross. “I don’t know how or why you’ve come to us now, but you killed that beast when we could not. That means everyone will be counting on you now. Go. Go back to Whiterun and tell Balgruuf his people are safe… for now.”

“And what about you?” Fenora asked.

Irileth stifled a sob and pulled out her dagger. “Tell them… tell them I died with my soldiers.”

“NO!” Stross yelled and grabbed hold of her wrist trying to wrestle the blade from her hand. Even in her injured state she fought ferociously to keep it, until finally Stross hit her hand with a stun spell and pulled it from her numbing fingers.

He then tossed the blade away and took Irileth’s arm again, this time slinging it over his shoulder and trying to pull her to her feet.

“What- what do you think you’re doing? Let go of me!” Irileth shouted and jerked away from the changeling.

“There’s no way I’m just going to leave you here. Fen, get her other side.” he instructed and kept struggling to lift her off the ground. He wasn’t making much progress with his limited strength, but he wasn’t deterred. “We’re going to bring you back with us if we have to drag you all the way to the gates!”

“No!” Irileth said and pulled away from them both only to stumble and fall to the ground. It was clear now that she’d lost a lot of blood, and was likely delirious. “My men… they’re counting on me. I have to stay with them. I have to.”

Fenora knelt down next to Irileth, taking her turn to try and talk some sense into the grieving dark elf. “Hey, listen to me.” she said as softly as she could, “There’s nothing you can do for them now. I’ve been here, believe me I have, but you can’t just die here. Whiterun will need you as much as it needs us.”

“Y- you don’t understand. They… I was supposed to…” Irileth tried to speak, but couldn’t take it anymore and burst into tears and wailed, “They were my men! I knew them since they were raw recruits! I trained them, I watched them bear their helmets and shields while they took the oath. They were like my sons…. Oh gods, I’m sorry! Erril… Frollo… Ingire… everyone, I’m so sorry!”

Fenora said nothing, and just held onto Irileth as she cried into her shoulder. Stross fell to his knees and joined the mournful embrace as well, and the three of them just sat there until Irileth had exhausted herself from crying, and finally passed out.

Stross sat with his hood pulled over his face, watching the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Irileth’s chest as she breathed.

Up and down.

Up… and down.

Fenora had patched her up as best she could before they made the trek back to Dragonsreach. The guards had taken her off their hands and brought her to the palace for Farengar to treat. The wounded houscarl now lay on a bed in the wizard’s study with a thick layer of bandages around her right arm, and Stross had just sat there watching for the last…

He didn’t know how long. But time didn't seem to matter to him.

“You do know that idly staring will not help her recover any faster, yes?” Farenger pointed out as he ground up some more herbs.

“Yeah, I know.” Stross answered plainly.

“Well then, if you wish to prevent this sort of unfortunate occurrence in the future, why not do something proactive, and teach yourself a healing spell.” The court wizard suggested. “I have a few old tomes you can borrow for a small fee. They are so simple even a novice mage such as yourself can learn in no time.”

Though offput by Farengar’s usual condescending tone, Stross found himself intrigued. Something like that would be useful.

He got up and sifted through the first pile of books he came across, and eventually found the one he was looking for: Restoration – Healing hands.

Flipping open the yellow phoenix cover Stross found that, like most of Farengar’s work, meticulous notes had been scribbled down on each of the pages; they were scribbled sideways on the edges, diagonally in the corners, and even jotted down between the lines of the actual text.

Stross optimistically hoped that it would provide a bit more insight into learning the spell. Before he could get to reading though, Fenora entered the study.

“Well, the Jarl has been briefed on everything that happened at the watchtower, minus Irileth’s breakdown of course. He says that I might be something called a Dragonborn, able to absorb the power of dead dragons like some of their ancient heroes did in the past. He also told me the Greybeards will know more; they’re a group of old monks living on top of this mountain called the Throat of the World. That means I can find out how I… did what I did to that dragon.” Fenora told him, careful not to use the words ‘Eat’ or ‘Soul’ or any combination of the two.

“Unfortunately, that’s not all.” Fenora continued, her confident smile turning into a frown as she did, “News is spreading through Whiterun about what happened; the dragon attacking the watchtower, us killing it, even the rumor that I might be dragonborn. Jarl Balgruuf is hastily planning for a victory feast as we speak.”

“That’s even better!” Stross cheered.

“And he wants the heroes of the battle to make a public appearance.” Fenora added.

“…That’s even better!” Stross repeated. “Isn’t this great Fen? He wants to thank us for saving them!”

Fenora face-palmed. “Okay, first off, he wants to thank the dragonborn. Me. No one's alive to know you were even there." Fenora told him, to which the changeling visibly deflated. "Don't mope! It's not some kind of prize. He just wants me to stand next to him so he looks good while he gives a big inspiring speech to bunch of people while they gawk! Best case scenario that comes out of this has Balgruuf trying to rally his people for war thinking that if I can take down a dragon, anyone can, which will lead to a bunch of fool-hardy farmers and merchants grabbing swords and charging off to their deaths. OR... at worst he paints me as some all-powerful warrior who’s come to save them all, meaning I’ll have to do all the work!” Fenora seethed, “It's bad enough that I'm their last hope, I have no intention of becoming some public spectacle!”

“Wait… wait wait wait WAIT.” Stross said as he pulled himself off the floor from her verbal typhoon, “Are you saying that you don’t want dozens of people adoring you, and showering you with love and praise and free food? That’s like a dream come true for me!”

“Well then by all means, feel free to take my place in the hero's spot tonight. I’ll be at the Bannered Mare getting drunk enough to forget today. We’ll leave to see the Greybeards tomorrow morning.” Fenora told him, “Oh and… one other thing.”

At that moment she beckoned to someone outside Farengar’s study, and a nord woman in a set of steel armor stepped in and waved hello.

“Stross, this is Lydia. Apparently she’s our protector now.” Fenora introduced them.

“Wow, seriously?” Stross hopped up. “I know we saved the city from a dragon, but they’re actually giving us servants now?”

“Indeed, as Thanes of Whiterun I am bound to your service. I will guard you, and all you own… with my life.” Lydia recited.

Fenora rolled her eyes. “Really hope it doesn’t come to that. But yeah, the Jarl said we did him and his people a service, so now we get our own Housecarl. But I can’t help but feel like there was some ulterior motive behind this…” Fenora said and tapped her chin in thought.

===Earlier that day…===

Jarl Balgruuf stirred in his bed, knowing that despite the sun shining through his window and the birds chirping outside that today would be another long slog of pointless politics. He was proud of his hold, and of its people, but while their central position made them the center of trade in Skyrim, it also meant they were caught in the center of the strife between the Empire and the Stormcloaks.

*Crunch*… *Munch Munch Munch*

Balgruuf’s eyes bulged and shot to the left. Then he sighed when they spotted the source of the noise.

As if bandits and a civil war wasn’t enough, then there was this shit to deal with.

“Hello Lydia.” Balgruuf groaned as he got out of bed.

“Honor to you, my Jarl.” Lydia said, beaming at him before taking another bite from her loaf of bread. It would be endearing had he not heard the exact same thing from her every morning. Now it was just getting creepy.

“Have you been sitting there all night watching me sleep again?” he asked.

“I am sworn to protect you.” She responded stoically and stood up as well.

“Yes I know.” Jarl Balgruuf sighed and walked to the stairs. However, an immovable wall of flesh suddenly materialized in front of him, completely blocking his forward movement. “Darn it Lydia, get out of the way!”

When Lydia had come to them from Solitude, she informed them that she was bound to his service and sworn to protect the people of Whiterun. The Empire had sent her as a small show of faith so he’d favor their side in the war.

Ever since that day, he’d seriously considered joining the Stormcloaks.

“I am your sword, and your shield.” She told him, not moving an inch.

This was going to be a long day, he just knew it.

If only there was some way to get rid of this pest of a protector. If only there was some random hero he could dump her on just so she’d leave him alone, preferably someone who would face constant peril and would possibly need Lydia to make a dramatic sacrifice to protect them.

Little did he know his wish would soon be granted, as two such heroes would soon be knocking on his door.

===Back to the future!===

“Eh, I’m probably just looking a gift Housecarl in the mouth.” Fenora said with a shrug.

“I make sure to brush after every meal, my Thane.” Lydia said and opened her mouth wide in Fenora's face. The bosmer recoiled and quickly pushed her away.

“So… yeah. It’s already dark out, so the party’s probably going to start soon. Do whatever you want with these people and meet up with me when you’re finally sick of it all.” Fenora said to her changeling. “Come on Lydia, let’s sneak out through the prison.”

“You lead, I’ll follow.”

Stross watched her go. He couldn’t believe that she didn’t want to go to a celebration held in her honor. Still, that didn’t mean he was going to miss it. He poked his head outside the study and noticed that people were already showing up.

With a wave of crimson embers boiling up under his cloak, ‘Fenora’ stepped out to join in the festivities.

“Showtime.” Stross whispered.

Less than an hour later, nearly all of Whiterun had shown up. Huge decorative lanterns lit up the room, the long tables were covered with platters of food, and there was even a whole goat roasting on a spit over the main fire.

Guards and servants wandered around the sidelines while groups of townspeople ate, drank, and conversed with one another. Despite the tragedy Stross knew as the battle of the western watchtower, the mood was absolutely electric. No one knew what had happened besides the fact that a dragon had tried to destroy the city, and was stopped before it got the chance.

And that was exactly what Stross was going to let them believe.

“…and then without its wing to keep it in the air, the dragon plowed into the ground, thrashing and snarling while we moved in to deal the killing blow!” Fen-Stross told a crowd gathered around to hear the tale of the battle.

From atop the small round table she stood on, the changeling could feel their awe, amazement and admiration… all directed at her. In her changeling vision, Stross could see the hard shells around their life-forces loosen to let their energies seep out through the cracks. With that many, Stross could skim a bit from each and be set for days without them even noticing!

After a quick feeding, she took a bow and hopped off the makeshift stage, only to be greeted by a pair of huge, muscular men in armor; Farkas and Vilkas, twin brothers of the Companions who had shown up to the celebration like the rest for the tales of glorious battle, as well as the free food.

“Hail Dragonborn. That’s quite a story you told; would have loved to have been in that fight myself.” Farkas said, “Never thought we’d see dragons returning to Skyrim. I’m already looking forward to slaying one myself.”

“We’ll need to get Eorlund to sharpen our swords and reinforce our shields first.” Vilkas agreed with him. “It sounds like those giant lizards can dish out a lot of punishment and take just as much.”

“And to think I once thought you just another traveler.” Aela said as she effortlessly shoved both of them aside to speak with Fenora face to face. “Just wanted to congratulate you on your victory, and to let you know that my offer from before still stands. We could use more people like you in the Companions.”

“It’d be great to have some friends for saving the world. Where do I sign up?” Fen-Stross asked.

“Come to Jorrvaskr and speak to Kodlak. He’s our Harbinger, closest thing to a leader we have in the Companions. He decides who gets in and who doesn’t.” Vilkas explained.

“And with a dead dragon under your belt, Kodlak’s sure to let you in.” Farkas added, giving a thumbs-up and a winning smile.

“It definitely put you ahead of most who apply.” Vilkas admitted with a smirk.

With that the two brothers got to chatting about ways to take down a dragon, most of which involved nothing more than hitting it really hard. Aela also nodded and took her leave, looking at the roasting goat with an almost feral glint in her eye.

Stross looked around at the people gathered, her changeling vision helping to decide who it would be best to approach first. She spotted Ysolda speaking with Arcadia and a priest from the temple, and decided to head there first; Ysolda was really nice after all.

The changeling managed to catch a bit of the conversation as she approached. Their voices were slightly hushed, and would be hard for normal ears to pick out through the noise of the party. Luckily, Stross was far from normal.

“…need you to distill the sap before I can sell it. You’ll get your cut of the profits of course.” Ysolda said to Arcadia, who looked about worriedly.

“I don’t know Ysolda... this is bigger than just skooma or sleeping tree sap, you’re talking about… Eldergleam sap.”

“But you can do it.” Ysolda told her.

“W-well, yes of course I can.” Arcadia stuttered. She was the best alchemist in Whiterun, even better than Farengar. But… “But if we get caught-“

“We won’t. I’ve made sure of everything. Double and even triple-checked my channels; there’s no risk to either of you.” Ysolda assured them.

“This is all speculative anyway.” Danica Pure-spring chimed in, “We still need something to tap the tree, and that means dealing with those awful hagravens at Orphan Rock. If we can’t get that, it won’t matter anyw-“

“Hello ladies.” Fen-Stross cut in, receiving a flustered and panicked response from all three. “Nice night for a party, huh? Whacha talkin’ about?”

“Oh, Fenora. Nothing important really, just the latest beauty tips and local gossip. You know how it is.” Ysolda said, being the first to compose herself.

“Ooh, gossip sounds fun. What’s going on in town?” Fen-Stross asked with a smile.

Ysolda exchanged a look with both of her conspirators that said, ‘let me handle this’. “Well the biggest news currently going around is all about you.” she said with a charming smile, “I can’t believe you actually managed to bring down a dragon singe-handedly. You’ve probably saved us all!”

Stross rubbed the back of her neck with a hollow chuckle. “Well, it wasn’t just me. I had a lot of help from the guards. I really wish I could have saved even a few of them. So besides fire-breathing lizards, what else is new?”

“Well, Fralia Grey-mane’s son was supposedly killed in action, but she believes he’s still alive, and being held somewhere. And there’s also a rumor going around that Saadia in the Bannered Mare is actually some kind of spy in hiding. Then there’s folks worried about the increased prices of cabbage, and the bandits hiding up at-”

“Anything about hagravens and tree sap?” Fen-Stross asked, smirking when she saw each of their frightened reactions. “Maybe something I could help with?”

Arcadia, Danica and Ysloda all gave worried looks to one another, each gesturing for the next to figure a way out of their mess and looking ready to bolt at any second.

“Fenora… right?” Ysolda asked, to which the changeling nodded. She took a breath and fixed her with a serious stare. “I need you to meet us in Arcadia’s potion shop tomorrow morning, and please… please don’t tell anyone about this.”

Stross made a zipping motion across her lips and walked away.

Ysolda and the others let out deep sighs once they thought she was out of earshot.

“I told you we shouldn’t have discussed it here, but do you ever listen to me?” Arcadia snapped.

“Girls, relax. This will either be what destroys our operation completely… or it will be the biggest score we’ve ever had.” Ysolda assured them.

“I hope you’re right,” Danica muttered, “for all our sakes.”

Under the guise of Fenora the Dragonborn, Stross had been able to navigate nearly every group and individual present. For the next hour or so, he took the time to listen and learn about their troubles, which most were quick to simply rant about the second he asked. He was also pleased to note how their disposition towards him became warmer just from him listening to what was troubling them. Maybe the people of Skyrim were hard and cold compared to the ponies of Equestria, but they weren’t thick-skinned or harsh like the griffins, they were just cautious around strangers. Once you’d proven yourself to them and won their favor, they could be just as warm and friendly as the tiny equines he was used to.

Once the party had begun to settle down and everyone had eaten their fill, but before the drinking contests had a chance to get underway, Jarl Balgruuf stood up from his throne and addressed his gathered people.

“People of Whiterun, this is a glorious night worthy of celebrating.” He began. “As you may have heard, the dragons are returning to Skyrim, after having been thought long dead for centuries. Today, these rumors were proven to be true; Helgen was destroyed, followed by the western watchtower, and we lost many brave souls. But in our darkest hour, a hero emerged to save us from these monsters! A hero that has shown that these foul beasts can be defeated, and that we should not fear them, but instead steel our resolve, and show them that the people of Skyrim shall not flee in terror from their wrath! Please welcome to our midst, Fenora Tandis, dragon slayer of Skyrim!”

With the Jarl’s introduction, Stross walked up beside him while the people cheered and hollered. She waved to them and flashed a smile. He could see their souls blaze towards him, but he resisted taking anything more from them just yet.

“Speech!”

“Yes, give us a speech!” they called.

Stross cleared her throat, this was actually the first time she’d given an actual speech. Not only that, but this would likely color their opinion of Fenora for a good while. Stross also had to keep Fenora's concerns in mind, and address them to the crowd without looking weak or cowardly. She’d have to make it good.

“Hey everyone, great party! I’m glad you’re all here and not in a dragon’s belly!”

Well… off to a good start.

There was an awkward pause and a cough somewhere in the audience.

“Well… uh, first I’d like to thank you all for this celebration. I’ve never actually had a party thrown in my honor before. But I’m not the only one you should be thanking for the fact that we’re all still here.” Stross said as her tone turned somber, “Jarl Balgruuf’s houscarl Irileth, and her men were there fighting that monster with me. They fought it with everything they had to protect their city, but Irileth was still wounded in the fight. As for her men… they weren’t even that lucky. Heh, I... I never even got their names before the fight, but... I’ll always remember their sacrifice.

“And you should too the next time you think about hunting one of those things down.” Stross warned them, “Even after everything that those brave men did to make sure we were victorious, it didn’t matter, because these dragons… they’re immortal. The second it died, it just came right back to life. The only reason it’s dead now is because when I killed it the second time, I did something to its soul to keep it from coming back. Something that, as far as I know, only I can do. I’m dragonborn, which means I can keep these things dead when I kill them. So unless you can do the same, don’t try to fight these things. Run, hide... or trap it if you get the chance. But don’t-“

“Oh- okay then. Thank you for the… informative speech.” Balgruuf said and swiftly pulled her aside, allowing Proventus to nervously take over. “What do you think you’re doing?!” he hissed once they were out of sight, “I wanted you to give a speech that would inspire my people, not make them too terrified to leave their homes.”

“I am inspiring them! I’m inspiring them to be smart and not chase after giant flying lizards of death!” Stross snapped, channeling his inner Fenora, “I still have no idea how these dragons come back or how I stop them, and neither do you. There are bound to be more of them out there, so if you want to inspire your people to charge to their deaths against invincible foes, go ahead. The blood can be on your hands.”

“I-… I never meant. Hey! Where are you going?” Balgruuf asked as Fen-Stross turned to leave.

“To bed. Gotta get up early if I want to reach the Greaybeards.” She answered.

However, once the changeling got back into the main hall, she found a scene of chaos. Panic had been building ever since her speech had been cut off, and Proventus had proven quite inept at calming a mob of terrified villagers.

“C-calm down, p-please. Just… state your concerns one at a time in an orderly manner.” He stuttered, trying in vain to keep them under control.

“What are we supposed to do if one of those things comes here again!?”

“How do we kill the dragons if they’re immortal? How are we supposed to defend ourselves?”

“Should we evacuate?”

“Where would we go!?”

“Won’t someone think of the children!?”

Their questions bombarded the meek Steward like a hurricane, becoming more and more desperate with each one until they became demands for action. Then one man blurted out, “Let’s sack the palace and run for our lives!”

And in the hysteria, no one disagreed. They roared their approval and grabbed whatever was sharp, or heavy enough to swing. The Companions had formed a circle in the back, intent on protecting their own. The city guards, who had been barely holding the angry mob back until then drew their swords and raised their shields. It was looking like this party was about to become a bloodbath.

“ENOUGH!” Balgruuf’s voice boomed through the hall, and everything fell into silence. Everyone looked to him, but then he moved aside, and Fen-Stross stepped forward to speak.

The changeling looked at them with the best contempt-filled glare she could muster, flames igniting in her palms and ready to burn her way out if need be. But then she watched as each of them slouched, looked at what they were doing, and dropped their improvised weapons to the floor with looks of shame and regret washing across their features.

If asked, Stross would admit that for a moment, he was afraid the people of Skyrim were actually some kind of savage, bloodthirsty race pantomiming as a peaceful society. He was afraid everything he’d experienced in Whiterun up until that point had been a lie, and that the bandits he’d fought with Fenora were the true example of men and mer. He was afraid that he would have to fight his way out the city only to eventually starve to death from lack of anyone willing to let him feed on them.

These ridiculous fears were immediately vaporized when he looked down upon them all, and they looked up at him. She didn’t even need her changeling senses to see it. In that moment the people of Skyrim had more in common with the ponies of Equestria than he’d ever thought possible. They were being faced with the impossible, lacking any kind of guidance and using courage to keep their heads above the water.

And in trying to keep them safe, Stross had taken that from them as well.

Now they were looking to her, for someone to tell them what they had to do. She had to give them something.

“I know you’re scared,” She said, her expression softening. “And I’m sorry. But these dragons are a very real threat, and I wanted you to take them seriously. I didn’t mean to frighten you into thinking you were doomed; you’re not. Not as long as I’m working to protect you.”

“Then stay here! Don't leave!” one of the townspeople pleaded.

But Fen-Stross shook her head. “How long would that last? I lost a whole team of soldiers the last time I fought one, and I don’t want anyone else to die because of me… or because I wasn’t good enough. You’re looking to me to be some kind of hero, and for you I’ll try my hardest, but I still don’t know enough to defeat these dragons. That’s why I’m going to seek out the Greybeards at the Throat of the World.”

“And what are we supposed to do if a dragon attacks when you’re not here?” an old woman asked, and many murmured in agreement.

“Well for one, have a lot of water around to put out the fires.” Fen-Stross told them, “Second, have some place sturdy and safe to retreat to.”

“The dungeon!” Proventus chimed in with something useful for once. “It’s a bit rank down there, but it’s built strong enough to stop prisoners from breaking out, and it’s made of stone, so fire won’t be an issue. We’d also be able to store large quantities of food down there in case of emergencies. With the right renovations, we could retreat inside and stay there… for a while at least. Well… most of us. Probably.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Stross clapped her hands together before anyone could raise objections, “Make it so you can fit everyone in Whiterun inside, and make sure you can seal it from the inside. Are there any other places like that?”

“Well, the Bannered Mare has a wine cellar if I recall. The hall of the dead could be used, assuming Andurs stops those skeletons from coming back to life. And a few of the homes have basements that could be used as shelters in a pinch.” Proventus listed off, trying to remember which ones he’d sent furnishings to in the past.

“Then prepare those too. Stock them with enough food and water to last at least a few days, and if a dragon comes, run to the safety of the basements and wait until they leave.”

“That’s it?” one of the guards in the crowd asked in disbelief. He looked like a Captain if his armor’s sash were any indication. “You just want us to run and hide from these things?”

“’Run and hide’ is better than ‘burn and die’ in my opinion. So until we find a way for non-dragonborns to kill these things and keep them dead… yes, that’s exactly what I want you to do.” Stross answered.

“It just seems so cowardly. Disgraceful’s what it is.” The Captain spat.

“Well if you want bravery, you can try letting one chase you.” Stross told him. At his confused expression, she clarified, “What I mean is, if you see a dragon coming, you can run out to meet it with the intention of making it focus on you and drawing it away from town. Just be aware you’re essentially being bait with legs if you do this.”

“That’s insane!” the man shouted.

“Trying to fight immortal dragons is insane!” Stross countered. “Which reminds me,” she scanned the crowd for the Companions, “You guys! Yes you, I’m going to need to see you before I leave tomorrow. Now if you’ll all excuse me, it’s been a long day, and I’ve got plans to make.”

Fenora (the real one) sat on a bar stool at the inn known as the Bannered Mare. The fire in the pit behind her crackled a bit as the flames burned low, casting the room into a cozy darkness. She tipped her head back allowing the last dregs of her mead to fall into her mouth before setting the bottle down atop a pyramid made from two dozen of its equally emptied brethren.

She let out a sigh of content, leaned over the counter and shut her eyes.

Then she heard the door open.

She let her eyelids creak open again, and watched her changeling drag himself inside the inn and take a set on the barstool next to her.

“Fen,” he said to her, “you were right; being a public spectacle sucks.”

She chuckled softly and sat up straighter. “Being a hero’s not all it’s cracked up to be?” she asked.

“Actually, being a hero feels great. But trying to convince everyone that they’re going to be okay even though an army of immortal dragons is trying to wipe them out is freaking murder!” he said and slouched over onto the counter as well. “Oh, but I saved you some roast chicken if you want it.” he said and handed her half a bird wrapped in a napkin.

Fenora smiled and took it from him. “Hey cheer up, it could be worse.” she said and nudged him. “You could be the one forced to save them because you got bent over and dry-shafted by destiny to be the only one with magic dragon-killing powers. Now wouldn’t that be a great way to spend your vacation?”

Stross frowned for a moment. Then he realized she was referring to herself, and couldn’t help but smile.

That smile became a chuckle shared by both of them, and before they knew it they were both laughing hysterically, leaning on each other for support as their lungs started to burn. They didn’t even know why they found it so funny, but really, neither of them cared so long as they could have this moment of levity. After everything that had happened since just that morning, they needed it.

“Hey, where’s Lydia?” Stross asked as their laughter finally died down. “Wasn’t she with you?”

“Oh yeah, she’s here.” Fenora told him. She then removed a bottle from the bottom of her pyramid which sent the whole thing tumbling down, revealing their housecarl behind it.

“Honored to see you again, my Thanes.” She greeted them.

“I’m going to go to bed now.” Fenora said with a yawn, “I rented us a room upstairs from Saadia. Of course, the second I got up there she put a knife to my throat and asked if I was followed. But then Lydia held her down while I punched her in the face and we shoved her in the basement together. So you know… I’d call it even.”

Stross blinked.

“Wha-“

“Bottom line, we got our drinks for free. Don’t question a good thing Stross.” Fenora said and headed upstairs, leaving a very confused and concerned changeling behind her.

“It’s true my Thane, if someone attacks you first, you can kill them without repercussions or penalty. Fenora is a very merciful soul to have left her alive.” Lydia said in her sweetly matter-of-fact tone before following Fenora.

Meainwhile, Stross was even more confused and disturbed.

“What the buck is wrong with you people?!”

“Restoration – Healing hands.” Stross read the cover of the book aloud, then noted the scribbled text beneath it reading (Novice level restoration. Cast type: Continuous. Effect: heal other.)

It was the middle of the night, the palace at Dragonsreach had gone silent and people were returning to their homes. Fenora had fallen asleep practically the second her head touched the pillow, and Lydia simply sat near the bedside reading a book of her own.

Stross knew that he didn’t need to sleep, at least not as regularly as ponies or most other sentient creatures; it was one of the few positive traits that came with his race, and he was sure to make full use of it. So seeing as how he wouldn’t be meeting anyone until morning rolled around, he decided to expand his repertoire of spells.

The art of Restoration is one that many take for granted, but is nonetheless an irrefutable field of magic and an essential- neigh, lifesaving skill to hone.
(Best used in conjunction with Alteration spells such as Oakflesh and a bit of common sense to minimize damage received from hazardous situations).

One of the simplest spells for the novice mage ^(Besides most minor destruction spells) is the spell quite simply labeled Healing. Healing Hands is a variant of that spell in that it is not cast on one's self, but on another. (There are many other minor discrepancies as well, such as the doubled magika draw involved in channeling magic into another being. But while not specified in this volume, most are negligible on the overall effects.)
As many an aspiring mage may know, magic can be used to restore physical form in many ways, but for typical restoration, the caster is manipulating the flow of their power to repair damage inflicted. In this way it is magically forcing the wound to close, then forcing the body to heal itself. (Though in most cases, the process does not draw on the body's own energy to sustain itself unless large portions of flesh or bone are being replaced by the spell. This makes it superior to most general healing potions, which of course trigger and accelerate an organism's natural ability to heal itself over time.)

In order for the healing to work, living flesh must be present. This is why Restoration spells like Healing Hands and Heal Other do not work on the undead, machines, or summoned atronachs. ^(Obviously.) Keep this in mind when choosing something to heal.
Also important, yet unfortunate to note; the dead can not be brought back by healing alone. For a short time after death, a body may be repaired through the use of Restoration magic, but to truly bring a person back to life would require the dark arts of Necromancy, which shall not be discussed in any of my writings.
(Necromancy, like any tool should not be dismissed, just used wisely and with the proper amount of caution.)

(Something I've found in my extensive studies is that prior knowledge of anatomy will bolster the effects of Restoration magic. I theorize that knowing how a certain part of the body works will simplify in mind what must be done in order to repair it, thus leading to a more efficient use of magika in order to achieve the same amount of healing potential.)

Stross flipped through the next couple pages, getting a pretty firm grasp on Restoration magic. Farengar's notes and ramblings extended far past the point where the original text ended, and Stross was eager to absorb as much as he could from it. It was hard to understand Farengar's big fancy words sometimes, but the Court Wizard's notes let him get a broader idea of how to use the spell, as well as what worked and what didn't.

He would have to experiment later, but for now he noticed the sky starting to get slightly brighter.

Stepping outside the room from where Fenora was still asleep with Lydia watching her, Stross brought up his disguise again. 'Fenora' then walked out of the inn, knowing she had some people to meet with, and important things to prepare for.

Author's Note

Hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving weekend, and stayed safe during Black Friday shopping.
And if you don't celebrate either of those things, well... I hope you had a great weekend anyway!

But now a question for you readers. I was contemplating putting up the original story on Google.docs while I work on the next couple chapters. A sort of side-by-side comparison, or for those of you who wanted a chance to read it before I took it down but didn't get the chance.

Let me know in the comments if I should. And as always, thanks for reading. :twilightsmile:

Even more pointless faffing about in Whiterun before anything actually important happens. (Seriously, you can probably skip this chapter if you want... I won't be mad.)

Author's Note

Dat chapter title tho. :rainbowderp:

Even more pointless faffing about in Whiterun before anything actually important happens. (Seriously, you can probably skip this chapter if you want... I won't be mad.)

The sun was just starting to come up, and the streets of Whiterun were a pale blue. Yet in a community surrounded by farmland, the people of Whiterun were natural early risers. Keeping in mind priorities, Stross made her way straight to Dragonsreach under the guise of Fenora to coordinate the defense of Whiterun with its Jarl.

“Halt, who goes there?” a guard stopped her at the doors.

“Fenora Tandis, Dragonborn. I’m here to speak with the Jarl about defending the city.” Stross told him in the firmest and most official tone she could muster.

“Seems legit. Go on in.” the guard said and stood aside.

Inside the palace, it seemed at first only the maids and servants were still awake, but a loud crash further in proved that notion false.

“Arhg, you incompetent fool, do you know how valuable these dragon skeleton fragments are to my research?!” a familiar lisping voice yelled in outrage. “You are fortunate that these pieces are so resilient to damage. Now pick them up and place them on my examination table.”

“Farengar, doing something in he- whoa…” Stross began, only to be caught breathless at the number of dragon bones filling Farengar’s study. If she had to guess, the court wizard probably had every remain piled into a cart and hauled up to the palace.

Farengar noticed her staring and decided to give a greeting. “Ah, Miss Tandis, so good to see you again. I’m afraid that whatever it is you need will have to wait though, as I’m currently in the middle of a thorough examination of these fresh specimens.”

“Are you going to find out their weaknesses?” Stross asked.

“Among other more important things, yes.” Farengar said, turning a piece of dragon tooth over in his hands, “It is a pity we could not capture it alive. I would be able to gather much more data from a live specimen. But alas, desperate times like these do not often afford the luxuries we would like. Still, with my talent for this sort of thing, this skeleton should be more than adequate.”

“Well good luck with that. And let me know what you find.” Stross said as she turned to leave.

Farengar mumbled something in response, but was clearly too caught up in his examinations to care.

It didn’t really matter anyway, Stross had a feeling Farengar would dig into researching actual dragons like nothing else. For now, she needed to talk to the people in charge.

Coincidentally, on her way to the stairs that led to the war room, Stross was stopped by one of the people in charge.

“Irileth!” Stross said happily to the dunmer blocking her path, both surprised and relieved to see her up and walking already. “How are you feeling?”

“I shall manage as always.” Irileth assured Stross, her tone somehow colder than ever. “State your business here.”

“I need to talk to the Jarl about setting up defenses for the city.”

Irileth snorted stiffly at that. “I’m afraid the Jarl isn’t accepting anyone today… not even his own houscarl. If you’ll excuse me…”

“W-whoa, wait a second. What’s going on?” Stross moved to keep up with her as she passed.

Irileth stopped once again, and regarded her coldly before letting out a sigh. “Follow me if you must.” The two of them sat at one of the long tables, and Irileth poured herself a mug of some strong-smelling drink Stross didn’t recognize. “Where to begin.” She mused.

“Well, I suppose you should know your little speech last night did little to inspire.” She began, “In fact, that coward Proventus has seen fit to advise the Jarl to take his family and evacuate to Solitude. They were up all last night talking about it, Proventus would state his facts as he always does, and Balgruuf would retort with shouting. Proventus wishes for us to take the path of least resistance and flee to safety, while Jarl Balgruuf refuses to uproot his people without a fight. He is a strong leader, but stubborn as an ox; he has never wanted to appear weak in anything. To him, running from the dragons rather than standing our ground would mean showing how vulnerable we are.”

“And what about you?” Stross asked.

“What about me?” Irileth asked in all seriousness, “I am Jarl Balgruuf’s houscarl; I go where he goes, and do as he commands. It has always been this way, and whatever decision is made, I shall abide by it.”

“But what if you had a choice?” Stross scooted closer and looked her in the eyes, “What if you had to make the choice, because there was no one else that could?”

“I truly hope you’re not insinuating anything.” Irileth warned, but closed her eyes in thought. Finally she spoke, “I do not know what I would order were the decision up to me. I do not know what would be best for the people. All I do know is that I have seen the destruction one dragon can cause first hand, and I would not wish it upon anyone, not even my most hated enemy.”

Stross put a hand on hers as a sign of understanding, but she quickly jerked it away and hissed in pain. “Don't touch the arm. It still hurts.”

Stross got an idea though. This was the perfect opportunity to test out her new healing spell. “Here, let me see.”

Stross held out a hand, and remembered all he knew about casting the spell. Irileth was dubious at first, but allowed Stross to work anyway. Stross removed the layer of bandages to get a better look at the injuries underneath. It wasn’t that bad, but the scarring was still pretty evident, and there were likely broken bones underneath. Channeling her magic through the top layer of skin and into the scars beneath, Stross pictured what the arm was supposed to look like, and willed it so.

Slowly, the arm began to mend back to its proper form, and about a minute later there were only small lines to indicate there was ever damage to begin with.

“Hmm, not bad.” Irileth said as she inspected Stross’s work, flexing her wrist and elbow. “Skyrim could use more healers like you.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to heal everyone in Skyrim when Alduin comes swooping down on us.”

“With any luck you won’t have to.” Irileth said before looking up to the second floor, where the Jarl sat behind closed doors to ponder the fate of his people. “I think it’s time I had a word with my Jarl. I must bid you farewell. And good luck on your journey to those monks. Goodness knows why they would live on top of a mountain, so far away.”

With Irileth going to speak to Balgruuf, Stross figured it wouldn’t be the best time to bring up his own concerns. So instead, the changeling left to find the next group of people on his list.

“Dragonborn, bright and early I see! I like your enthusiasm. Us Companions have been restless lately too.” Farkas greeted as they walked into the hall. He’d actually been on his way to find Fenora when Stross bumped into him, and was thankful for the coincidence. “Welcome to Jorrvaskr. c’mon. I’ll give ya the tour!”

Jorrvaskr was built like a giant canoe flipped upside down and turned into a house. On the inside, tables surrounded a large fire pit, and all across the walls were hung weapons, shields, animal pelts, and trophies won by generations of warriors.

Farkas gestured outwards. “This is the main hall, where we eat, talk about jobs that need doin’-“

“GRRRAAAAAHH!” *Pow!*

“And roughhouse on occasion.” He said as two members threw punches at each other, brawling it out like hated enemies while the others watched, egging them on and tossing out advice. “Step into your punches more! Really hit ‘em hard!” Farkas shouted out as he ran over to watch.

“What’s going on? Why are they doing this?” Stross asked, concerned almost to the point of intervening.

“Heh, do they need a reason?” Skjor, a balding man that looked as though he’d lived through many hard battles said stiffly as he watched. “The only way to improve is to either practice or to fight for real, and as Companions, we help each other get better. However…” Skjor trailed off as the lean dunmer threw a particularly nasty punch into the nord woman’s face. “Athis and Njada mostly just want to beat each other senseless.”

“Is this the third time they’ve been at it this week or the fourth? I lost count.” Farkas asked

“Seventh.” Skjor told him, his cold eyes never leaving the action.

Finally the fight ended when Njada grabbed Athis by his arm and threw him over her shoulder onto the wood floor with a heavy thud. She let out a victory cheer as she held her fists towards the ceiling, and then took a moment to gloat over her opponent who was glowering disdainfully up at her.

“Well, that’s finally over.” Skjor said just short of rolling his eyes. “So what do we owe the honor of having the Dragonborn as a guest in our hall?”

“I need to talk to you about the dragons.” Fen-Stross told him.

Stross wasn’t sure if they could actually kill a dragon like Fenora could, but they were still capable warriors, and possibly the best defense Whiterun had if one of those flying death-bringers attacked the city again. That would have to be enough until they got back from talking to the Greybeards.

Skjor took a moment to look displeased, exhausted even. “Ah yes, the dragons. Forgive me if I don’t share the enthusiasm of the younger warriors when it comes to this matter.” He then paused to give a stern look to Farkas before turning back to Stross, “Your speech last night may have gotten people in a panic, and rightfully so; they should be scared. If what you say is true, and these dragons can’t be killed by normal means, then I see little the Companions or anyone else can do about it, and not for lack of wanting to.” Skjor sighed, “It’s a terrible thing to feel this weak against something that threatens what you care about, the Companions do what we do for that very reason. What are we supposed to do when we’re the ones who are helpless?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m honestly trying to figure this out as I go along.” Stross admitted, wishing she’d had something better- more encouraging to say. But at that point, anything of the sort would have likely been a lie.

“Well then I hope for all our sakes that you figure it out soon.” Skjor told the changeling bosmer. “If you’re looking for advice, you should talk to Kodlak. I have a lot on my plate to deal with right now.”

With that, Skjor took his leave.

As he led her down to the living quarters in search of Kodlak, Farkas told Stross not to worry. He told Stross that Skjor always meant well when it came to the rest of the Companions, but they’d been dealing with some rather troublesome people lately, and it had him on edge.

Stross asked who it was that were giving them trouble, and why.

“Bad people. Bad people that need to die.” Farkas answered tensely.

Stross decided not to pry further.

After passing through the rest of the living quarters, they made it to the backmost chamber; Kodlak’s. Before they even got close, Stross could pick out the muffled voices behind the door. One of them he recognized as Vilkas. The other he did not know, yet it sounded calm and wise.

“But I still hear the call of the blood. Some nights I fear I can’t control the beast within me.”

“We all do. It is our burden to bear, but facing it together, we can overcome.”

“I know. You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily. They embrace their gifts a bit too eagerly.”

“Do not worry about them. Leave that to m-“

“Kodlak, the Dragonborn is here. She needs to speak with you.” Farkas said as he pulled the door open and entered the room.

“And it’s so important that you forgot to knock again.” Kodlak observed, much to Farkas’s embarrassment. Kodlak just chuckled and waved him off though. “This is good. I’ve wanted the chance to speak with you ever since you returned from saving the city. Come. Sit.”

Stross pulled up a chair and sat across from them, waiting for Kodlak to speak.

However, Kodlak stayed silent a moment while he looked over the bosmer before him. Then he turned to Farkas and Vilkas. “If you two wouldn’t mind stepping out for a moment, I’d like to speak to the Dragonborn in private.”

Both the warriors exchanged a glance, and left with a shrug, knowing better than to question the wise old Harbinger. When the door shut, Kodlak waited a few seconds before continuing.

“Now then, who are you really, and why have you chosen to hide your true form?” Kodlak asked in a cool, level tone. “Speak.”

Stross’s eyes went wide. There was no way… how- “Wh- Excuse me?” she stuttered. There had to be some mistake. This was surely some kind of test. No one else in all of Whiterun had been able to see through his disguise yet.

Kodlak closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before he spoke. “You don’t smell like any bosmer I’ve ever met before, and I’ve become well accustomed in my years… to the presence of magic.” His grey eyes opened again and pierced into Stross’s own. “Now. Explain yourself.”

With Kodlak sharing the small room, the two brothers outside the door, and even more strong-bodied warriors just upstairs, Stross knew she was well and truly cornered, and once again it was because she'd walking right into it.

“Okay.” The changeling said with a sigh, “I’ll drop my disguise. But promise you won’t attack me.”

“Not unless you give me reason to.” Kodlak answered sincerely.

Stross got to work dispelling his disguise. Flesh and skin burned away in bright red embers, revealing black scale beneath. Long silver locks of hair became finlike membrane, gleaming fangs replaced flat teeth, and finally a pair of big blue eyes opened up anticipating the expression on the Companions Harbinger’s face.

Surprisingly though, Kodlak had watched the transformation calmly, with an unflinching gaze. That was… good, Stross supposed.

“Heyyy…” Stross said nervously, but with as much fake enthusiasm as he could manage. “My name is Stross, and I’m a changeling.” he introduced himself truly for the first time.

“But you are not the Dragonborn, are you?” Kodlak pointed out, to which Stross found himself deflating.

“No.” he admitted, “The real Dragonborn is still asleep in the Bannered Mare so I’m… filling in for her. I’m just really worried about everyone! That dragon would have killed everyone in the city, and there are more on the way. What if they attack when we’re not here? Fenora’s the only one that can stop them, but she seems annoyed with having to save the world more than anything else. And I don’t want everyone to die, cause then they’ll be dead, and I’ll starve to death and-”

Kodlak raised a hand and shushed him. “Silence boy. Calm yourself.” He said firmly before leaning back in his seat again. He thought for moment, and then asked slowly, “Can I tell you about a dream I had one night, not so long ago?”

“Uhh, sure I guess.” Stross didn’t know where the old man was going with this, but it didn’t seem wise at the moment to turn him down.

Kodlak pulled out a small journal from his pocket and flipped about halfway in.

“In my dream, I saw the line of Harbingers start with Ysgramor, the first of the Companions. I watched as each of them ascended to Sovngarde in turn, until we come to Terrfyg. He tried to enter Sovngarde, but before he could even approach Tsun at the whalebone bridge, he is set upon by a great wolf, who pulls him into the Hunting Grounds of the Daedric Prince Hircine.

“Terrfyg seemed regretful of being denied the glory of Shor’s hall, but also eager to join Hircine as a beast of the hunt, as did every Harbinger after him as they turned away from Sovngarde of their own accord.” Kodlak told Stross, his face turning grim as he continued his dream. “Each seemed so eager to forsake the honor and glory of a warrior in favor of joining the eternal hunt. It was in that dream that I began to ponder my own destiny. Finally… it was my turn, and I see great Tsun on the misty horizon, beckoning me. I had a choice to make. I race towards the whalebone bridge, I wish for nothing more than to join the honored dead in Shor’s hall. But my fears are confirmed when I hear the snarling behind me.”

“I dare to look, and the same wolf who dragged away Terrfyg bounds and leaps after me, wanting to drag me away to the Hunting Grounds as well. But then, as all seems lost… at my side appears a stranger who stands against the beast. As I look into their eyes, we draw weapons together and slay the wolf, denying Hircine’s call.”

Stross sat there and listened to Kodlak’s tale with rapt attention, but he couldn’t draw the connection from the dream to the issue at hand. Finally he raised his hand and asked, “But why tell me this? How does this fit in with anything happening now?”

“Because, changeling. The stranger that saved me from the wolf… was you, and not the form which you borrowed, but this one that I see now.”

Stross felt his eyes bulge. He had been in the dream? Kodlak didn’t seem like one to outright lie. It was either a massive coincidence, or something far deeper.

“And that is not all. Your elf friend, the one who really is the Dragonborn, she was there too.” Kodlak told him, and Stross was all ears once again. “It was after the wolf was slain that a fog settled over Sovngarde, making it impossible to see the way to Shor’s hall. A laughter echoed out, and darkness began to encroach. But before it could take hold, a great wind cut through the mist, and like a shining beacon she stood there, rallying all the soldiers of Shor’s hall against that darkness. You rushed to join her, and I followed as well. From the mist rose the form of a great black dragon... and that is where the dream ends. I dare say I do not know who won that battle, or even if it has yet to happen.”

Kodlak smiled warmly as he finished recalling it all.

“I realize this is only a dream, but a strong enough dream to inspire a man like me to take to writing, so it must be of some importance. And who knows, maybe there is something to this old man’s delusions of glorious battle after all.” he chuckled. “But I realize we’ve gotten far off track with all this. So tell me, changeling, why have you sought out the Companions?”

Stross was still trying to internalize what the dream could have meant. Was it a vision? A metaphor? Both?

He shook it off for now and focused on more immediate concerns. “Right, uh… Fenora and I are leaving today to go to the Throat of the World, and answer the Greybeard’s call. I’m guessing that they’ll have some answers for us, and maybe even a solution. But I don’t know how long we’ll be gone, and I don’t want to come back to Whiterun only to find it burned to the ground.”

“And so you have come to us, hoping that we will act as stewards and protect the people while you are away.” Kodlak assessed.

“Can you do it?” Stross asked.

“I’ve always tried to focus the Companions into a force for helping all of Skyrim. This is a daunting task you ask of us, but one the Companions shall not shy away from. Should one of those beasts come here again, we shall be ready.”

Stross was about to jump for joy when he heard that.

“But…”

Stross put his joy-jumping on hold.

“But?”

“But there is a danger posed to us, one that we have done battle with many times in the past, and I fear that should we focus our efforts to heavily elsewhere, it may leave us spread too thin… and vulnerable. If we are to help you defend Skyrim against these dragons, it must be dealt with permanently.” Kodlak told him.

“Farkas told me about that.” Stross mentioned. “He said they’re bad people, but didn’t tell me any more. Who are they really?”

“They call themselves the Silver Hand.” Kodlak said the name like it left a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m not sure where they came from; some say they were once Vigilants of Stendarr, but they have strayed far from that path if it is true. Where the Vigil slay Daedra, and other such monsters to protect mortals from their influence, the Silver Hand take sadistic glee in causing pain to the monsters they fight. You could say that in fighting monsters, they’ve become the worst kind of them all. A fate we all must fight to avoid.”

“Believe me, I know what that’s like.” Stross nodded. He was forced to do bad things but tried to be good. They were trying to do good things but ended up bad. It was sort of the same… kinda.

“But how can I help?”

“Recently we’ve been notified of the location of a fragment of Wuuthrad, Ysgramor’s shattered axe. There is no doubt in my mind that this is a trap.” Kodlak explained. “They wait for us in Dustman’s Cairn, hoping to trap us there like beasts. We will go there and show them why we are not to be trifled with. Will you aid us in this?”

“Show a bunch of corrupted ‘white-knights’ the error of their ways and show them what being a real hero is all about? Count me in!” Stross agreed.

The look on Kodlak’s face said that wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he didn’t voice it. Instead he just told Stross that they’d wait for him and Fenora to return before heading to confront the Silver Hand.

Stross put on his disguise again and opened the door to leave, only for a pair of big burly men to fall through and land on their faces, of which Kodlak said nothing, but the changeling could sense that this had happened many times in the past.

“Have… you two been here the whole time?” ‘Fenora’ asked Farkas and Vilkas.

The brothers exchanged a worried glance at one another before looking back up at the ‘bosmer’ and slowly nodding yes.

“And you heard everything I’m guessing?”

Again they nodded yes.

“But I can trust you both to keep this a secret right.”

More nodding yes.

“Alright, good. Thanks guys.” Stross said and carefully stepped over them. However, about halfway down the hall a thought occurred.

“Even when you’re really, really drunk?”

The brothers gave each other a look again, wordlessly debating before regarding Stross again, shamefully shaking their heads no.

The changeling sighed. Based on what Stross had learned about Skyrin so far, she doubted the guards would be so kind as to only lock her up when word eventually got out.

Fear of provoking the authorities would have to wait. For now, Stross had an appointment with a few seemingly harmless individuals who totally didn’t deal in illegal substances. After knocking twice on the door to Arcadia’s cauldron, Stross waited.

A couple moments later the door opened, and Ysolda’s face peeked through the crack. It was odd to not see her with a serine smile on her face.

“Fenora, come in.” she said with practiced yet forced cheerfulness and allowed Stross just enough room to squeeze inside. The second she’d shut the door Ysolda rounded on the changeling and pressed her back against the wood, blocking the exit. “Were you followed?” she asked.

“Nope, just me.” Stross answered, “So… care to tell me what all you need?”

“First things first. Why do you even care?” Ysolda asked suspiciously, “You wander into Whiterun from nowhere one day, and already you’ve slain a dragon and become a hero of the people. Now you’re snooping into everyone’s business… and you just want to help?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to help?” Stross asked and took a seat. She couldn’t sense any kind of hostility or ill intent from Ysolda, but that steel-like shell around her soul seemed to have doubled in strength.

“Hah, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to help.” Ysloda said, “But no one just helps unless they want something in return. So what is it that you want; a cut of the profits, or maybe blackmail us by threatening to turn us into the guards? Do you just want the sap so you can sell it on your own or something?”

“How about… if I do this, I get to be your friend.” Stross offered.

Ysolda’s disbelieving stare only intensified. “And by 'friend' you mean…”

“Like, we can spend time together when I’m not saving the world, I can ask you for favors when I need help, and you can ask me for help when you need it. You know, the stuff friends do for each other.” Stross explained. “Haven’t you had friends before?”

“Wh- well yes but… I usually don’t make them during my ‘job’.” Ysolda said, pushing the tips of her fingers together. Finally she sighed, “Fine. So you’re in. If you really do just want to help us out, I guess it’s time to introduce you to the rest of the crew here in Whiterun. You can come in now girls.”

“It’s about time. This is my shop we’re meeting in you know.” Arcadia said, appropriately looking very put out by how she had to wait outside.

“I know Arcadia, but this is only temporary.” Ysolda told her before facing Stross again. “We normally meet in the temple of Kynareth. Only-“

“Only now we’re sheltering a small town’s worth of injured refugees from Helgen in the temple, and unlike my acolytes, none of them have been bribed to ignore our operations.” Danica Pure-spring finished for her. “Tell me outsider, what do you know of the Eldergreen?”

Stross simply shrugged. She wasn’t even from this world, let alone Skyrim.

“Ah then perhaps it’s time for a history lesson. You see, the Eldergreen is an ancient tree here in Skyrim, and it resides in a sanctuary to the east of here, near the volcanic hotsprings between Riften and Windhelm. They say it was a seedling back when the planet was still being formed by the gods, and that even being in the presence of the tree will make one feel at peace.” Danica told their newcomer.

“They also say its sap can cure any ailment.” Added Arcadia, “I wouldn’t know of course, but these two have apparently been harvesting it from that giant tree in the city center for years now, selling it to gods know who. And I thought you only maintained it for worshiping Kynareth. Heh, shows what I know about being a priest.”

Danica looked ready to slap her at that comment. “It is for the worship of Kynareth that many come here seeking guidance, hoping to hear her voice in its branches. They come to be healed by their faith. Who are you to judge if I prefer a more tangible way to heal? I’d be willing to wager the sap from that tree has healed more people in that temple than my prayers have.”

“Um, hate to interrupt, but am I missing something?” Stross asked, “If you have a tree that gives you sap here in Whiterun, then what was all that I overheard about raven hags?”

“Hagravens.” Danica corrected with a shiver, “Horrible, wretched bird women who wield dark magics and eat human flesh.”

“Unfortunately, they also possess a blade that we need. They call it Nettlebane.” Ysolda explained. “You see, we were able to take sap from the Gildergreen in the past, but the last harvest we took the sap at the wrong time, and the tree went dormant.”

“No, we took too much sap from the tree! That’s why it withered.” Danica argued.

“We’ve been over this, Danica. With the Gildergreen’s size and the amount of nutrients it receives, one and a quarter pints every moon cycle would still allow it to replenish itself safely.” Ysolda explained for what could have been the hundredth time for her.

“And I keep telling you that we were always taking too much from it. We should have skipped a cycle to let it recover!”

“We were just too impatient, if we'd harvested a day later it would have been fine!”

“Yes because it would have had time to heal! We took too much!” Danica shouted, getting in her face.

“No, we just didn’t wait long enough!” Ysolda mirrored her.

“I’m right!”

“No I’m right!”

“I’m right!”

“I’M RIGHT!” they yelled at the same time.

Ysolda and Danica glared daggers at each other until they both broke away with a huff.

“The point is, we messed up and the tree isn’t fit to give us sap anymore.” Ysolda said, then quickly pinched Danica’s mouth shut. “I’m right.”

“I heard the tree was taken by a lightning bolt that struck in the middle of a storm.” Arcida chimed in.

“And did you also hear the tale of a boy and an old wizard using that lightning to travel through time in a dwemer carriage?” Ysolda snarked, “Honestly, we had to tell them something to cover ourselves. Being thrown in prison would be the least of our worries if anyone found out the truth!”

“Alright so, Gildergreen is sick and this Nettlebane knife will help in some way?” Stross tried his best to follow along.

Danica pulled her mouth out of Ysolda’s fingers and nodded. “Yes, it is the only thing that can cut through the Eldergreen’s bark in order to get its sap.”

“So wait, just… hold on a second. You’re telling me you already killed one of these magic trees with your harvesting, and now you want to do the same to another?” Stross asked with a skeptical glance, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t help. I might even want to tell someone else about all this.”

“N-no! No, please wait. You misunderstand.” Ysolda stammered and rushed to keep Stross in her chair. “We’re not going to switch to harvesting the Eldergreen, we’re going to use its sap to revive the Gildergreen here in Whiterun, to try and fix our mistake.”

“The Gildergreen was originally a sapling grown from the Eldergreen when Whiterun was just starting out.” Danica told him, “With some of the sap from the parent tree, we might be able to revive it.”

“Please Fenora, what we’re doing to the tree might not be… morally upstanding in the eyes of some.” Ysolda said hesitantly. “But a lot of people depend on that sap for its healing properties, and even more here in Whiterun live off the coin we make by selling it. You would be doing us a great service if you helped us to revive the Gildergreen.”

“And you’d make sure the tree is kept healthy and safe in the future?” Stross asked, her tone making it clear that this would make or break the deal.

“It would never come to harm again so long as I’m alive to protect it. I swear.” Ysolda promised.

Stross held out her hand with a smile, and Ysolda shook it with hers.

“So, where’s Orphan Rock and these raven hags?”

“Thanks! We’ll have to meet for lunch when I get back!” Fen-Stross called as he left the alchemy shop behind. Ysolda had given him a map of Skyrim, with the location of Orphan Rock marked on it. Conveniently, it wasn’t far from the Throat of the world, just around the base of the mountain actually.

He’d have to make a detour to get Nettlebane later though, likely after they visited the Greybeards. Helping Fenora save the world would have to take priority over everything else. He only hoped she wasn’t afraid about facing the responsibility that had been so suddenly dropped on her shoulders.

He couldn’t imagine what she was going through, what she had to be thinking.

“Hey Lydia, can you pass the salt…” Fenora asked through a mouthful of grilled leeks as her houscarl nibbled through a piece of garlic bread.

Lydia let out a sigh of defeat and picked up the tiny jar. “I am sworn to carry your burdens.” She rolled her eyes.

Fenora raised a brow and cocked her head to the side, wondering what she’d just triggered. “I’m just asking you to pass the salt.” She pointed out.

“Oh sure, it’s just passing the salt.” Lydia said sarcastically as she sulked. “It always starts with JUST passing the salt.”

From this simple statement, and the resentment that accompanied it, a thousand questions bombarded Fenora’s mind. What childhood trauma had this woman been subjected to? What abuse had she suffered to make her so resistant to carry even the smallest of things for even the shortest amount of time? But above all, the one question that took priority over all else finally reached Fenora’s lips after nearly half a minute of silence.

“So… can you give me that salt already?”

Windcaller's Horn Arc part 1: Go for the throat

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Windcaller's Horn Arc part 2: Thu'um and doom

Ivarstead.

Calling it a village was being fairly generous; really it was a just small collection of houses and an inn. The only thing they really contributed was lumber thanks to their riverside saw mill. But even that wasn’t going too well with the bears decimating nearby trees, marking their territory, and stealing pik-a-nic baskets. The bears in Skyrim were far smarter than your average bear, that was for sure.

It felt at times the only reason little Ivarstead was on the map at all was because of the Greybeards up in their monastery, casting the looming shadow of their greatness and wisdom on the people living below. Everyone knew that this was unintended, as the monks were far too peaceful and content with their meditations to even realize how much everyone revered them. Because of them, there was still traffic through the town, and those occasional pilgrims were what brought any sort of change or excitement.

And oh boy… were they in for excitement when our heroes showed up?
…

At the moment, two men from the village, Wilhelm the innkeeper, and Klimmik the fisherman were talking about the one odd quirk of their town that no one was happy about.

“I’m telling you Klimmik, I saw it again, just standing outside the Barrow!” Wilhelm said shakily, “If this keeps up, it’ll scare away anyone who comes through here. No one will want to stay at a haunted inn!”

“Calm down Wilhelm, it’s probably nothing.” Klimmik responded in his normal deadpan tone. He’d never been one for superstitions, so when everyone else had been in a panic over the tale of some ghost haunting Shroud Hearth Barrow, he merely rolled his eyes and payed it no mind.

Wilhelm raised a finger, and was about to accuse Klimmik of never taking anything seriously enough, when he suddenly heard shouting in the distance.

Klimmik had heard it too, and the two of them turned to the path leading down the mountain towards Whiterun.

At first there were only distant shouts, but those gradually evolved into the sounds of battle, and the two of them hesitantly considered running back to town to alert the only two guards stationed there.

They didn’t decide quickly enough though, and the source of the commotion crested the sloping trail like a furious, rampaging dustball!

A troll as large as one and a half bears came barreling out on all fours chasing after a group of three travelers, madly swiping with its arms whenever it got within reach of them.

“Hold it still!” yelled an elf with a sword as she tried to get any kind of striking angle on it.

“I’m trying my thane!” yelled an armored nord woman, who tried to engage the beast but was easily punted aside.

In response, the elf desperately hacked and slashed at the troll’s limbs and face to try and beat the creature into submission. She was doing a fair amount of damage to it, cutting deeply. But the thing about trolls… they just don’t give a fuck.

“Stross! Where in Shor’s name are you?!” She called out while she stepped out of range of the troll's mad swings.

Suddenly the troll burst into flames from behind. The smell of burning troll fur was nauseating, but its wounds stopped healing instantaneously, cauterized by the fire. Without its advantage of fast healing, the troll quickly succumbed to the elf’s ferocity with a blade.

Thus another flame war against a troll was won.

“Is it dead yet?” asked a cloaked figure as he emerged from his hiding place behind a cropping of rocks.

“Yeah Stross, we got it.” the elf confirmed. She then took the end of her sword, carved off a lump of fat from the troll’s carcass and shoved it inside her pack, muttering something about potions.

“You three handled that troll pretty well.” Klimmik complimented, approaching the three. “Let me guess, here to climb the seven thousand steps?”

“Seven… thousand?” Fenora asked, sounding apprehensive.

“Yep, that’s what everyone calls ‘em at least; ‘bout the only thing anyone comes through Ivarstead for. People from all over come to make the pilgrimage up the seven thousand steps. Most just read the ancient tablets while trying to bag some game along the way, but some try to gain an audience with the Greybeards themselves.” At that Klimmik paused for a slight chuckle. “Of course none of them 'ave had any luck with that, those monks prefer to be left alone. Still… I tend to get up to their monastery in my spare time and deliver a bag of salted meat or fish so they don’t starve.

“Or… at least I used to.” Klimmik sighed, “My knees have been awful stiff lately. If you three wouldn’t mind taking this latest shipment up to the monastery, I’d be grateful.”

“We’ll do it!” Stross agreed before Fenora could get her word in.

Stross was then flattened under a bag of fish thrown his way.

Fenora frowned in distaste for Stross's over eagerness. “Well alright then. Anything on that path we should look out for?”

“It’s been getting dangerous lately, but probably nothing you won’t be able to handle. Just watch your footing and you’ll be fine.” Klimmik told them.

“Right, well we better get a move on. Skyrim won’t save itself.” Fenora said, but paused after a few steps. “Is it…really seven thousand steps up that mountain?” she asked hesitantly.

“Honestly, I never bothered to count.” Klimmik shrugged.

Fenora sighed and kept walking, her companions catching up a moment later.

Once they were out of earshot, Wilhelm ventured to ask, “Are your knees actually giving you trouble?”

“Nah,” Klimmik shrugged, “but this is way more convenient.”

As Fenora, Stross and Lydia climbed the winding path up the mountain, the air got colder, and before long, snow gradually phased into existence. The seven thousand steps were really just numerous slabs of weathered rock that lay disheveled and uneven all along the ground.
Before too long, they came across a man in hunter’s garb, sitting before a stone tablet with his bow set off to the side. He was seemingly deep in thought, and didn’t notice their approach until Fenora called over to him.

“Oh ‘ello there. Didn’t expect to see so many other pilgrims on the mountain today.” He greeted, “I come up here to meditate on the tablets now and then. And if I happen to bag a bit of game along the way, well…” he chuckled to himself a bit.

While Fenora just rolled her eyes at the hunter’s comment, Stross found himself quite intrigued, and decided to read the tablet for himself.

{Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus.
Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for true needs.
For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land.}

“What does it mean?” the changeling asked.

“Well that’s the mystery ain’t it? It’s what we come to think about after all.” The hunter told him, “There’s more further up, but I never go that far. Too sodding cold.”

“Stross, let’s go!” Fenora called from further up the path.

Stross took another quick look at the tablet and pondered over the words before moving on.

“So Fen, what do you think we’ll find when we get to the Greybeards?” Stross asked after they had walked for a while.

Fenora paused almost mid step. She hadn’t thought about that.

As silly as it sounded, Fenora hadn’t given a single thought as to what these Greybeards were like, or what they were going to do to help her. She had just assumed she’d go to them, and then they’d do… something. Then… profit?

“Well,” she began searching her brain for anything that could tell her what to expect, “From what little Jarl Balgruuf told me, they’re experts when it comes to dragonborns… which is what I am, somehow. I guess when we get there, I’ll just tell them the dragons are back. If they really are as wise as everyone says they are, they should know what to do. Right?”

Stross shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not even from this world, remember?”

Fenora nodded. But then a curious thought came to her. “Hey Stross, there are dragons in your world right? How do you fight them?”

“Oh that’s simple. You don’t!” Stross said with a cackle.

“That’s helpful. What do you do when one tries to burn down a village; does everyone just politely ask them to leave? Maybe make them say they’re sorry?” Fenora said in a mockingly sarcastic tone. But to her surprise, Stross told her that was exactly what everypony did.

As he continued, Fenora stumbled back and forth across the line between thinking Stross was joking, and thinking Equestria was completely insane.

Apparently, the dragons in Equestria were far more tame than the ones currently trying to kill everyone in her own world. The dragons of Equestria preferred to be left alone most times, sleeping for weeks at a time atop huge hordes of gold and jewels, only walking up so they could eat some of those jewels before going back to sleep.

When a dragon was napping somewhere that was hazardous for ponies or other creatures, a small task force would be assembled to ask it to move. And most shockingly of all, the dragons would usually comply with little complaint! At least, as long as they weren’t provoked… and weren't teenagers.

According to Stross, adolescent dragons were apparently the worst; they were caught with all the energy and rowdiness that came before adulthood, but had none of the self-control that came with age. They were the ones that would burn down towns for fun. They were the ones that loved to cause trouble. They were the ones that just wanted to party!

Still, Fenora felt she would gladly trade her dragons for the ones Stross was familiar with.

The further up the path they got, the more the snow fell around them, and the harder it became to see. Stross could barely feel his fingers, and was reminding himself of how much changelings didn’t like the cold. He envied Fenora and Lydia, who were either used to frigid weather, or just didn’t care about the cold.

Then his ear twitched, having picked up something in the distance.

“What was that?” he asked, looking around for the source of the noise.

“It was probably just the wind.” Lydia reasoned.

That however made Fenora stop in her tracks and grab her sword. “It’s never just the wind.” She said through her teeth, “Keep your guard up, and be ready for anything.”

Then Stross heard a growl right next to him. He turned and saw a tiny pair of yellow eyes staring back at him.

A second later the wolf lunged at him, having blended into the background so well with its white fur that it seemed to appear out of nowhere! It knocked him over, clamped its jaws down on the bag of fish on his back and ran off.

“Heeeeeeeelp!” Stross screamed as he was effortlessly dragged along with it.

“Stross!” Fenora yelled as she ran after him as fast as she could. “I told you to watch out for anything, and this technically counts as anything!”

Both Stross and the wolf dragging him were out of sight in seconds, so Fenora had to follow the trail left in their wake. Sword drawn, she plowed through the snow, keeping her eyes on the shallow trench made by Stross’s body until it came to an abrupt end at a sheer drop down the edge of the mountain.

“No.” she gasped, knowing what that meant.

Fenora stood at the edge and peered over, but at her height she couldn’t even see where the drop ended, much less where the changeling had landed. She stepped back only to fall on her rear. The realization hit her like a sudden kick to the head, and she didn’t want to believe it.
It couldn’t have happened just like that. Stross couldn’t be…

“NO! Bad doggies! Drop it! Sit! Play dead!”

Still alive?

Fenora spun to the sound of his voice, only to see the most ridiculous scene she’d witnessed in nearly two hours.

Stross hadn’t fallen… he’d flown. She’d forgotten that he had wings. But that wasn’t all; the wolf that had dragged him was still holding on to the bag of fish as stubbornly as ever, even as it dangled in the air by the strap. And Stross wasn’t giving it up, even as he beat his wings for dear life, hovering over at least half a dozen more wolves, two bears, three sabertooth tigers and Lydia.

“Somepony call animal control!” Stross screamed.

It took Fenora a moment to snap out of it in order to do something.

“Stross, just drop the bag already!” Fenora ordered.

“No! This is for the Greybeards, they need their protein!” Stross refused and tried once more to shake the wolf off.

“Stross-” Fenora stuttered in disbelief. “Look where you are! It’s just a bag of fish for some monks. Who cares?!”

“You know what?” Stross said with a suddenly dead serious look in his eyes. “I cares.”

Stross glared down at the amassed crowd of wild animals and sent a barrage of glowing orbs at them. Knowing what that meant, Fenora looked away before the flashbangs went off. Once they did, Stross added some fire to the mix. Blinded, deafened and now on fire, the animals scattered, rolling in the snow and stumbling away in a panic.

With his cunning victory and the bag of fish in hand, Stross fluttered back to the ground to await praise worthy of a hero. Worthy of-

“Stross you set Lydia on fire too!” Fenora scolded him.

“This housecarl’s on fire!” Lydia sang.

Finally reaching their destination, they stood before the monastery doors. The entire building was made of solid black stone cut into hard edges. The sides of the flat pillars had been ornately decorated with carvings that must have been made centuries ago, only to weather the wind and snow ever since. The metal doors themselves were no less imposing, located on either side of the steps leading to them, they were twice as tall as a person, but remarkably, they were also unlocked.

Looking to one another, the three of them entered with caution...

Only for Stross to ruin the suspense when he ducked outside to deposit the chewed-up bag of fish in the food chest.

Inside the monastery, they were greeted by cold and dimly lit stone halls filled with unlit braziers, and a great echoing silence. The stone floor, worn and faded with age, still bore simple patterns set into the stone.

Our heroes looked around in confusion at the darkened halls branching out from the main room. Then out of the shadows, four monks in heavy black robes strode slowly towards them, surrounding them on all sides.

For a moment, Stross thought they’d taken a wrong turn and stumbled into some cultists' hideout. That was until one lifted his hood, allowing them to see his elderly face while he introduced himself.

“Greeting travelers, I am master Arngeir.” the old man spoke in barely more than a whisper, “I assume that one among you is the dragonborn.”

“That would be me.” Fenora answered and stepped forward.

“I sensed as such. We’ve awaited your arrival, and are pleased you have sought us out so quickly. It is an honor to meet you.” Master Arngeir greeted Fenora with a slight nod. “We are the Greybeards, disciples of the goddess Kynareth, and masters in the way of the voice. I am sure you have many questions. Rest assured, we shall answer them in time. But first, we must test your thu’um, in order to see how much of your power has awoken.”

“Thu’um? You mean shout fire like those dragons do?” Fenora asked. “I can breathe fire!?” she started getting excited until master Arngeir held up a hand to silence her.

“Yes, among a great many other other things. A thu’um is the outward projection of one’s inner power. Being dragonborn, you have the ability to use this power without the years of arduous training that others would normally require. But know that with this great power, comes a great responsibility. You must have control.”

“Okay, so how do I do it?” Fenora asked.

“To begin, you must have knowledge of the dragon language, usually no more than three words go into a thu’um. Once you feel the word resonate within you, the rigorous training to focus it into a physical projection would take place. But being Dragonborn, it should come far more naturally. Simply focus on the words, and shout.” Arngeir explained, his voice briefly raised to a loud whisper.

“Okay, I’ll try.” Fenora said, her voice still harboring some doubt.

“No.” Arngeir stopped her, “Do not try. There is no try. Simply do… or do not. Now dragonborn, give us a taste of your power; as masters of the voice, we can withstand it.”

Fenora closed her eyes and focused hard, but found she had no idea of what to focus on. “Um, master… how do I thu’um?”

“It cannot be explained. You will simply know.” Arngeir told her cryptically.

“That just means he doesn’t know either.” Stross quipped, invoking a glare from the old monk.

Fenora searched her thoughts again, knowing there had to be something. But even if some small part of her did know what to do, it wouldn’t have helped. Every time she tried to focus on any one thing, hundreds of other thoughts swam around in her head. Each of them screamed out for attention, and she couldn't possibly ignore them;
The Imperial ambush…
Helgen burning down around her…
Whiterun's watchtower and Irileth’s dead soldiers.
Bandits and necromancers!

All the while the thought of Skyrim- no. The world about to be destroyed, and only she had the power to save it, but she couldn’t even figure out this… dragon shouty thing!

What was she supposed to do!?

“Fen.” Stross grabbed her arm and pulled her out of her head. “Calm down, it’s just a test.”

Fenora found herself gawking at him.

“Just… a test?” she felt her eye twitch. “JUST A TEST?!”

In that instant, Fenora’s voice literally exploded, booming into a furious shockwave of energy that lifted Stross off the ground and flung him into the nearest wall.

“Stross!” Fenora rushed over to check on him.

“You rock Fen. Woo-hoo.” Stross cheered weakly from where he was imbedded in the stone.

“Dragonborn, it seems you do possess the gift. But wielded in anger, the voice shall only bring ruin, as perhaps you can see.” Master Arngeir warned as Fenora and Lydia tried to safely pry their changeling out of the wall.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-“ Fenora began, wanting to tell him about the pressure she was feeling. But he calmly silenced her again.

“Do not be sorry. Simply learn, and improve. Control your inner voice, be at peace with the world, and be at peace with yourself. Only then will you follow the way of the voice.” Arngeir recited.

Fenora nodded. She didn’t think any of this would be easy, but… “I know, I just- Okay… okay I can do this.”

“Very good.” Arngeir smiled. “Now… once more. And this time… with control.”

Fenora stepped before them again and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes again, she found her mind considerably calmer, letting things come and go around as they pleased instead of trying to contain them or push them aside. Eventually her thoughts drifted back to the word wall in Bleak falls. Doing her best to push away all other stray thought and focus on that one word, she took a deep inhale.

“FUS…” the first word came, and a second drifted into view of her mind’s eye. “RO…” the last she didn’t even think of, it simply bolted from her mouth on the tails of the other two. “DAH!”

It was like her mind sort of knew that something was missing and did what it could to fill in the blanks.

Once the ringing echoes cleared from the halls, and silence returned, Arngeir spoke again.

“The shout of Unrelenting Force.” He identified, “Whole and unfragmented. Astonishing. Your voice is powerful dragonborn, and your knowledge equally impressive if not more so. With proper training, your voice might one day rival the most legendary heroes to wield it. That said… shall we continue?”

The group of adventurers and monks left the temple to a courtyard in the back (an open air courtyard with wind and freezing snow-covered ground, much to Stross’s disliking). Positioned outside, was a large gate that seemingly served no purpose, as it stood in the middle of nowhere and didn’t really keep anything in or out.

“Here we shall see how you learn a whole new shout: Wuld, which means whirlwind.” Arngeir led them before the gate at one end.

“How do I ‘learn’ a shout? The last one I got from a wall in a tomb.” Fenora asked, “I don’t have to go delving into more do I?”

The Greybeards all shared a chuckle at this.

“Er... Not this time, at least... no.” Arngeir said, still laughing a bit. “Master Borri, if you would…”

On his que, one of the other monks stepped forwards and faced the ground. “WULD.” He whispered, slight disturbances in the air making themselves known before the ground cracked, an imprint of the dragon word forcefully stamped into it.

“Oh man that’s cool.” Stross whispered while Fenora knelt down and studied the engraved word.

“Okay,” she said, finally standing up. “I think I got it.”

Arngeir nodded, but his knowing smile told more. “You understand the word, yes. But not of its meaning just yet. In order to attain such knowledge, the word must be felt in mind… and in spirit. Such things can take years of training, but for the sake of time, we shall share our knowledge of the word with you as the dragons of old did with their kin.”

One of the monks stood before Fenora and spread his arms in a slight bow to her. The wind picked up around the two, and Stross slipped into his changeling vision. What he saw wasn’t emotion flowing from the Greybeard to Fenora, but knowledge, bright but colorless. He saw Fenora’s eyes widen as she took in the last of it.

“Ah, now there are the eyes of one who has attained true understanding.” Arngeir said. “Now, step up to the starting post, and master Borri shall demonstrate how the thu’um of Whirlwind Sprint.”

Master Borri stood between two small, stone posts, aiming for a cooler full of nord mead bottles on the other side of the metal gate.

“BEX! (Open!)” one of them used a shout to open the gate.

When the gate opened, the timer began clicking down the seconds before it closed. Borri spoke the words of Whirlwind Sprint “WULD NAH KEST”. The second they left his mouth, the old monk was whisked along the snowy ground and through the open gate at a speed that could probably outpace a hyper pony like Pinkie Pie.

Then it was Fenora’s turn to give it a try. She stepped up between the two posts and bent her knees in a sprinter’s position.

“BEX!” the opening shout was called again.

“WULD…” Fenora spoke the first word and was propelled forward, kicking up a trail of snowy powder in her wake. “NAH…” but as the second word was spoken, she blazed past the ice-filled box of mead bottles and towards the edge of the cliff. “KES- Woah! Too far- Too far! Shiiiiiiii…”

“Fen!” Stross screamed, his wings punching through the back of his cloak as he flew off the edge of the cliff after her.

“Oh dear.”master Arngeir droaned.

The four Greybeards and Lydia moved forward slowly and cautiously before daring to peer over the edge. How were they going to explain to anyone that the legendary Dragonborn, savior of the entire world... died because of gravity?

“Halp!” screamed the changeling as he buzzed his wings furiously to keep both himself aloft with Fenora dangling from his ankles.

“I’m coming my thane!” Lydia shouted as she turned and ran back into the monastery, no doubt planning to run down the entirety of the seven thousand steps, around the base of the mountain, and climb up to them.

Luckily one of the Greybeards had a much better idea, and simply tossed down a rope.

“Once again Dragonborn, you must learn control if you are to wield the Voice. You nearly gave us a heart attack just now.” Arngeir criticized as Fenora pulled herself and Stross to safety.

“Right… yeah, I’ll work on that.” she said, gasping for breath. “Say… you wouldn’t happen to have a shout for not falling off cliffs, would you?”

“Or wandering into spike traps… or getting mauled by bears… or being roasted alive by accidentally standing in fire… or-“ Stross began listing off commonly dumb ways to die.

“Actually… there are.” One of the other Greybeards mentioned. And then the earth shook slightly in response to his voice, even though it was only a slight whisper.

“Cool. I’d like to learn all of those too please.” Fenora requested.

Immediately all the Greybeards gasped at the sheer audacity of such a request, murmuring amongst each other if such a thing were even possible.

“Arrogance will get you nowhere Dragonborn.” Arngeir warned in a mildly scolding tone. “It is true you have shown considerable talent in mastering the thu’um. But you are not yet ready to undertake the higher levels of training. Safely mastering even one thu’um would normally take years of discipline and practice. Already, two shouts have been granted to you, and so far your experience in using them in minimal at best. None can be so brash with so great a power.”

“It’s not brashness if you can back it up. I’ve got the potential; if you give me the power now, I can learn to control it through actually using it.” Fenora countered.

Master Arngeir shook his head in disappointment. “Have you heard nothing since coming here? You must have patience and calm. Jurgen Windcaller, our very founder knew this better than anyone, for he was taught it through sorrow and loss.”

“And why do you think I’m even here?!” Fenora shouted. “Master… what kind of time do you think we have?”

A pause, and a moment of silence between them.

“Alduin isn’t in the process of returning, he isn’t some looming threat in the distance; he’s back. He already burned Helgen to the ground along with dozens of innocent people. His minion killed all of Ireleth’s men before we stopped him from burning down Whiterun! He won’t just sit around eating sweetrolls while I learn how to… meditate!” Fenora ranted, “I know Balgruuf said you were removed from the troubles of the world up here, but I had no idea you didn’t care about them at all!”

“Fen! That’s not fair.” Stross tried to rein her in and defend the Greybeards.

“You bet it’s not fair!” Fenora turned on him now, “You’re the one who told me not to walk away and abandon everyone. You convinced me to give a fuck. Well, this is me giving a fuck!”

“We understand your frustration Dragonborn,” Arngeir began again, drawing Fenora’s attention back to him. “But we are merely acting with caution, as we have always tried to. We had watched for the signs, the civil war between the Stormcloacks and Imperials was when we knew for sure. When Alduin returned on the morning of yesterday, we knew that the prophesy was finally coming true, and that you would come to us. We are fulfilling our duty in training you in the way of the voice, but above all, we cannot let the power of the voice consume you. We do not wish to create another monster, even in such dire times.”

“That won’t happen, I promise.” Fenora told them.

Arngeir smiled at her sincerity, but still he shook his head. “That is not something you can promise.” He told her, and as she was about to speak up again, Arngeir continued. “Ulfric Stromcloak. Do you know the name?”

“Hey, he was that guy who was going to be executed at Helgen.” Stross remembered, “He’s the leader of some rebellion in Skyrim.”

“Indeed. But do you know how the rebellion came to be, how it began?” Arngeir asked, to which neither Fenora or Stross had an answer.

Lydia however, did. “He used the voice to kill High King Torygg. Walked right in and challenged him to a duel for the throne. When the duel began, he shouted him to the floor and put a sword through his chest before he could get up. Then he just walked right out again.” Lydia told them. “I was there when it happened. Queen Elisif was crying over his body for days.”

This shocked Fenora and Stross. They’d heard tidbits and bold statements from passing townspeople, but never a proper retelling of what happened. For Stross it hit especially hard; he didn’t even know Queen Elisif, and his heart still went out for her, knowing she’d watched as someone she loved was killed in front of her.

“And do you know how he came to possess the power of the voice?” Arngeir asked.

None answered, but they could all hazard a guess.

“Young Ulfric came to us with such sincerity, and such willingness to learn the way of the voice. He was more dedicated to his studies and training than any we had seen in decades. But it was fueled by a rage he could not conceal, a lust for vengeance burning in his soul.” Arngeir opened his eyes and looked at Fenora, “I see the same anger burning within you, Dragonborn. You might have seen the consequences that come with abusing the voice. We do not wish to make such a mistake again.”

“That’s-“

Stupid.

Fenora was going to tell them all that was the stupidest excuse she’d ever heard for not wanting to give their only hope every advantage she could get.

But… on the other hand, she could maybe… just maybe see why they were so hesitant. After all, they lived their lives on a mountain to keep their own powers in check, so chances were, they took sharing that kind of knowledge seriously.

“I’m not Ulfric Stormcloak.” She began again. “I don’t want to rule Skyrim or destroy anyone. I just want to stop Alduin.”

Mater Arngeir regarded her in silence for what seemed like a long while. Then finally he let out a sigh.

“Very well. As you wish, we shall continue your training.” He said, defeated. “This way.” He motioned for Fenora to follow.

"This time..." Arngeir prayed silently to himself, and to the goddess of the sky above, "Please let this one turn out right."

Author's Note

Wow... been a long dang time since I've updated this. Life has been keeping me busy left right and center, but if I'm lucky I can get onto a weekly updating basis.

Anyway, if anyone is still out there reading this. Until next chapter...

A side of quests: Ivarstead

Author's Note

I was going to originally title this chapter and the next one: Ivarstead Ghostbusters, and Ivarstead Ghostbusters 2: the ghostening.

Sing it with me everyone... Who you gonna call?

A side of quests: Ivarstead

The sun was almost setting when Stross finally made it back down the mountain to the village of Ivarstead. He was alone this time, as Fenora was still practicing her thu’ums, with Lydia helping to set up targets, and sometimes to be a target. Only the non-lethal thu’ums of course! Well.. at least he thought so. ...he hoped so.

Either way, Stross felt more than a little left out. His magic was too disruptive to be helpful, as flashbangs and fire were intended to be. So instead, for the first hour or so he read up on all things Greybeard. It was interesting… sort of. But it didn’t keep him occupied for long. After that he just sort of sat around on the side cheering for Fen, but even that got old fast, for all of them.

In the end, Fenora decided it was going to take a while for her to master the rest of her training, and they likely wouldn’t make it back to Whiterun until the next day at least. So Stross was sent down to get them all a room at the inn. No offence to the Greybeards, but she didn’t want to sleep in the freezing cold monastery.

Stross let out a sigh as he dragged his feet to the bridge. He didn’t like feeling useless. Most of all, he hated being alone, even if it was just for a little while.

“Reyda!”

The scream quickly pulled Stross’s attention. A gaunt-looking man had jumped out from the bushes near the bridge. He wore a set of ratty old clothes, and had a look in his eyes like he wasn’t all there.

“Have you seen Narfi’s sister Reyda?” he asked, his eyes quickly jumping all around even as he spoke.

Stross quickly tried to get a read on the strange person before him, but even his emotion sense failed, as Narfi’s aura was shifting and jerking about as madly as his physical form. “Umm… no?” Stross answered nervously.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Narfi deflated, his threatening posture lost completely. “Reyda left a year ago, but Narfi never said goodbye like mother and father. Now mother and father are dead... killed by the bad men. But Wilhelm says Reyda will be back, Narfi just has to wait. But waiting’s so hard!”

After that, he turned and ran back to an old broken down house, raving something sorrowful about his lost sister.

Stross walked on as well, looking over his shoulder a couple times to see if he was followed.

“This needs investigating.” Stross muttered to himself.

The Vilemyr Inn wasn’t extravagant or fancy, but it was warm and comfortable. Wilhelm had owned and served as its caretaker for many years, and did everything is his power to keep it clean, and its customers happy.

Most of the time, no one new was passing through town on their way south to Riften or north to Windhelm, and so customers were mostly the townsfolk. They dropped by after work to talk about the day’s events, any local gossip, or just to get a good meal and a stiff drink in the hours before they had before they went to bed.

Though for such a small village, there was a surprising amount to talk about, like Fastred wanting to leave town for a better life in Riften, or Ms. Temba getting upset over the bears destroying all the limber-worthy trees nearby. Also was the ever puzzling question of what Gwilin did every day; what allowed him to be so dang cheerful when anyone else would be glum? And of course, there was the infamous ghost of Shroud Hearth Barrow.

This was all old news though, things everyone had been talking about for weeks if not months. So when a new, mysterious stranger poked their hooded head through the door of the inn, everyone became just a little bit quieter.

This didn’t go amiss by the stranger either, and they paused for a moment by the door. If anyone was paying close enough attention, they might have noticed a faint red glow coming from under the traveler’s hood.

When they walked up to the counter and pulled off their hood, Wilhelm recognized her as the elf who fought the troll earlier that day, and gave his usual friendly greeting.

“Welcome! Good to see the trip to High Hrothgar wasn’t too much for ya. What can I get you tonight?”

“I’d like to get a room for the night please.” ‘Fenora’ told him and started counting out septims.

“Certainly, ten septims and it’s yours for a day. It’s through that door right over there.” Wilhelm said and gestured to a door only a few feet to the right of the counter. “Enjoy your stay, but I should warn you not to go too close to the barrow; it’s haunted.”

“H-haunted?” Stross asked.

“Yup. I’ve seen one of the ghosts with my very own eyes.” Wilhelm said, leaning over the counter for dramatic effect, “When it turned to glare at me, I swear its gaze burned right into my soul! WOOO-ooo-OO-ooooo!”

“Alright, stay far away from the barrow, got it!” Stross nodded fearfully.

“Good. Ya got more sense about ya than that Wyndelius fella.” Wilhelm said, calmly going back to polishing mugs. “Anythin’ else ya might need?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask about that guy who lives across the river. Narfi… I think he called himself.”

At the mention of the name, Wilhelm visibly sagged. “Aye, that there’s not so much a scary tale, as it tis just a sad one. Ya’see, Narfi’s family used to live in that old house across the river; good friends with them, I was. He mostly just keeps to himself there nowadays. His sister Reyda disappeared over a year ago, to gather some special ingredients on a small island south of here… and never came back. We looked for her everywhere, all of us. But she never turned up.

“It only got worse when those bandits came, just a couple days later. Narfi survived by hiding, but his parents…” Wilhelm had to stop and rub the tears from his eyes. “After everything that happened, Narfi clung to the hope that Reyda would come back one day. I’m pretty sure it was the only thing keeping him sane, so-“ Wilhelm sighed and stated, “I lied to him. I told him what I did to make the poor guy feel better. You can call me a coward if you wish. Gods know I already have.”

“No.” Stross told him, “I don’t know if I could have told him either.”

“Thanks. I just don’t know what to do about him though. Seein’ him wallow away in that decrepit shack every day…”

“What about that island?” Stross asked, “Do you think his sister might still be there?”

“If she is, after all this time…” Wilhelm shivered. “There’s an old cave on that island, Geirmund's Hall people call it, but I don’t know why. There’s somethin’ evil about that place, but it makes the mushrooms grow like crazy. Be careful if you’re going to search anywhere near there is all I’m saying, it certainly didn’t do Reyda any good.”

Stross stood on the small island in the middle of the river as the gave way to the moon and stars. A flat stone surface lay at the highest point of the island, and was likely all that remained of a long forgotten house where a ton of drinking contests were held.

Stross also found that Wilhelm was right; the mushrooms really did grow well here.

Unfortunately, of all things scattered around the cave entrance on the far side, the mushrooms were the least disturbing. Bones and skulls, scraps of meat, discarded pieces of armor and broken blades littered the ground. On the edges of the cave, several grotesque totems made of sticks and animal parts stood as a warning, or perhaps a threat to whoever might enter.

“Well this is foreboding.” Stross said to no one.

After a bit of standing and staring, the changeling shrugged and cheerfully decided, “Welp, might as well take a look inside.”
…

The second he entered the cave, there were far fewer bloody monuments, and far more mushrooms, as well as one particular person of interest.

He was a tall muscular man, a set of crude leather armor covered most of his torso and legs, yet he lay there on his side, cold and rigid and covered in cuts. A knife was buried between his shoulder blades, likely the coup de grace. The blood had dried, and the man left to rot where he fell.

“Yep, that’s a dead guy.” Stross observed.

In Equestria, finding dead bodies were an exceeding rarity, nearly unheard of really. It was a peaceful place after all; murder was nonexistent, accidents were scarcely fatal, and in the times when a loved one finally passed away from old age, they were prepared for a funeral shortly after.
By comparison, Stross noticed, Skyrim was absolutely rampant with death! Sometimes even, the dead weren’t satisfied with their first round of being murderized and had to rise from the grave for a second helping. For a little while, the change was pretty jarring, even for a non-pony like Stross.

But there was something off that piqued Stross's curiosity and overpowered his gag reflex, and that was a little red book tightly clutched in the man’s right hand. Stross also noticed the pair of axes on the dead man’s belt, but only one of them drawn.

“What was so important about this book that you’d keep hold of it instead of another axe?” Stross wondered while he did his best to ignore the sickly green eyes staring lifelessly back at him, and instead focused on retrieving the book.

Blood had spattered the cover of the book, and rigor-mortis stricken fingers fought to give it up, but eventually it was pried from the dead man’s grip.

“Lost Legends.” Stross read the title aloud, then proceeded to flip through the pages.

The book began by saying that history left unrecorded lived on in legends, giving short mentions of stories like ‘the Pale Lady’, and Red Eagle. But the pages afterwards had been tagged, the corner’s dog-eared, passages underlined, and notes scribbled in the blank spaces.

“In the dawning days of the First Era, the story goes there lived a powerful wizard by the name of Gauldur. Wise and just, he was well known in the courts of King Harald and the Jarls of Skyrim, and his aid and counsel were sought by man and mer alike.” Stross quickly read aloud, “And then he was murdered?! Why’s it always murder and tragedy with these old stories?”

“After stealing Gauldur’s amulet, the source of much of the archmage’s power, his three sons fled into the night, pursued by a company of King Harald's best warriors and the Lord Geirmund, the king's personal battlemage.” Stross continued, noting the word ‘amulet’ was underlined heavily. “So that’s who Giermund was.”

“One brother is said to have perished in the ruins of Folgunthur, at the Foot of Solitude.” ‘Valen’s team’ was jotted down next to Folgunthur. “The others were run to ground soon thereafter.” ‘Saarthal’ and ‘Giermund’s hall’ were written and underlined. “And once it was done, king Harald ordered every record of their murders destroyed, and Gauldur's name and deeds were struck from the rolls of history.” Stross finished, shutting the book and shoving it in his pack. “But what does that have to do with Narfi’s sister?”

“Everything.” An echoing voice told him.

Stross looked up only to see a ghostly pale figure mere inches from his face. Startled, he let out a scream of fright and jumped backwards only to trip and fall down an open chasm in the earth.

Water erupted around his body and soaked into his cloak. The changeling frantically pumped his arms and legs, finally pulling himself out of the pool of water and onto dry land.

“I’m sorry about that.” the ghost lady said, appearing right next to him again.

“Ahh!” Stross screamed and scrambled away from her on all fours, finally stopping when he found himself cornered at a dead end in the underground tunnel.

“Wait, please.” She begged him, floating nearer.

“What do you want? Is this because I took that dead guy’s money? You can have it back!” Stross said offering her the coins in hopes that she would take mercy on him.

“No. I want your help.” she told him, “You came here looking for me, didn’t you?”

Stross looked at the ethereal form floating before him, and then it clicked. “R-Reyda?”

“That was my name, yes. I came here to harvest mushrooms one day, but was kidnapped by cultists. They wanted to use my soul to resurrect one of the three brothers, from the Gauldur legend.” She explained sadly, “It worked too well. They bound my soul to the body of Sigdis Gauldurson, giving him new life. Shortly after, he killed them all, harvesting their life-forces as well. For more than a year now, I’ve been the only thing keeping that monster trapped here in this place. I want to be free of him, free of this place! ...But I am not strong enough to do it alone. Will you help me end that fiend, once and for all?”

Stross nodded without hesitation. Taking the lives of other to preserve its own? Killing and threatening the innocent? This kind of evil had done nearly everything he stood against. It wouldn’t get away with it! “You bet. Where do we start?”

“Thank you!” Reyda gave him a ghostly hug. “Follow me, and be wary of the traps.”

Reyda guided Stross through the waterlogged catacombs, Stross’s magic and the glow from her ghostly form lighting the way. She showed him the solution to the puzzle-locked gates, and twice saved him from being crushed or impaled by the traps.

Finally they came to the ritual chamber, a flooded area full of platforms rising from the water. In the center sat a large metal coffin, still surrounded on all sides by decaying bodies in cultist robes.

“This is it.” Reyda told him.

“Foolish girl!” boomed a menacing voice from the coffin. “You return once again, but still you lack the strength to do more than hold me here!”

“Maybe not, but now I have help!” Reyda yelled back defiantly.

The coffin burst open and a Sigdis stepped out, his rotting fingers still expertly nocked an arrow in his bow. “Another soul to the slaughter.” He mocked before teleporting away.

Sigdis reappeared on the opposite end of the room and began taking shots at the pair. One arrow managed to hit Stross in the chest, and he felt himself being drained. The energy within him was being ripped out by the arrow, and siphoned into its master.

“Watch out, his arrows drain your magika!” Reyda warned him too late.

Stross quickly pulled out the arrow, but the damage was already done. He knew he would have to avoid taking any more hits if he wanted to stay in the fight.

Sigdis managed two more shots before Stross was able to retaliate with his flames. The fire didn’t seem to do much harm though, and the undead archer simply teleported away yet again. When he reappeared though, two identical clones stood on adjacent platforms ready to fire with him.

“Kage bunshin no jutsu.” Sigdis snarked.

“That joke was cheesy and cheap as discount fondue!” Stross yelled back.

With next to nothing to hide behind, Stross instead took to the air, nimbly zipping back and forth to avoid the volley sent his way and returning shots when he could. It didn’t stop him from getting hit though, and he felt even more of his precious energy reserves slipping away.
Even worse, Reyda took a hit at one point as well; apparently Sigdis didn’t care that she was a ghost, and neither did his arrows. As bad as the draining effect was on Stross, it was absolutely devastating to Redya. Her distorted scream filled the chamber as she faded away. Her soul was damaged, and it took nearly a full minute for her to even reconstitute her form.

After that, Stross did all he could to keep all the attention on himself while Reyda waited for a moment to strike.

The only advantage the pair had was how it only took one hit to dispose of the Sigdis clones, and even that was negated by the fact that Sigdis could just teleport away and summon more.

As he ducked under yet another round of arrows, Stross called to his ghostly ally. “Reyda I can’t keep this up much longer. A little help would be great right about now!” he then threw a flashbang to buy a second while he threw another wave of fire at the clones.

“I’m working on it.” Reyda said with annoyance evident in her voice.

With another pair of clones vanquished, Sigdis made to teleport again.

“Oh no you don’t.” Reyda said with a smirk. She waved her hand, and suddenly the purple swirl of magic allowing Sigdis to warp around was gone, leaving the draugr simply standing there in confusion. “Now Stross, hit him now!”

Stross took the chance and used his wings to charge up a flying punch. “Eat this!” he yelled an instant before his fist connected with the draugr’s face.

For a second, nothing moved, Stross remaining frozen in the air mid punch.

Then suddenly he fell to the floor in a fit of spasms yelling, “Ow, my hand! I think I broke my hand on his face!”

Sigdis laughed and drew his bowstring back for an executioner’s shot. “Pitiful fool.”

“Oh for crying out loud-” the ghost of Reyda face-palmed.

The air in the room suddenly became tense. Reyda focused all her ghostly might on Sigdis while he was distracted by Stross’s writhing. Her ghost rushed toward Sigdis and jumped into the Draugr’s body. A blinding pale light filled the room, and when it dimmed, Sigdis’s body was pulsing with that same bright light. Cracks began to from all over his rotting body, and chunks of flesh fell away to vanish into bright blue ashes. Kinda like a certain hero in a certain movie. Hmm?

Realizing too late what Reyda had done, Sidgis could only scream in rage as the rest of his body exploded into piles of smoldering ashes.

It took a while for Stross to recover after everything, and he stood, rubbing the spots from his eyes. “Reyda?” he called out. “Reyda, where are you? You got him!?”

Nothing answered him.

Looking around, Stross found the Gauldur Blackbow of Sigdis and a piece of the shattered amulet in one of the ash piles, but Reyda was still nowhere to be seen. The changeling called to Reyda one last time, but silence answered him yet again.

The nearest door was beyond the platforms and sarcophagus, and led to a room with a handy shortcut to the surface. But sitting in the corner, was what Stross knew to be Reyda’s body. Remarkably well preserved for having been there over a year, the only major disfigurement was a stab wound to her gut, likely how the cultists sacrificed her in the first place.

The changeling let out a sigh as he slung the bow onto his back and crouched down near her. “Well, we did it. Sigdis has been finished for good.” He said and patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave you here.”

With that he picked her up and-

Okay well, she was a little too heavy. But he carefully dragged her out with him when he left.

Fenora stood with her eyes closed, her feet shifting ever so slightly in the snow. Her sword was drawn and held in front of her as she awaited the next wave of attackers.

“Be ready dragonborn.” Master Arngeir told her. He and the other three masters stood in a semicircle several feet from her. “Begin!”

“Fiik Lo Sah! (Mirror Deceive Phantom)” each of them shouted before quickly darting out of the way. In their places were four ghostlike silhouettes.

“Wuld Nah Kest!” Fenora used her whirlwind sprint, winding up her sword for a strike even as she was propelled forward.

She hit the first training dummy like a hurricane. Then with another step she flung herself at the next one with the same speed. It wasn’t until she reached the third that her whirlwind sprint finally wore off, and she lost her momentum. But she wasn’t quite done. With only one target left, she took the hilt of her two-hander and threw it like a javelin at the illusion, spearing it through the chest and making it disperse.

“Four and a half seconds! That’s your best time yet my thane!” Lydia called to her after checking a device made of multiple hourglasses. An ingenious idea really; ten hourglasses of progressing size were lined up in a row between two long bars of steel. Each increment took one more second to empty, and they could all be flipped over in unison.

“Most impressive indeed Dragonborn.” Master Arngeir walked over to Fenora as she retrieved and resheathed her sword. “The rate you have learned these thu’ums is still astonishing to all of us. Regrettably, there is nothing more for you to learn that we can teach you at this time. Continue to hone your skills, and above all, follow the way of the voice.”

“Thank you master.” Fenora said with a bow. Her voice was becoming a bit scratchy from all the training.

“Now then. You were wondering about your destiny to defeat Alduin.”

Once again, Fenora nearly slapped herself. In all this time training with them, she hadn’t even once thought to ask them about the reason they came to them in the first place.

Seeing the look on her face caused Arngeir to chuckle a bit, before taking his usual serious tone. “Alduin's return was truly a surprise to us all. We know that he gains strength from the souls of the dead, but where and how is a mystery to us at this time." Seeing Fenora's brow start to crease, he told her, "But there is yet hope. The head of our order is learning all he can about how to reach Alduin, and even how to stop him. When that time comes, you must be ready. For now, travel southeast of Solitude to the crypt Ustengrav, it is the burial place of our founder, Jurgan Windcaller. For centuries, traversing its halls have been the final test for those who wish to truly master the voice.”

For wise old men, they seemed to have very little in the way of answers. Fenora wanted to tell him exactly how she felt about that. But that hadn't gone too well in the past, so she settled for, “I will, thank you master.”

“Sky above, Dragonborn.”

“Voice within.” Fenora finished the mantra before she and Lydia turned to make the trek back down the mountain.

Now, after you just went through hours of intensive training in order to control a power that very few mortals ever even get to use, there are certain things one would want to do: get a nice warm meal in your belly, maybe a strong drink to go along with it, a warm bad to crash in certainly.

Seeing your ‘twin sister’ getting harassed by a pair of guards for hauling a corpse through town in the middle of the night is likely very low on that list.

“You’re lucky no one was awake to see this, or we’d have a full blown panic on our hands. Now explain yourself!” one of the guards demanded in a harsh whisper.

The two of them had pulled Stross around the back of the sawmill and out of view. Meanwhile the changeling still refused to let go of the body and was trying to get them to listen to some crazy story involving cultists and ancient legends, but they were having none of it, thoroughly convinced she was just a graverobber.

“What’s going on here?” Fenora interrupted them.

Seeing the apparent twin of the elf they were trying to apprehend, one of the guards quickly tried to make her an accomplice.

“We caught your twin here stealing-“

“Not you!” Fenora cut him off, “Stross, what’s going on?”

“So I talked to this guy named Narfi, and he was looking for his sister. But Wilhelm told me she’s been missing for over a year, so I went to investigate. Then I met her ghost and she told me she was killed by cultists to resurrect a dead guy from this old legend. See there were these three brothers who killed their dad to get his magic amulet, but they were killed ‘cause their dad was a really famous mage and a really nice guy. But Sigdis was alive again, and so we re-killed Sigdis and now Reyda’s gone too, but I found her body and dragged it all the way here, and it was really hard because she was heavy, and now these two jerks are trying to arrest me for doing a nice thing and- Fen it’s just like back in Equestria!”

Fenora took in a breath and let out a tired sigh. “Fellas, you two handle the body, I’ll take care of this.” She said and dragged Stross away by the hood of her cloak.

“Hey, you can’t just-“

The guard was cut off again when Fen threw a bag of gold to him and his partner.

“Sssssooooo…” the guard on the left started, “I’ll get her legs!”

“No fair, I wanted to get her legs!” the guard on the right protested.

“So… you killed an evil zombie, unearthed an old legend and freed an innocent spirit, even going as far as to bring her body back for a proper burial.” Fenora recapped once they and Lydia were all safely inside the inn with everyone asleep. “Not a bad day’s work Stross. Nice job.”

“Well, y’know…” Stross modestly soaked up the praise. “I was just there investigating- and Reyda did most of the work anywa-“

“So what the ‘Blivion were you thinking, walking back into town like that?” Fenora snapped at him suddenly, catching him off guard.

“Oh. Well I… guess I could have told them were the body was so they could come get it themselves.” Stross admitted shamefully, “But I didn’t want anything to happen to her before-“

“Not that.” Fenora nearly slapped him. “Why are you going around wearing me as a disguise? You’re going to get me in trouble!”

“Well I can’t go around as me!” Stross countered.

“Then be someone else. You’re a changeling right? Just… do your changeling thing and… I dunno, make a new you.” Fenora told him.

Stross thought a bit on that, and wondered why he hadn’t done such a thing sooner. If he could make a pony disguise by mashing together random features, why not make his very own human disguise, or an elf for that matter?

“Challenge accepted!” Stross announced, crossing his arms confidently.

“Great, you work on that. Me and Lydia are gonna get some sleep.” Fenora said and headed off towards their room. She then turned right back around and asked, “Uh, which ones ours?”

“That one.” Stross pointed. “But we might not want to stay here. The barrow outside of town is haunted by ghosts.”

Fenora raised quizzical brow at this. “Really? Stross, didn’t you just finish helping a ghost?”

“But she was a friendly ghost.” Stross made the distinction as if it changed anything. “These ones are scary. Terrifying! They’ve scared the whole town into-“

“Great, we’ll deal with it in the morning. Right now I need some sleep.” Fenora said and headed off to the room.

“B-…b-but the ghosts. Aren’t you afraid?” Stross asked, but his concerns were thoroughly ignored. “Can I sleep with you Fen?”

“No.” came her firm but simple reply.

“I can turn into anyone you want and snuggle you to sleep!” Stross reminded her.

A pause.

“I’ll think about it.”

A side of quests: Ivarstead part 2

“Hmm… nope.”
*sizzle*

“Nope.”
*fizz*

“Nuh-uh.”
*tiny changeling disguise sound*

Fenora groaned and her eyes creaked open, her body refusing to sleep any longer. She rolled over to find the source of the noise that had woken her up. When she saw someone sitting on the bed across from her, she instinctively pulled up the blankets to cover herself even though she was still in her clothes… and her boots… and still had all her weapons and gear equipped.

The other elf to looked past the edge of his hand mirror and noticed that she’d woken up, and he immediately became flustered.

“Eek, don’t look at me! I’m not ready yet!” he screamed and pulled his grey hood over his face.

With her mind still half asleep, it took a moment for everything to fall into place for Fen. “Stross?” she finally recognized him.

“Fenora it's awful! I can't do Skyrim faces! I was up all night trying to make a new face, and I’m still hideous!” he pouted, still tugging the edge of his hood to below his chin. “Stupid humans and elves with your tiny noses, and your normal-sized eyeballs…”

“Oh come on, I’m sure you don’t look that bad.” Fenora said, trying to get an actual look.

Stross pulled back though, trying to keep out of reach. “Um… uh… ju-just give me like ten minutes, I’m sure I can fix-!”

Fenora pulled off his hood.

“…it.”

"Uhh..." Fenora gaped as the remaining embers settled. Stross had changelinged himself to a different form.

"I couldn't get my custom one right, so I tried fiddling around with some others." Stross told her. "I thought that this one would fit well with all the tombs we've been going into. What do you think?"

Fenora stared at Stross's current form: a man with short brown hair and defined features, rugged and handsome looking with the perfect mouth for shooting confident grins. And still, Fenora had to be honest. "I... have the feeling you'd get the shit kicked out of you if you looked like that. Like... a lot. And you'd probably get betrayed at some point too."

"Hmm, you may be right. Well okay, how about this?" Stross switched to his next form: an overly muscular man with a square jaw, a blonde crew cut, and balls of steel. "I feel like I spent fifteen years making this one."

"Then how come it still sucks?" Fenora asked bluntly.

Stross just frowned and changed to the next one, and Fenora nearly lost herself when she saw the suave/sexyness before her. "...Well?" Stross flicked the white bangs out of his piercing blue eyes.

"S-save this one for later." Fenora told him, trying to contain herself.

Finally Stross just went back to his default form and Fenora was able to relax. "Well what do you want me to look like. You're the one who said I can't just be another you after all."

"Just choose something that's not me, but doesn't look too outlandish or will draw attention too much. Just pick something normal. Anything."

Stross took a deep breath. "Okay." He then pulled his hood up and the sizzle of his magic embers could be heard under the fabric. "Alright, this is the closest I came to anything unique." he told her hesitantly, and revealed his mostly finished form.

Fenora blinked. It was actually pretty nice. He'd chosen the form of a bosmer like her, but his hair was a darker shade of grey. His face had a soft feel to it with very few sharp edges to it. His eyes were more normal-looking than in his natural form, but were slightly larger than average, and still held their sky-blue color. The only things that seemed truly ‘off’ were his ears, which poked out to the sides a bit too much, and the tone of his skin, which was almost sickly pale. Other than that though...

“That looks fine Stross. I'm surprised you didn't just stick with that one.” she told him, hoping to relieve the nervousness she saw welling up in him.

“But… my nose looks crooked no matter what I do with it. And… and my eyes always look either too close together or too far apart.” Stross complained while pinching the parts in question. Little bits of red embers slid them around, or made them a tiny bit bigger or smaller.

“Trust me, you look cute.” Fenora patted him on the back reassuringly. “Now come on, let’s get some breakfast.”

Stross lagged behind a moment, and a slight smile spread across his face. “Cute…”

Bodies decades old lay motionless inside their crevasses within Shroud Hearth Barrow, expertly embalmed and preserved against the relentless march of time. Small offerings of gold coins sat scattered and dusty on the floor, and the shriveled remains of fruit sat gathering cobwebs. In fact, signs of neglect were everpresent within this place; braziers were covered in excess soot, and vegetation had been allowed to take root, for none had dared to enter ever since the first sighting of the barrow’s grim guardian.

It was damp. It was musty. It was cold. And it was way too dark and creepy!

“Wh-why did we decide to come in here again?” Stross asked as he bravely ‘watched Fenora’s back’. That is to say, he totally wasn’t hiding behind her. Nope. Not at all.

“Because there’s a word of power located somewhere in here.” Fenora answered.

Stross had vaguely remembered Master Arngeir explaining how the ancient word walls were becoming active in response to Fenora’s own awakening as a dragonborn, and that they would send word whenever they sensed the location of one.

What he hadn’t expected was a mail courier bursting through the doors of the Vilemyr Inn while they were in the middle of eating, and shoving his way through everything and everyone in his path to deliver them the note. But just like that, Fenora decided that their first priority was to clear Shroud Hearth and find that word wall.

“…Leeeeeave thiiiis plaaaaace… …leeeeeaaaave thiiissss plaaaaace…”

Stross let out a fearful whine. There was no mistaking that sound as being ‘just the wind’. “What was that?” he asked, fearing the answer.

It was then that they saw it in all its terror inducing, trouser-soiling frightfulness; the ghost of Shroud Hearth Barrow! It was tall, glowing, and it seemed to glide across the uneven floor with every step.

“…Leeeave thiiisss plaaace… …Leeeave this place…” came its haunting echo of a voice as it strode just near enough for them to get a good look. “Leave… leave... LEAVE!”

“Fus… RO DAH!”

Fenora’s voice rang out in the enclosed space while the shockwave slammed the ghost into the wall behind it. Shaking itself out of its daze and scrambling to its feet, the ghost then made a very un-ghostlike retreat further into the barrow.

“After it!” Fenora yelled and gave chase, brandishing sword and thu’um.

“We’ll have to kill it again!” Lydia quipped as she followed.

“No, don’t chase it into further into its lair!” Stross called after them as he tried to keep up, “Don’t either of you watch horror movies!”

When Stross caught up with them, they’d cornered the ghost in some kind of improvised living quarters in what was likely a storage room, and he arrived just in time to see Fenora take a frying pan to the face. Lydia protectively stood over Fenora’s prone form as the ghost conjured a gale of frost magic. It wasn’t working so well; a thick layer of icicles was already starting to form over her shield and armor, and her skin was beginning to turn blue from the cold.

Stross immediately took action and hit the ghost with a stun spell, and to his surprise, it actually collapsed.

“Fenora!” he yelled and rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”

“Owwww…” Fenora groaned as she pulled herself off the floor, revealing a large, and likely very painful welt swelling on the side of her head. “Did someone get the number of that carriage?”

“Y-you… you are all trespassing within my sacred tomb.” The ghost ranted as it unsteadily got to its feet. “You shall all… …you shall… …I’ll… …punishment is nigh!”

*Spang!*

“Yeah, here's your punishment.” Fenora spat as she tossed the now twice-dented frying pan aside.

A gathering at the Vilemyr Inn wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in Ivarstead, as it was practically the only place to relax and share gossip. What was strange was a gathering in the middle of the day when there was still work to be done. It would take something of significant importance to grab everyone away for their daily duties, but as it was, solving the case of the haunted barrow was worth seeing.

“I don’t spend much time in Skyrim, but the ghosts are pretty solid around here.” Fenora joked a bit as they dragged the so-called ‘ghost’ to the inn, tied up and still unconscious.

“This… this is Wyndelius, the elf that went into that barrow.” Wilhelm identified him with a look of surprise. But it was nothing compared to when he read through the short journal they’d found, detailing the entire ruse Wyndelius had used to scare them away while he searched for the treasure.

“It says here he spent months just trying to get some puzzle door open, and meanwhile he was keeping himself fed by stealing our crops!” Wilhelm read, becoming more and more baffled and outraged with every passage. “And just listen to this… ‘All I had to do was wander about the entrance to the barrow at night and wave my arms about. I had to stop myself from laughing aloud as they ran away.’”

Wilhelm had finally read enough, and snapped the book closed. But rather than anger, his expression was one of shame. “I can’t believe we were all so stupid as to fall for this… foolish trickery!”

Although they might have objected to Wilhelm’s choice of words, the rest of the villagers couldn’t deny how silly they felt. For the past year they’d had a terror creeping in the shadows that they’d just learned to accept and ignore, and now they knew it was all some amateurish stunt by a greedy treasure hunter. All of it was like some cruel practical joke that had gone on far too long.

“I have to admit though, making a potion to appear ghostly was pretty inspired.” Fenora noted. “Of course using poisonous roots which gave him a constant delirium over a period of months was pretty dumb… but still.”

“Well, at least we won’t have to worry about it any longer. The guards here will wake him off to Riften where he can sit in a cell for all the trouble he’s caused us.” Wilhelm tried to look on the bright side. “I can’t thank you all enough for helping us.”

“That’s great and all, but we can’t get through that puzzle door either. We’re missing the claw-key-thing that unlocks it.” Fenora told him, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

Wilhelm got a look on his face like he just thought of something. “I wonder…” he mumbled and dug through a couple boxes behind his counter.

“Ah-ha! Here it is!” he finally said as he stood up once more. Our heroes’ eyes lit up in delight when he placed the golden claw on the countertop. The body of the claw was made of gold like the one for Bleak Falls, but its long sharp talons were made of solid sapphire. “I’d nearly forgotten about this old thing.”

“That’s the key!” Fenora exclaimed.

"Really?" Wilhelm said, astanished. "We had what Wyndelius needed to complete his scheme the whole time? I guess it's a good thing he never decided to come into town and raid us. How about I give it to you now? Consider it as payment for helping us with our little ghost problem.” he then turned an eye to Wyndelius, who babbled some incoherent gibberish in his sleep, and lamented as he shook his head, “If only we’d know sooner; could have saved us all a lot of headache.”

“Zzz… Look out, look out. Pink elephants on parade… zzz…” Wyndelius snored.

Moth.
Owl.
Wolf.

Fenora put the combination on the underside of the sapphire claw into the puzzle door just like in Bleak Falls. One twist of the key later and the door collapsed and slid into the floor, opening the way forward.

“Shall we?” she asked her companions.

“After you my thane.”

The first room they came across has several draugr coffins placed around a podium. There were rows of candles placed all throughout the room, melted down to almost nothing, yet still mysteriously lit somehow, and Fenora knew that they weren’t alone in there. They’d have to be careful, and ready for anyth-

“Hey look, I found another spellbook!” Stross said happily as he plucked the orange tome from the podium.

“Stross you idiot!” Fenora cursed as she and Lydia readied their weapons and stood back to back, ready to face the undead warriors that would surely come bursting forth from their tombs.

Only they didn’t.

Several seconds passed and nothing happened. Listening carefully, none of them heard a thing save for their own breathing.

“I don’t mean to jinx this, but that was kind of a letdown. I was expecting… y’know what, never mind.” Fenora said as she sheathed her sword.

“What was that book anyway?”

“Oakflesh.” Stross read the cover. “Huh, you know anyone that’d like to be a tree?”

From there the barrow only got more elaborate. You wouldn’t think it judging by the size of the hill from outside, but Shroud Hearth was actually built deep into the earth, allowing for generations of dead to be buried there, long before Ivarstead was even built. That of course meant generations of risen warriors to fight through, and dozens of deathtraps to deter would-be graverobbers. But by our heroes impeccable luck, those two things just happened to cancel each other out.

Quartet of skeleton archers? Hey, they’re standing in a pool of highly combustible oil!

Catacombs filled with draugr? Well it’s a good thing there’s a narrow hallway with swinging pendulum axes between us and them!

You want some popcorn while we watch? Sure!

No Lydia, don’t walk into it too! …oh, gods damn it Lydia, now I have to heal you again.

Fenora was getting disappointed that she couldn’t put her training with the Greybeards to any use. In fact, the only point where they really got stuck was with the puzzles keeping a bridge up. Not because it was challenging, mind you, but because Stross adamantly refused to skip it.

“Stross, hurry up!” Fenora called from the other side of the shallow chasm that allowed a small underground stream to flow through.

It wasn’t very deep, only about ten feet or so, but it was wide. For one person to get across, they’d have practically no choice but to solve the puzzle that lowered the wooden bridge across. But Fenora managed to get around it by having Lydia boost her up to the higher platform, and then reached down to her housecarl and pull her up as well. It was a struggle with all the stuff they were lugging around, but she managed. And Stross, he didn’t even need her help. He had wings to carry him up! Which only made it more infuriating how he insisted on getting across ‘the right way’.

“Stross, we’re here to find a word wall and loot the place. There is no right way!” Fenora argued.

“Well I’m pretty sure whoever designed these puzzles would disagree.” Stross said back as he rotated the animal pillars. “If they could see you cheating your way past all their hard work, they’d probably be bawling their eyes out.”

“Whoever designed these stupid things probably only put them in to waste our time, so that it feels like we’re accomplishing more than we actually are by getting past them!” Fenora pointed out.

“But doesn’t it make you feel clever for figuring out the solution to a daunting challenge my thane?” Lydia asked, joining in the discussion.

“It would… if they were actually challenging!” Fenora countered. “I mean have you seen these things? Most of the time they just GIVE you the answer, leaving you to fill it in like some trained helper monkey instead of solving it yourself. There’s no satisfaction in that; it’s just busy work. And when they don’t give you the answer, it’s a frustrating slog of trial and error with no clues as to what you’re supposed to do, and you just have to try every single combination until you get it right!”

A mechanism clicked, and the bridge fell across the chasm, allowing Stross to victoriously stride across to meet his friends.

“There, see? That wasn’t so bad. And besides, they might not be very hard, but they give a nice break from the action.” Stross said. At the confused look Fenora gave him, he elaborated. “Think about it. If we did nothing but run into these places, fight our way through a bunch of dead things and avoid the traps, things would get really monotonous really fast. Having to stop and solve a puzzle gives us a chance to slow down and catch our breath, even if it’s a mindless waste of time.”

“I… can see your point.” Fenora admitted. “But from now on, can we just skip these things if we can? We’re here to fight monsters, get awesome powers and loot, save the world, and chew bubblegum. Solving the picture puzzles on the backs of cereal boxes doesn’t really fit with all that.”

Finally inside the main burial chamber, the first thing our heroes noticed was the sheer size of it. Really they shouldn’t have been too surprised, a lot of people had to be entombed here over the centuries, and the last two burial ruins they’d explored had a large, unique main chamber. But it still didn’t take away from the sight of it.

The room was huge, with the ceiling darkened to the point that looking up was like staring into a yawning abyss. The floor was similar in a sense, flooded with water that they couldn’t tell the depth of. A pair of platforms stood apart in the water, each holding a metal sarcophagus on top. In the center of it all, an ascending pyramid of stone steps led to the exit. The stone bridge to the pyramid was lined with more metal coffins, as was the pyramid itself.

“Thirteen graves.” Lydia counted them all. “I’ve got a baaad feeling about this.”

“Finally something I can test out my thu’ums on!” Fenora grinned as she drew her sword.

Lydia similarly drew her bow, ready to pick off any distant targets, and Stross could finally join the fun with the Gauldur Blackbow he’d taken from Sigdis. Fenora however, was almost quaking in anticipation; all the targets… she had seen what her voice could do against illusions and pots, but now she could finally get some real practice in this deadly new art!

The second the first two coffins burst open and the draugr stepped out, Fenora was already on top of one of them with Whirlwind Sprint, bringing her sword down on the corpse with lethal precision before it could get its guard up.

The sounds of arrows whistling through the air let her know that her friends were already picking off the other.

The row of coffins on the level below her opened up just as they’d finished off the first two. She jumped down and cleanly decapitated one of them.

Two more closed in from her left, one with a two-handed axe, the other with a bow.

“Yol… Toor!” the first two words of fire breath finished off the axe wielder before it could become a hassle, the archer she could deal with using her sword.

She lunged before it could finish aiming, but unlike her quick kills on off-guard opponents, this draugr didn't die immediately. It jerked around on the end of her blade, causing it to get stuck in its ribcage. Fenora pulled and levered on the handle, but failed to get free.

Seeing another trio of draugr making their way to her she redoubled her efforts, but still couldn’t get her sword back. She also noticed the distinct lack of arrows helping her out, but a quick glance to check on Stross and Lydia only left her open to an attack.

Thinking quickly she managed to put the pinned draugr in front of her as a shield, stopping the other three from getting to her all at once on the narrow walkway.

Relentless, the first draugr wielding a pair of longswords shoved its way forward despite impaling itself on the end of her sword. This in turn pushed the first within swiping distance as well.

Even though she tried to keep her distance, rotting fingers groped for her face and hair, swords just barely missed her sides, and she was quickly losing her balance. Fenora had to concede that she wasn’t getting this sword back.

Darting to the side she used Unrelenting Force to shove both of the undead, still stuck on her sword into the dark water below.

Fenora slumped back for a second against the stone behind her, but the sharp, crushing pain to her stomach told her there was no time for a break. There was no air left in her to even groan in pain, and she tasted blood in her mouth as she kicked away from the mace draugr.

Instead of trying to finish her, the draugr bashed its mace against its shield in a show of challenge. Fenora was unarmed currently, so she had to wait for an opening.

The draugr wound up for a big swing, one that Fenora was easily able to sidestep. She got in close, and now that any power from the mace’s swings was gone, she twisted the dead soldier’s wrist until it popped and relented the weapon to her.

It brought up its shield to defend against the counter attack, and managed to deflect two hits from its mace before the elf smacked it away. She grabbed the collar of its decaying armor and smashed the mace into its bony head with a sickening, yet satisfying crack. Over and over she drove the mace into its skull until there was nothing left but bone splinters and paste.

Pain flared up in her left shoulder when arrow suddenly struck her. The offending archer was already getting another ready, and reinforcements of two sword draugrs looked to back it up.

“Iiz!”

Ice form lived up to its name, encasing the archer in a literal block of ice, giving Fenora time to grab another sword out of her pack. It was like she said earlier… you can never have too many swords.

With the sword in her off hand and an iron mace in her right, she was able to hold off the opening attack from one draugr and shove it aside long enough to deal with the other. Dealing with any kind of enemy was easier when there wasn’t a whole group hitting you at once.

The archer was last, still encased in ice, it only took two good hits to shatter it into pieces.

“My thane, come quick!” she heard Lydia call.

Finally able to get a look back at her companions, she saw the reason they’d stopped covering her. Lydia was busy finishing off the last of the draugr warriors, with two more corpses laying nearby. But what made her whirlwind sprint back in an instant was Stross.

The changeling was doubled over on his hands and knees, spewing some oily black substance from his mouth at a frightening rate.

“Stross! Stross are you okay? What’s wrong?” she asked, ignoring her own minor injuries and kneeling beside him.

“Tainted life force… cursed bow… shouldn’t have- BLEEUURRGGG!” he choked and coughed out, vomiting up more of the acrid black stuff. “I’m sorr-” he tried to say, but was cut off by another bout.

“It’s alright.” Fenora told him. “What do I do?”

Stross couldn’t answer her though, and just kept painfully throwing up more and more. For the first time since Helgen, Fenora felt helpless. She had learned the power of dragons, managed to slay a crypt full of undead almost on her own, and yet what stumped her was her own friend and a sickness she knew nothing about. She couldn’t stand feeling like there was nothing she could do, whether it was not being able to save a village, or save just one friend.

Her mind raced and she quickly dug through her pack, pulling out a healing potion as well as an antivenom. She wasn’t sure if they would help, or how to get Stross to drink them for that matter. She considered having to knife a hole in him somewhere and pouring it in, just to get the liquid inside him.

Stross grabbed her hand though, staying her.

With one last great heave, Stross finally got the last of the tainted life force out of his system, though he still had the horrible taste in his mouth.

“A-are you okay?” Fenora asked shakily. “What happened?”

“My system was trying to purge itself.” Stross told her. "It happens when we changelings get poisoned. Or if we feed off something tainted like the undead... or each other.”

Fenora's eyes drifted to the bow Stross was using, still sitting in the pool of rancid oil. She immediately snatched it up and tossed it over the edge of the platform into the water below.

"NOOOO!" Stross yelled, nearly diving after it. "Why did you do that?! I needed that!"

"You're kidding right? Look what it did to you!" Fenora shouted.

"But you didn't have to throw it away! Maybe it doesn't purify the essence of dead guys like I thought it would, but it might have worked on living ones! Right?" Stross argued. "That was supposed to be my alternative to feeding! Instead of having to leech off of innocent people all the time, I could just recharge myself whenever we fight bandits. Wouldn't that be so much better?!"

Fenora shook her head. "Not if it might kill you. That thing was clearly cursed; you got it off an evil spirit from an old legend after all."

Stross wanted to keep fighting her on that, but couldn't. Instead he wiped his tongue on the edge of his cloak and let out a sigh. "Nothing's ever easy."

Fenora hugged him. "Hey, you'll be fine. As long as we've got each other we'll be fine. That's what friends are for. Speaking of which..." Fenora grimaced, clutching her broken ribs, "You think you could maybe help me out here?"

Fenora found herself incredibly grateful for Stross’s newly learned healing magic; it certainly made it easier to move around when her ribs weren’t cracked, and it also meant she could use fewer of the ingredients she gathered on the road for healing potions. She was a little surprised he’d learned it back in Whitetrun only a day ago. Magic was probably just easier for Equestrians she guessed.

She’d even managed to spot a replacement sword, just waiting for her to pick up! …once she whirlwind sprinted across a broken bridge… and dug it out of the rubble… and then used it to slay its previous undead owner that was buried along with it.

But it was worth it! The blade definitely of Dwemer make, and like the old pots and gears she’d seen before, it was was far heavier and bulkier than any normal metal. A bit unwieldy, but it would deliver a much harder hack.

Right now, they were focusing on the word wall again.

“Here lies the body of Helg, a friend to all beasts and servant of Kyne. May she find eternal rest in the forest of dreams.” Fenora read the inscription, and each little scratch made a little more sense to her as an actual language. “Why’d you want to know?”

“Hold on! …for-est of dreeeeaaamss. And done.” Stross copied down the inscription from the word wall onto one of the old faded books, finally finding a use for the battered old things. “I’m cataloging these old inscriptions we find with the words.”

“Uh, okay. Why?” Fenora wondered. She already learned the word that would translate to a shout, wasn’t that all there was to these things?

“Well, the words of power were used in those… epitaphs? Anyway, they were used to signify a certain aspect of someone’s life. Knowing how the words fit into those lives could be important for learning the true meaning of the words themselves, like Master Arngeir said.” Stross explained.

Fenora looked back over the word wall, thinking about that for a moment. Helg was apparently a friend to animals, and so the shout she learned would make them more passive around her when used. Really it all seemed like a convenient coincidence.

“Are you sure you’re not looking into this too deeply?”

“Meh… probably.”

"...St-...stro-...ross-...ss..."

Stross perked up his ear to hear the tiny echoing sound. He left the others behind as he walked in the direction it was coming from.

"...Stross...It repeated itself and got louder, almost as though something were heading right towards-

"STROSS!" Reyda's ghost suddenly appeared right in his face, alive and well as a ghost could possibly be. "Come quick!" she said in a panic, "I need you! My brother needs you."

Narfi sat alone in his house, looking at the tiny picture of his family. Just that morning, not two hours ago, the guards had delivered the news of his sister’s death. At first he didn’t believe them, he shouted and raved that Reyda couldn’t possibly be dead. It wasn’t until they showed him the body that he finally broke down in the face of the reality he’d evaded for so long. His sobbing likely woke the rest of the village if were they not already awake. And the guards, either out of pity or politeness left him be. He didn’t care through, he didn’t care about anything any more.

Narfi was alone. For the first time in over a year he finally had to accept that cold, unmerciful, undeniable fact. His family were all dead, and he… he was all alone now.

Narfi didn’t want to sleep anymore, he didn’t want to eat either. All he wanted was to be with his family again. Closing the locket and clenching it tightly in his hand, he went outside.

He walked to the cliff just outside his home, the one he’d often go to as a child, where he’d sit and gaze out at the valley below as the sun rose higher and higher into the sky like it did this day. He remembered the picnics he’d have with his family, and how he missed them now more than ever.

But now it was okay, he thought with a smile. It was good knowing they were all gone, because now he didn’t have to stay here and be sad. He’d finally be with them again... if he just took a few more steps.

He walked to the very edge of the cliff and looked out at the rolling plains and streams below, knowing it would be the last time he would see it from this world. Thinking of his family one last time, he spread his arms and leaned forward, falling to greet the jagged rocks of the river below… and his family in the afterlife.

But something suddenly stopped his fall. A pair of hands had grabbed his leg as he dangled, far beyond the edge of the cliff, and far too far for anyone to have stopped him from jumping.

Looking up, Narfi couldn’t believe his eyes. There, flying in the air and holding onto him for dear life was his sister.

He couldn’t believe his eyes, even as she flew back up to the cliff and deposited him safely back onto solid ground.

“R-reyda? H-how!?” Narfi stuttered, scrabbling to his knees.

Reyda knelt down to him, though just out of reach. She spoke in a voice that was ghostly and distant, yet still held the warmth and love he remembered from her. “Narfi, listen to me. Don’t give up on your life, brother; it’s too soon for you to die. We’ll all meet again in time, but for now, there is still far too much to leave behind.”

“B-b-but… Narfi- I’m all alone!” Narfi nearly cried.

Reyda just smiled back at him though. “No… you’re not.” She told him before vanishing away.

Behind her Narfi saw something that shocked him; a large crowd of townspeople from Ivarstead were rushing towards him with their faces full of fear and worry.

“Oh thank the gods.” Wilhelm said as he arrived ahead of the others, grabbing him by the shoulders as though he might slip away if he didn’t. “When we saw you go over that cliff we thought... Listen to me. Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? We’re not ready to lose you yet.”

“Narfi you crazy fool,” Klimmek put an arm around him as well, “where did you get a dumb idea like that?”

“Indeed,” Bassianus chimed in, “life here in Ivarstead is dull and depressing enough as it is. We don’t need you gone too.”

Narfi found himself surprised. In the past when he went into town to beg for food or drink, they’d looked at him with disdain to the point that he stopped going into town, and instead hid in his house all day. It never would have occurred to him that any of them would miss him if he was gone, yet here they all were, rushing to make sure he was alright.

“Come to the inn, friend. What say we get you something to eat?” Gwilin, the abnormally cheerful elf joined in.

“Thank you… Narfi would… I would like that.” he told them, speaking in the first person for the first time in months. “And I’m sorry I tried to jump.”

“That’s alright,” Wilhelm told him, “and I’m sorry I kept the truth from you for so long; it wasn’t right of me, and I intend to make it up to you, starting now. From now on, we’re your family too, so don’t try to leave us like that again.”
…

Just out of sight of the town, Fenora and Lydia waited near a grove of trees where they watched the whole thing. They turned their heads to a less-than-faint rustling next to them, welcoming Stross back to them as he dropped his invisibility and his disguise.

“So that’s what you went running off for. Nice catch Stross.” Fenora complimented.

“Indeed, my other thane.” Lydia smiled.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself.” Reyda’s ghost said with a smirk.

Then there was screaming and swinging of swords at the spontaneous ghost, all of which Reyda sat through with a deadpan expression as the weapons wooshed harmlessly through her.

“Anyway…” Reyda continued with a roll of her eyes. “Thank you again for the physical assistance Stross, I literally couldn’t have saved my brother without your help.”

“Really? Why couldn’t you have gone to one of the villagers for help? Wouldn’t they be closer?” Stross asked.

“I did.” Reyda told him and pointed to Fenora and Lydia, who still had their weapons drawn. “The first three people I spoke to gave me that reaction before running away screaming.” She then let out a ghostly sigh, “I guess I’ll just have to get used to that while I watch over my brother from now on. Do come and visit if you ever find yourself in Ivarstead again. Farewell.”

For a few solid seconds after Reyda vanished again, likely to go watch over Ivarstead and her brother like she said, Fenora and Lydia were at a loss for what to say.

Finally, Fenora managed a question. “Stross, how in the world does Equestria hate changelings? You’re so nice you can befriend the dead!”

At that point, Stross could have pointed out everything that Fenora was missing which made her statement invalid, but he just settled on a hug instead.

Now with Ivarstead free of its ghost problems (sort of), they made to take the long way back to Whiterun, and saddle up for more world-saving adventure!

Reminiscence

Fenora breathed heavily and pressed her back up against the rotted stump of an ancient tree, the only cover she could find. Blood made a steady trickle down one of her arms; the limb itself had been torn open to the point of being useless dead weight. She had the means to patch it up... maybe, but there was no time to do it. Her breathing quickened, and her left hand tightened on her sword with what strength she hadn’t lost.

An explosion sounded out, followed by the crackle of flame. It was close, but not close to her.

She rotated her head against the dead wood and spotted Lydia and Stross. Her housecarl was unconscious, her armor charred and blackened from a direct hit. Stross meanwhile was doing his best to stabilize her with his healing, even as more balls of flaming death landed all around them.

She had to take some of that heat off of them, or better yet, kill the cursed abomination responsible for all this.

“Fus r- oh fuck me!”

Fenora had barely jumped back to safety before a massive fireball landed where she had been standing, and even still the fire splashed outward and washed over her feet.

“You killed my disciples!” the Hagraven screeched as she readied another round of fireballs. “Only I get to kill my disciples!”

The stump Fenora hid behind exploded into wooden shrapnel, and she fell to the ground covering her head with her only functioning arm.
Out in the open and a prime target now, Fenora knew she’d be easy to hit if she fled. Each direction she could run was the worst direction. So she figured the best worst place to run was straight at the bird-witch.

Not a great idea. But really, better options weren’t a thing she had at the moment.

“Wuld… nah kest!” her thu’um ended with a thunderous crack.

A fallen tree served as a bridge to the hagraven’s nest, and Fenora threw herself across it with reckless abandon, hoping at least to draw attention away from her friends.

The Hagraven turned to face her, and Fenora pivoted on her heel as she swung her sword at the creature to put as much force behind the blow as she could.

Strangely enough, in this moment before bloody impact, Fenora took a second to remember how she got in this situation in the first place.

...
While they were making their way back to Whiterun, Stross told them about a place called Orphan Rock that was on the way, and suggested that they check it out. She hadn’t thought too much of it at the time, and the only resistance they encountered along the way were a couple witches that attacked them on sight. Their spells were pretty weak, and their black mage robes offered next to zero protection against arrows and swords, and so they crumpled like a tower of homemade biscuits.

Things got tougher when they actually made it to Orphan Rock. Like... twelve-day-old homemade biscuit levels of tough.

It was there that they first laid eyes on the Hagraven; the lanky, twisted creature that was neither bird nor woman, but something horrible that lay in between. Until then, Fenora had only heard old stories about the witches who had sacrificed their humanity in exchange for unspeakable power, warping their bodies and minds in the process. Now she and her friends were on the losing side of a life and death struggle with one of the wretched creatures.

And for what?! Because a group of drug-dealing, plutomanic women in Whiterun were abusing a holy tree for their own gain and accidentally killed it, and because Stross decided to help them cover their stupid butts when he should have told them to sort out their own shit?!

Okay… maybe Fenora was being a little unkind with her thoughts.

On the other hand, she’d probably earned the right.
...

The hagraven met her head-on assault, locking her blade in her razor sharp talons. With her free hand the Hagraven started clawing at Fenora while the elf was struggling to get her sword free.

After tearing open her sides enough, the Hagraven switched targets and started raking her talons across Fenora's face.

“OW! Fuck you too…” Fenora hissed through her teeth, through the pain of having her flesh rent. “Fus Ro DAH!”

The shockwave slammed into the hagraven sent it tumbling like a ragdoll, and Fenora thanked every one of the gods that she was dragonborn.

She was still bleeding, and her vision was obscured by a trickle of blood dripping down her face, but she could still see her target and swing a sword at it. The dwarven greatsword was heavy with only one arm, but when she threw all her weight and momentum into it, and the tip of her blade sliced across the hagraven’s chest with an artful spray of deep crimson.

The bird witch was far from done though. Leaping to a safe distance, her talons began to glow with a healing magic Fenora was all too familiar with, and in seconds the mortal wound she’d dealt was closed.

The healing ribbons of gold in her clawed hands were replaced with flames, and Fenora grit her teeth, knowing that this was a losing battle. Willpower alone couldn’t keep back the effects of blood loss; her vision obscured more, and she began to feel weak, too weak to stay standing even.

As she fell to a knee, Fenora thought she was done for, when suddenly an orange bolt hit the hagraven and the bird-witch fell to the ground, stiff and motionless.

Stross had just given her the chance she needed, and she wasn’t going to waste it! Fenora hobbled over the hagraven’s prone, defenseless form as fast as her injuries would let her and plunged her sword through the creature’s chest, again and again and again until she was certain it wouldn’t get up.

With the hagraven's top half removed from her bottom half, and the inbetweens a pile of giblets, Fenora breathed a sore and painful sigh of relief and fell to her knees again, using the blade of her sword to keep her steady, for as much as that was worth.

“Fen!” she heard Stross’s voice calling to her from a million miles away.

“Fen!” She felt him hug her shoulders a second later. Then she felt him flinch and with the greatest of care, lower her onto her back. It didn’t really matter though, the soreness and debilitating pain was slowly fading away on its own.

She turned her head so face him, blinking the redness out of her eyes. “So…” she began, her voice weaker than she thought it would be. “Be honest with me Stross. Am I still gonna be pretty when this heals?”

Fenora chuckled at her own humor, but the effect seemed to be lost on Stross with his fearful, worried eyes. But she just kept on laughing until all feeling fled from her, and the blackness swallowed her up.

Fenora was swimming in darkness until her eyes fluttered open and she peeled the bandage off her face. Her body was aching and sore, but remarkably alive. The first thing she noticed was the hard wood floor she was lying on. The next thing she noticed was her changeling tackle-hugging her.

“Fen! You're alive!" he cried while rubbing his face into hers. "I was so worried!”

"I'm guessing you're to thank for that." she smiled and nuzzled his cheek. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Fenora pushed herself to her feet, and managed to stand. “Where are we?” she asked as she looked around. They were in some demolished wooden building that might have been an inn, or maybe someone’s house. Scorched timbers and wreckage lay everywhere, and it looked like a spot needed to be cleared just for her to lay on.

“We’re back in Helgen.”

The second Stross told her that, she felt… uneasy. That was probably the best word for it.

“It was the only place we could get out of the rain.” Stross continued, “I didn’t want to move you after that last fight; you were really torn up.”

“How bad was it?” Fenora bothered to ask, and checked over herself; her clothes were nearly in shreds in some places, but overall, she was fine. She had come to know Stross to be an overreactor, but she guessed it couldn’t hurt to know how close she came to-

“You almost bled out, twice.” Stross said, looking ashamed of all things. “Your whole side was all open and your guts were hanging out everywhere… and your face was…” the changeling traced a finger from her forehead to her chin along a line that no longer existed. “I’m glad I was able to save your eyes.”

Fenora could only stand there for a second. Finally she shook her head at herself. Yet again she'd gotten in over her head, and she would have died if Stross hadn't been there. “Stross,“ she began, wondering what to say to him, "I'm sorr-"

“I’M SORRY!” Stross cried and hugged her tightly.

“Stross?” Fenora gasped in shock. "What are you sorry for? You're the one that saved me, not the other way around."

“It was all my fault you got hurt like that in the first place. I wanted to help a bunch of people I’d never even met before, and I almost got you and Lydia killed just to get some stupid magic knife!”

Fenora couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Stross, listen... It’s alright.” She said, returning the hug. “It was a bad fight, and we were outmatched. We'll just have to be more careful the next time. So next time we have to fetch a thing from a place where the monsters all hit like runaway merchant caravans, and can take just as many hits as one, we just have to be prepared so we don't get our butts handed to us.”

“*sniff* Okay, I guess that makes sense.” Stross nodded. "So you're not mad at me?"

Fenora lightly punched his shoulder. "Come on. Who could be mad at an adorable little changeling like you?"

"You'd be surprised." Stross chuckled dryly. "So... now that you can walk again... ready to go?"

“Yeah… after you.” Fenora said, looking out into the ruins of a once lively and prosperous town, smelling the charred wood a bit more clearly. “...After you.”

Fen and Stross met up with Lydia outside the broken house, and the three started picking their way through the rest of the ruined town to the other side. It was easier said than done.

Most of the roads were blocked by the scattered remains of homes, though it wasn't so much hard to get past, as it was disturbing to see. It had been days since the town of Helgen had been destroyed, yet in some places the fires still burned as brightly as the day they were started; not even the prior rains could quench them as they burned with the same undying hatred of their master. Adding the fact that the charred bodies of those killed by Alduin’s arrival remained where they had fallen didn't help any. Between the ash and bodies, the whole town stank of fire and death, and it weighed heavily on the heroes.

Nothing, not even rats dared to come near the place.

As the three continued picking their way through the labyrinth of debris, cutting through yet another destroyed house to get around a fallen guard tower. Stross had to look away when he saw the body of a father trying to shield his two children; they had been trapped under the roof when it caved it, crushing them to death. It was but one of many morbid scenes he’d encountered in the town.

“Why did I choose to cut through here? This is horrible.” He muttered.

It was then that he turned to see Fenora looking at the murdered family, seemingly distant.

“Fen?” he called, but got no answer. “Fenora!”

She blinked and came back to herself. “Huh? I’m-I'm right behind you.”

Stross opened his emotion sense as she walked past, and unlike her normal cool-grey calmness, Fenora was a twisting spectrum of guilt and pain.

“Are you okay Fen?” he asked carefully.

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

She was definitely not fine.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Fenora insisted.

Her footsteps came to a grinding halt when Stross hugged onto her like a really concerned restraining device. “Tell me.” he pleaded.

Fenora sighed. “You’re not going to stop until I tell you, are you?”

“Nu-uh.”

Fenora started by prying him off. Even if Stross came off as annoying, she couldn’t be mad at him, because she could tell he was just worried about her.

“This is another of those ‘don’t tell anyone else about this’ things. So don’t tell anyone else.” Fenora said, and once Stross nodded his compliance, and Lydia swore the same, she began in the best place she could think. “Did I ever tell you how my parents died?”

“Gimme a sec…” Stross said, pulled out a bottle of alto wine, and took a big gulp only to spit it out in shock. “WHAT?! Your parents are dead!?”

“My parents are deeaaaaaaad!” Fenora yelled, fighting the strange urge to slap him.

“Holy superhero cliche, my thanes!” Lydia shouted.

"Wha- that's not-" Stross sputtered. "How?"

Fenora glared into the distance and uttered one word. "Bandits."

===(years ago)===

A bosmer girl crawled as fast as she could through the covered spaces under the houses. Through the floorboards she could hear the stomping and frenzied screams of her neighbors and friends.

I was barely twelve. The town I lived in must have had over fifty people living in it, but most were farmers and old retired soldiers.
A bandit tribe we’d never even heard of stormed through one day. They were nearly a hundred strong, and knew that no one would be able to stand in their way.

So they took what they pleased, took what they wanted, and killed everyone they could find.

The front door of one house was slammed open and a man was thrown out onto the street, begging for his life. His pleas did him no good, and his life was callously ended on the tip of a sword.

My parents… gods bless them and their crazy souls. The second they heard the screaming they told me to hide, to get away from town as fast as I could. Then Trey grabbed his mace, and mom took her trusty kitchen knife, and the two of them walked out into the fray.

Does anyone remember the saying "respect your elders"? Those bandit scumbags sure didn't, and it cost them. Trey and Elaura knew the town well, and they had each other. I was there to watch it, hiding on the thatched roof of our house.

It was amazing. A blind elf woman, and an old man with metal stumps for limbs managed to kill a third of their clan, including their four elite warriors. They worked together so flawlessly it was like watching the two of them dancing, but with bodies falling at their feet. I had never been so proud of them before in my life... and I would never get the chance to again.

In the end they had lost each other in the middle fight, gotten separated. Their chief didn’t take to kindly to their defiance. His clan of warriors getting slaughtered by two old cripples? It was probably the worst insult he’d received in a long time. So he dragged them in front of everyone still alive and… he beat my parents to death with nothing but his fists!

I shouldn’t have watched it. I don't even think I wanted to, and even now I wish that I hadn’t. But I just couldn’t look away.

There was nothing I could have done for them but run. I had to escape and live... for them. But my thoughts turned to Vennik. I’d just lost my parents. I wasn’t about to lose my best friend too.

With the rest of the crawlspace blocked by a rapidly spreading fire, Fenora crawled out from under the house and ran through the open as fast as she could. Just in time she spotted a trio of bandits, armed and full of muscle heading her way, and hid behind a cart full of vegetables that had been set on fire. They walked right past her, not bothering to look over their shoulders, or even down at their feet while they trodded on the dead; they had far better things on their minds.

She chanced a look at them, and saw the bags each of them carried on their backs, practically bulging with gold and other valuables. They exchanged hearty laughs and bloodthirsty grins, poking jabs at each other over who had plundered the most.

It didn’t matter what they’d taken as long as it wasn’t the life of her friend.

I ran as fast as I could to where Vennik lived. He was an Argonian, and his family was poorer than most, so they lived in a bunkhouse on the edge of town. Unfortunately, that didn’t make them any less of a target.

Fenora felt her legs aching from the exertion, but she kept running, hoping with all she could muster that her friend was still alive. Her heart sank when she saw the bunkhouse burning. Torches had been tossed onto the thatched roof, and the whole two-story building was quickly going up in smoke.

Her hopes changed however, when she heard the familiar sound of Vennik screaming. She took off without delay, and found the argonian boy pounding his fists against a burning door, futilely trying to get it open.

Vennik was okay, but his family was trapped inside. Rather than just kill them, the bandits thought it would be funny to trap them and the other workers, light the place, and let them burn.

I don’t know if they were still alive in there or not by the time I arrived, but I knew that just the two of us couldn’t save them, and if we stayed any longer, we would risk getting caught and killed like everyone else. So I grabbed his hand and pulled him away. He kicked and screamed fought against me as I begged him to just run, to escape with me, convince him there was nothing we could do.

===(back in the present)===

“As far as I know, the two of us were the only ones who made it out that day. I still don’t think he ever forgave me for dragging him away like that.” Fenora finished her story with one last note. “I'll still remember him screaming at me with tears pouring down his face, ‘Fenora, how could you just leave them like that? We were there, and you just ran away and left them all to burn.'”

Stross suddenly remembered the words he used to get Fenora to stay and defend Skyrim, and felt a lump form in his gut.

“Fenora, I’m… I’m sorry.” He told her, but she shook her head.

“No. Vennik was right. I should have stayed and tried to do something… anything. But I wasn’t strong enough.” Fenora said sadly, but turned her gaze skyward with hardened resolve. “But that’s never going to happen again. I’m a god damned Dragonborn now. I've got a job to do here." she pointed to the ruins around them, "I'm going to make sure this never happens again. This time I... This time I won’t have to run.”

“And I’ll stay with you so you won’t have to do it alone.” Stross said confidently.

“As will I, my thane.”

Fenora smiled. “These dragons aren’t going to know what hit them.”

Riverwood was much as they had left it last, something they were all glad for.

Gerdur was passing by, and joined them while they walked through the center of town. “Welcome back friends. It’s good to see you’re well. We’re in debt to you for all your help. Just this morning some of the Jarl's men arrived to keep watch over the town, and with the bandits cleared from the barrow they can keep their eyes towards the sky. Ah, but I’m rambling now. How are you; you look quite haggard.”

“Well, I got torn to ribbons by a hagraven while looking for some magic knife to save a tree back in Whiterun. But Stross was able to heal me before I died.” Fenora told her bluntly, to which Gerdur looked deeply disturbed. “Hey, is Lucan open? I’ve got some stuff he might be interested in trading for.”

“Oh… why yes, I believe he and Camilla were bickering over something again.” Gerdur told her, shaking off her earlier comment.

“Great. Thanks.” Fenora took her housecarl and turned to the Riverwood Trader. “Oh, and… it’s good to see you again too.”

Finding himself alone with Gerdur, Stross decided to get a bit more info on what all was happening as they walked. Coercing information was an art form that any changeling worth their scale was a master at. The trick was in keeping things light, while getting everything you needed to know. Stross decided to start with a bit of humor this time.

“So, I’m glad to see nothing big and fire-breathing has attacked since we left.” he said with a chuckle, though judging by how Gerdur tensed up, it was probably in poor taste.

"As am I." Gerdur let out a long drawn sigh, her normally calm and enduring attitude fading for that moment. “Honestly, when you came running into town with Hadvar and Ralof acting like the world was on fire, I scarcely believed what I was hearing. And I can’t speak for others, but I don’t think that they wanted to believe it either. I can't imagine anyone wants to be told the world is ending.”

Gerdur paused in her steps. “And in the midst of it all, we’ve got a civil war going on. If the damned dragons weren’t bad enough, we’re killing each other over a stupid age old squabble with the elves. No offence.”

Stross realized she was talking about his disguised form, and shrugged. “None taken. What happened to Hadvar and Ralof anyway?”

“I tried to get them to stay, tried to convince them that fighting a war was foolish when there are dragons on the loose.” She shook her head. “But they just wouldn’t hear any of it. As soon as they were able to stand, they went their separate ways; Ralof went back to the Stormcloaks in Windhelm, while Hadvar regrouped with the Legion in Solitude.”

Stross felt his magic map tingle, and unfurled it to see two new markers for the cities on each end.

“What’s the war about anyway? I don’t exactly come from Skyrim.” Stross asked.

“It's something to do with the war between the Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion. I don’t know all the details. I’ve got enough to deal with already when it comes to running the mill.” Gerdur told him. “From what I gathered from Ralof's ranting, the war between the Empire and the Thalmor led to the worship of Talos being banned, as part of a treaty. Ulfric Stromcloak was there when it happened, and decided he wouldn’t allow nord beliefs to be destroyed, nor support an empire that would allow such a thing. The civil war was what resulted.”

“Right, note to self; go to Ulfric and tell him to knock it off ‘till Alduin’s gone.” Stross mumbled to himself.

“I wish you luck if you do.” Gerdur said, having overheard him. “This war has brought nothing but misery in the first place.”

“Thanks. By the way, where are those guards you mentioned; I didn’t see them on the way in. Are they out scouting somewhere?” Stross asked, looking around the town interior. Guards were hardly the sneaky type after all.

“Gods, those two are probably getting drunk at the inn again. But I’ve got to get back to the mill. It was good to see you and Fenora, take care in your travels.” Gerdur told him and wandered off to get back to work. "Hopefully a lot more care."

“Two?” Stross wondered if he’d heard her right and wandered towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. “…Only two?”

Fenora and Lydia exited the Riverwood Trader, a bit disappointed at the amount of stuff they still had to carry around with them, but they knew Lucan only had so much gold to trade with.

On their way out of town, they found Stross slumped on a bench outside of the inn.

“Hey Stross, let’s get moving.” Fenora called to him.

“Fenora, we’ve got a problem.” Stross said as he joined them. He kept his voice down to a hoarse whisper, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Balgruuf only sent two measly guards to protect this place, and all they’ve been doing is sitting around drinking mead! That dragon back at the watchtower wiped out all of Irileth’s men like it was nothing. What the heck is Riverwood going to do with just two?!”

Fenora frowned. “All the more reason for me to finish my training, and stop Alduin as soon as possible.”

Unless she could magically create people out of thin air, there was nothing else she could do to ensure people weren’t going to die. The best chance now was to cut the head off the snake, and hope the body died.

“I don’t want anyone else to die Fen. Without Equestria, Skyrim is all I have left.” Stross told her sadly. “We have to save it, for everyone.”

“I know Stross… I know.”

*F-Thwak!*

The noise cut through the air like a clap of thunder. They were a good distance outside the town, and in the clearing just ahead they saw the source of the sound.

Camilla stood poised with a hunting bow before an impressive shooting range. Her yellow dress had been replaced with a set of green tights and leather arm guards. Gourds, cabbages, bales of hay, and even nearby trees had bulls-eyes painted on, waiting for an arrow to pierce them. Getting closer, they noticed the sweat plastering her hair to her head.

Her breath hitched as she let an arrow fly. It sailed past its intended target, missing by several inches and hitting the cliff behind instead. She had apparently been out there practicing for a long time now, and dispite the effort she was putting into her shots, most of her targets weren't even scratched. She’d gotten lucky a few times for sure, but for the most part, the targets were very much intact.

Camilla let another arrow fly only for it to miss by an even larger distance, and she grit her teeth. “This is hopeless!” she screamed and kicked at the ground in frustration.

“Relax your grip.” Fenora advised from where they stood.

Camilla spun around to face them. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t notice you there.”

“What are you doing out here?” Fenora asked, even though it was pretty obvious.

Camilla stared off into the distance for a second, then looked back at the targets. “I’m trying to learn how to shoot a bow. After what happened at the Barrow, and now with all this talk of dragons, I want to be able to defend myself. Lucan was against it, just like everything I do; he’s afraid I’ll just go and hurt myself again. And it didn’t help that I’m using his produce for targets.”

“That explains why he was so tight with his coin.” Fenora mumbled.

“But I’m tired of being the damsel in distress for someone else to save!” Camilla continued. “I know I can do this if could just get the hang of it.”

Fenora stepped up beside her and looked downrange. “Want a few tips?” she asked. "My mother taught me a few good tricks."

"Wasn't your mom blind?" Stross asked.

"Yes." Fenora said plainly.

Camilla looked hesitant to accept help, but decided to accept. “I guess it couldn’t make me a worse shot than I already am.”

Fenora smiled and looked over Camilla’s stance. “First of all… relax. Loosen your grip on the handle a bit, don’t lock your elbow, and most important of all, control your breathing.

Moving on to your other hand, it looks like your natural draw is the ‘thumb and two fingers’, as opposed to ‘thumb and index’ or ‘three fingers’. Really it doesn’t make too much difference which of the three you use; the important thing is to keep your right elbow level with your hand when you draw, otherwise it the arrow might tilt when you fire it.”

“Wow, that’s a lot to remember.” Camilla laughed.

“Don’t remember. Just do it.” Fenora nodded. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Camilla pointed an arrow downrange and pulled the string back again, aiming for the cabbage that had thus far mocked her with matrix-like arrow dodging. “Okay… loosen grip, elbow bent- not too much though. Okay, I-can-do-this I-can-do-this I-can-do-.”

“Camilla.” Fenora interrupted. “Breathe.”

Camilla sucked in a nervous breath, and slowly let it out before firing her arrow when her lungs had emptied halfway. The arrow didn’t hit its mark so much as graze it, cutting a sharp nick in the top of the cabbage.

Camilla was disappointed, but Fenora was merely impressed.

“Better.” She said, giving Camilla a pat on the shoulder. “Keep practicing and it’ll be so easy you won’t even have to think about it.”

Leaving towards Whiterun, the three of them heard another distant *thwack*, this time followed by a triumphant cheer. There was hope for Skyrim yet.

After following the path that was quickly becoming worn and familiar to them, our heroes made it to Whiterun. They couldn’t stay long however, only long enough to deliver Nettlebane to Ysolda, and to finish selling anything that would unduly weigh them down.

Now it was mid-afternoon, and they would have to find a way to get to Ustengrav. Morthal was the town closest to the old ruin, only an hour or two away by Stross’s map. Therefore, hiring a carriage to take them there seemed like the logical choice. That was… up until they actually put that plan into motion. Fenora wasn’t even halfway through paying for the three of them when they ran into a problem.

“Stross, what in gods’ names are you doing?” Fenora asked.

But Stross just stood there, face to face with the giant steed harnessed to the front of the wagon. Its head loomed over the disguised changeling’s, nose sorting puffs of air into his face, and its eyes flicking downward every now and then to look at him before just as quickly returning their vigil ahead, waiting for the driver’s command.

“’Sa matter wit’cha? Ya never seen a horse before?” the driver quipped.

Stross would have explained that he had indeed seen horses before, but they were never… like this! The first time he’d seen a horse in Skyrim, they’d been carrying Ulfric and his men in the distance, and he still couldn’t believe just how mind-bendingly huge they were! They were like colossi compared to Equestrians, dwarfing even the most dedicated body-builders with their sheer hulking mass and muscle!

But in exchange for this physical strength and size, there came a price, and Stross could see it in the eyes of this horse. It lacked the intelligence of the ponies he knew. He could tell even now that this giant was truly no more than a trained animal, standing here sometimes for hours until the order to move was given.

So no, Stross had not seen horses. He had seen ponies. This creature standing before him was a beast. A warped reflection of the species he knew and fed on. A twisted visage of evolution that had exchanged brain for brawn. It was… it was…

“It’s so big.” Stross gaped.

Fenora turned back to the driver and got his attention with their travel fee. “They’re smaller where he comes from.” She explained in a partial truth.

“Do you see beyond just the world around you?” Stross asked the horse, “Can you understand the secrets of the universe? …Do you taste just like raisins?”

“Stross quit fooling around and get in! Let’s go.”

Stross would have to ponder the mysteries of life some other time. Right now they needed the answer to an even more puzzling question. How were they going to stop an army of dragons by themselves?

It would probably involve lots of shouting.

The friendly people of Morthal

“If ya look to the left now, you’ll see one the giant’s bonfires. We try to stay clear of giants as much as possible, for obvious reasons. But some farmers living near a giant’s territory will offer an annual sacrifice of livestock in order to keep them pacified. Whether this works or not has never been proven one way or the other, but the superstitious will do as they do. The crude paintings used by giants to mark their territory has its origins in blah blah, blah-blah blah blar..."

“Gods this is so BORING!” Fenora screamed in her mind. She stared up at the sky with her head resting back on the wooden railing of the carriage. “Why? Why did I think this would be faster than walking?! We’ve been riding for hours!”

“And now we see the peaceful farming town of Rorikstead.” The driver continued his tourguide narration while the cart slowly bumbled along. “Generations ago, this land was barren, but you’d never be able to guess that now. The soil is so fertile in Rorikstead, there are some who have tried to scrape it up and steal it, in hopes of selling it abroad at a high price. Some say that Rorikstead's good fortune was due to the influence of Daedra and blah, blah blah-bluh blah…”

“And then there’s this asshole.” Fenora thought to herself, “Man that was way too soft. *ahem* And then there's this ASSHOLE! Seriously, he never shuts his mouth. Never! He’s been babbling on about nearby rocks and random caves this whole time! I’m going to go insane if I have to listen to any more.”

Fenora rolled her head lazily. Lydia was sitting across from her as patiently as ever, whereas Stross was sitting closer to the driver. She realized all this was new to him, and it was no wonder he was taking in every little detail, and looking at all the landmarks with rapt attention. But she wished he wouldn't encourage the driver to take even longer. “What a tourist.” She thought. "But at least he's my tourist."

“And this is our stop.” The driver said suddenly as the carriage came to a screeching halt.

“Wait, what?” Fenora asked. Even though she would gladly take any excuse to get off, she knew they were nowhere near Morthal… at least, she didn’t think so.

The driver pointed to a fog-covered area nearby; in stark contrast to the rest of the land, it was full of dead trees and wet ground. “My apologies friends, but I dare not go further than this. The marsh is too treacherous for these wheels.” He explained. “But I got ya as close as I could, Morthal’s about a twenty minute walk that-a-way. Been lots of strange goings on in that place; folk that live out there are none too accepting of outsiders at the best of times, and there's rumor of evil things stalking around at night. So be wary, and don't wander off the road.”

Fenora looked towards the marsh as the driver wheeled around and started off the way they came. There was something unnatural about that place, and not just the spooky atmosphere. Something was lurking in that swamp, claiming an unseen dominion over it and wanting to extend its reach through the shadows. She could feel it from here.

“Well… let’s get moving.” She said. One foot in front of the other, her companions falling into uneasy and apprehensive step behind her.

The more they walked, the softer the ground got, and the road had all but disappeared.

The only splashes of color came in the form of clearly poisonous plants: dark purple flowers and ash white fungal pods that only served to give some variety from the dead bushes and grass. Old, twisted trees rose out of the fog every so often, and occasionally the ground would give way to the swamp underneath them. Overall, it was not a pleasant place, and none of our heroes could understand why people would live out here.

Twenty minutes till they got to Morthal.

For Stross, twenty minutes was way too long to be wandering through this creepy swamp. But by his count they must have been in there more than three times that long- or more by now! It was hard to tell with the way the fog blocked the light. The sun could have been right above them, and still only a trickle of glow would have penetrated the thick, suffocating blanket.

It was hard to breathe, and hard to see. The air seemed so much thicker... closer, like it was trying to strangle the life out of-

“It is way too claustrophobic in here! I’ll be right back.” the changeling announced before jumping into the air on his wings, desperate to get some fresh air. He heard Fenora call after him, but he couldn’t take not knowing where they were, how far they had to go, and not being able to breathe.

Stross took in a deep lungful, and spread his arms open wide as the cool air surrounded him from within and without. He exhaled in a sigh of relief and began to survey his surroundings. The first thing that caught his attention though was right above him: the moon.

The moon was out, directly above and lighting up the mist below with an eerie pale light. That meant it was night time. But the sun was barely setting when they entered the forest. How long had they been wandering?

Stross looked around some more and finally saw where they had been headed this whole time. Morthal was dark, but not so dark he couldn’t make out the tiny pinprick lights of torch fire. They were so close they could get there in two minutes... less, if they ran.

The changeling folded his wings and dove back into the fog to tell Fenora and Lydia the good news.

“We’re almost there guys! It’s right ove-“ he stopped himself. “Fenora? Lydia? Where are you?”

He looked around, but only dead trees and more fog greeted him.

“Fenora? Lydia?” he called their names again, louder this time. Only a dead silence answered.

He had lost them. But he had landed right where he left them. Hadn’t he?

Stross looked around, frantically trying to remember if this was the same clearing, but he hadn’t noted any landmarks before he darted away. Everything looked the same!

Instantly the worst scenarios played out in his mind. What if they had gotten lost in the marsh and he'd never find them? What if they had been dragged away by some horrible monster while he was gone? What if they needed him?! What if he had left the stove on!?

“FEEEEENNN!” he screamed, sprinting off in a random direction; he didn’t care which.

“Fenora! Lydia! Where are you two?! Make a noise if you hear me! I don’t even know what to scream anymore-“

*Squelch!*

Stross looked down. “Oh well that’s just great.” He deadpanned when he saw both his legs sucked knee deep in a pit of mud.

*Glorp.*

Stross sunk another inch and his eyes went wide.

*Blorp.*

“HEEEEEEEELLLLLLPP!” he screamed as the swamp started to slowly and mercilessly swallow him whole.

*Blurp.*

“Lok Vah Koor!” ("Sky Spring Summer" - Clear Skies shout)

The fog dissipated, if only for a short time, and Fenora came vaulting over a downed tree trunk.

“Stross!”
“Fen!”
“My thane.”
*Glurp.*

“Stross, how did you get yourself into this mess?” Fenora asked and unslung her sword from her back. She sunk the blade into the ground and used the handle as an anchor while she reached for Stross. “Grab my hand!”

The pit had already swallowed the changeling up to his waist, but Stross grabbed her hand with both of his, and with a bit of straining, both of them made it back to solid ground. Unfortunately, Stross wasn’t the only thing they pulled out of the swamp.

"AAAAAAHHHH! Swamp zombies!" Stross shrieked as soon as he saw the body clinging to his leg. The filth-covered corpse turned to face them, trudging right up to them though the muck, and with a gurgling howl it raised a rusted sword above its head.

"Fus Ro Dah!" Fenora tried to push it away with Unrelenting Force, but with its legs still knee-deep in the swamp, the zombie barely moved and was still in prime position to strike. "Oh fu-"

The zombie's sword was parried easily, and the trio scrambled away from the edge of the sludge pit. Even as they did though, more undead soldiers started to claw their way out of the dead marshes. Clad in the remains of armor from long ago, the wounds of a great battle carved into their bodies, elves and men and orcs, all dead, all rotten...

"It's got me!" Lydia yelled as she was suddenly grabbed from behind.

Fenora rushed over and punted the zombie off her housecarl with the pommel of her sword, but more were coming, and avenues of escape were disappearing by the second. Somehow the corpses had gotten behind them, either by clawing their way out of the ground or by moving unseen in the swiftly returning fog, and the heroes were becoming encircled.

"Forget these things, we've got to get out of here! Stross, did you see Morthal while you were up there? Did you see anything?"

"Yeah, it was that way!" Stross said, pointing to what he thought was east. "Or... maybe it was that way? Why did get off the road anyway; we're lost!"

Fenora scoffed and brought her sword down of the closest undead, splitting the rusted metal of it's helm as well as its head. They had already wasted their chance to escape, and everywhere they looked there were just more and more dead soldiers. Lydia and Stross drew in close to her and they all stood back to back.

"Fine then... we'll just have to fight our way out." Fenora said in disgust. Yet for some reason, she couldn't help but grin.

"Welp, another night's patrol, another night's pay." A nord man yawned to himself as he walked around the docks of a small lake towards the sawmill, the same path he traced every day until the dead of night. It was the job he'd taken after all, doing his part to keep the town of Morthal safe.

His name was Benor, a simple man with not much to tell about. He wasn't what most would consider smart, but he had a keen pair of eyes and was good in a fight. He didn't have a home, but he took odd jobs to get by, and helped patrol the town so he could sleep at the guard barracks. Morthal as he knew, was no stranger to strangeness, but lately things had happened that put everyone on edge.

Every night the noises from the moors grew louder, as though the gates of Oblivion were creaking open under the perpetual fog.

Nothing ever ventured close to town, and he secretly thanked the gods for that, but the noises were somehow worse. The not knowing what was out there waiting, what might be stalking your steps at any moment... waiting to pounce... it was enough to make most people paranoid. But Benor was thick-skinned, and had almost gotten used to it. Tonight would be different though.

In the distance he saw something burst through the fog, but in the dark he couldn't make it out.

Taking his trusty battleaxe in hand, he stomped off to confront whatever it was.

Upon getting closer, Benor recognized the figure as an elf woman. He didn't like the look of her one bit. Her clothes were a disheveled mess just like the rest of her, and she gripped her sword in a way that told the world she was ready for a fight. It was possible she was some roaming bandit looking for someone she could easily rob, but something was... off about her. Even bandits avoided the marsh outside of Morthal.

Luckily, she didn't seem to have noticed him yet, keeping her eyes on the fog instead. So Benor got near as he dared to get, brought the shaft of his axe up defensively, and made a loud grunt to get her attention.

One second the elf was looking over her shoulder to see the edge of his axe leveled at her head, and the next thing Benor knew he was on the ground with a flaring pain through his jaw.

He let out a deep groan of pain, and could hear the sound of his broken jawbone grinding in his ears. But over that noise there were voices.

"Fen stop, it's a guy!" one yelled.

"My thane are you alright?" a woman's voice asked, "Did that man try to harm you?"

"Didn't give him the chance." the elf snorted.

While Benor lay there clutching his mouth in pain, something knelt beside him. "Hey hey, easy. Lemme see."

When he heard the unusually raspy voice again he forced his eyes open, and saw a black creature with pale blue eyes and wicked fangs standing over him. His eyes widened and he tried to scramble away. "Nnh, geh aweh! Monsher!" he slurred while pawing at the ground for wherever his axe had fallen.

"No no, wait... here." the creature said and leveled a healing spell to the man's face.

As soon as he felt the pain start to fade, Benor relaxed and let the bug-thing do its work. While his jawbone was being mended, he caught sight of the elf again, and a nord woman approaching on his other side.

"H-hey. Sorry about that. Coming at me with an axe isn't the best idea." the elf apologized. He had to admit, now that she wasn't trying to kill him, she was actually kind of pretty.

The healing light faded and the bug stepped back. Benor got to his feet and stared at the three travelers before him. The elf was holding his axe, only she was offering it back to him rather than using it. He gladly took it back and finally asked, "Who are you, and why have you come to Morthal? And don't lie to me!"

The three exchanged a look, and the creature spoke up first.

"I'm Stross, a changeling from a world of magic ponies. This is Fen, she's the legendary Dragonborn, destined to defeat Alduin and save the world. And that's Lydia, our housecarl from Whiterun. We're searching for the ancient tomb of Jurgan Windcaller, so we can take it's magic horn back to the Greybeards and gain dragon powers from it." he explained proudly. "Nice to meet you!"

Benor just stared blankly at Stross while his companions slapped their palms to their faces. "I... I said don't lie to me."

"Stross, you're not helping." Fenora told him.

"Says the one that punched him in the face."

"I said I was sorry! Look," Fenora cut to the chase, "we just want to stay the night at the inn. Can you point us in the right direction please?"

Benor narrowed his eyes at the three of them. They were definitely of a weird sort, and Morthal had enough weirdness as it was. Plus they were outsiders, and in Morthal, outsiders garnered suspicion from everyone. After their first impression, he already had more than enough mixed feelings about them. But he noted that of those mixed feelings, fear wasn't one of them.

Finally he decided. "Alright, but I'm gonna be keeping my eyes on you lot. Follow me."

Once Stross gotten his disguise in place (and literally begged Benor not to tell anyone), they were led across a stone bridge into the town proper. Morthal consisted of multiple shops and homes around a lake, poised on what little solid ground there was, or more often built on foundations of stone and wood. Benor kept grumbling to himself about this and that along the way, and no one bothered to inquire about anything, especially after their first impression.

Benor stopped at the first building they crossed. After leading them up a set of steps to the door, he turned to face them. "Here it is, Moorside Inn. They'll be glad to finally have some customers. Keep out of trouble while you're here, and try to leave as soon as ya can. Trust me."

The group nodded and stepped inside, but Benor stopped Fenora just shy of the door.

"Hey." he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

Fenora responded with a level stare.

For a second the two just glared each other down before Benor finally spoke.

"That was a solid punch back there. I can respect anyone who can hold their own in a fight. If you need help with anything while you're here, just let me know."

"Thanks." Fenora nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."

After that he turned to leave. Tonight was one of those nights where going to bed was the best decision to make.

Inside the inn, they quickly found the place to be vacant of any other guests. The only other person they could see was an orcish bard, sitting in the corner while he jotted down some song lyrics. He noticed them quickly though, and got up to greet them.

"Greetings travelers!" he spoke with a jubilant tone that clashed horribly with his deep voice. "I'm uh... I'm afraid Miss Jonna is asleep at this hour. But feel free to choose a room. Just leave some coin at the counter."

Shrugging, they made to do just that. But before they could, the bard stopped them again. "W-wait! Might I, the great Lurbuk offer a tune? A song to ease you to slumber under this roof. You'll find I'm a bard of some renown, the greatest musician known all around."

"That's alright." Fenora dismissed, "We'll just-"

"OOOOOOOHHHH! Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring... Banana Phone!" Lurbuk sang loudly, proudly, and as off-key as one could get.
"Ding-dong ding-dong ding... DAnana Phone!
It's a real live mama and a papa phone
a brother and a sister and a dog-a-phone
a grandpa phone and a grandma phone too! Oh yeah!

My cellular... banan-ular PHOOOOOONE!"

Suddenly a door slammed open and a voice screamed in outrage, "LURBUK!" A redguard woman stomped out of her room still in her evening gown and nightcap. "What did I say about singing at this time of night?! I am trying to sleep!"

Lurbuk didn't even flinch at her anger. In fact, he seemed happy to have the attention. "Ah, Miss Jonna. I knew my songs were too good for you to ignore. Why not listen with our new guests, who've just walked through the door?"

"What? New gues- Oh!" Jonna finally noticed our heroes through the sleep in her eyes, and wasted no time in welcoming bringing them up to the counter, as well as shooing away her annoying bard. "Sorry about Lurbuk's singing; he couldn't carry a tune with his head in a bucket. So... I'm assuming the three of you be needing rooms tonight? If so it'll be just thirty septims for all of you."

Fenora shook her head. "That's fine, we can share a room. Standard fare is ten septims for per night, right?"

"For one person, yes. But there are clearly three of you. Therefore thirty septims for the night." Jonna reasoned firmly.

Now Jonna was a pretty quick talker, but Fenora had traveled enough of Tamriel to know the innkeeper was just trying to squeeze them for coin. Right now she could feel her 'we're getting ripped off' senses tingling, and fixed the inkeeper with a frown. It was late, they all wanted to rest, and even though Benor told them not to start anything, Fen wasn't one to get willingly swindled.

After a tense few seconds, Jonna's expression wavered, and she finally broke. "Look, you three are the first people to stay here in months." she admitted, "No one wants to come near the inn after that fire burned down Hroggar's house. People say they're seein' ghosts! I'm barely making ends meet."

"You'll be even worse off if you keep trying to shake down the few customers you have." Fenora scolded, but reached for her coin purse anyway. "Here's thirty-five."

After leaving the coins on the counter Fenora promptly turned to the nearest room, motioning for her companions to follow. Jonna was left staring speechlessly at the elf until the door shut behind her and her friends.

As Jonna swept the money into a small wooden box under the counter, Lurbuk walked over with his freshly-tuned lute. "With such generosity I think we can agree, that I should sing a few songs to them for free."

"Don't you dare!" Jonna snapped.

Bright and early the next morning, the group was already getting ready for their expedition to Ustengrav. While Lydia went over Stross's map, Fenora listed off each of their supplies as she laid them out on the bed before her.

Six tundra-cotton bandages...
Three and a half bottles of healing potion...
Five apples- *crunch*... four apples...
Dwarven greatsword, twin daggers, Lydia's bow with roughly fifty steel-tipped arrows...

She had made it a point to pack light, assuming she could just buy whatever she needed along the way (she had a few hundred septims with her after all). But now she was beginning to wish she hadn't packed quite so light. Until Stross started wondering aloud what trials they might face in Ustengrav, it hadn't occurred to her that her thu'um might not be enough. She'd have to be ready for just about anything, and that meant her friends would need to be too.

Lydia already assured her she was had never been more ready. That left her changeling.

"Stross, how're your 'love' levels holding up?"

Stross had already been absentmindedly peeling back the illusion masking his forearms, letting him check how far his body had deteriorated. It wasn't too bad actually, but all the overcharged spells he'd been using seemed to have finally caught up to him, as tiny craters were beginning to show on his outer scales. It was the fact that it had taken so long to happen that was worrying him.

"Fen, I'm scared. I can't remember the last time I fed, so either casting spells doesn't take as much out of me here in Skyrim, or I've been slowly leeching your life away without even realizing it... maybe from others too." Stross shuddered and turned to her, "Fen, Lydia, are you two feeling okay? Any sudden weakness? Throbbing headaches? Trouble seeing straight? What about weird tendencies to bump your shins on coffee tables?!"

"Stross, relax. We're both fine." Fenora reassured him.

"I don't get it! I should have burned myself out at least twice by now!"

"Hey, speaking of burning, I want to stop by that potion shop and pick up a few things before we leave town." Fenora tried to change the subject. She knew she'd have to tell Stross about his soul-eating eventually; it might help him if he knew the reason he wasn't dead yet, but now wasn't a good time. She didn't even know if there was a good time.

At that moment her stomach decided to loudly add its opinion as well.

"Perhaps we should get something to eat as well, my thane." Lydia toned in, "Breakfast bacon is the most important bacon of the day!"

"Good call Lydia. Come on Stross, we'll figure out what's going on with you later."

Stross was about to stress the fact that he could potentially be an unchecked parasitic force, slowly sapping away the life essence of anyone near him, eventually dooming the entire world to a horrific demise. But a more important question came to mind.

"What's bacon anyway?"

The smells of delicious sizzling meat wafted through the air of the inn, yet the only sounds were screams of absolute horror.

"You people are monsters!" the disguised changeling shrieked.

"But meat is a staple food in Skyrim. In fact it's four fifths of any true nord's diet!" Lydia told him as she carved piece from the pig spit-roasting over the fire. "Are you sure you won't try just one bite, my other thane?"

Stross retched at the piece held out to him. "Pigs are intelligent creatures! How can you eat them so casually?"

"Uhh, like this." Fenora said and took an exaggerated bite of the delectably charred pork hide. "Oh don't scoff at me!" she said around her mouthful, "Your kind feed on intelligent creatures too don't you?"

"That'snotthesame!" Stross snapped back, "We feed on them, okay. We don't rip bloody, greasy chunks out of them and cook them to perfection over a bonfire."

"Oh really? So I guess those big pointy teeth of yours are just for show then." Fenora pointed out.

"Okay see these babies-" Stross opened his mouth and dropped the illusion hiding his fangs for a second, "are for injecting paralytic venom into our prey so that we can capture and contain them for later."

Fenora shuddered, remembering his victims at the barrow when he lost his mind, the bandits pale faces frozen in terror. "Yeesh, sorry I asked."

"You're forgiven." Stross said and gave her a hug from behind. "You filthy meat-eater."

Suddenly a sense of cold washed over Stross, and a new voice spoke from behind him. "Well well, isn't this a lively bunch? We don't get many visitors to our little town. It's so... nice to see some new blood around here."

Stross turned around, and a pair of bright red eyes met his.

Everything about this new woman screamed 'sinister seductress'. She had dark brown hair that fell just past her waist, and her dress was cut in such a way as to expose as much of her shoulders, back and cleavage as possible. But it went further than that, her half-lidded eyes ringed with dark mascara stared at them as though she were a wolf sizing up its prey, and even though she stood a respectable distance from them, she had an intimidating presence that felt like she were mere inches from one's face the whole time.

Stross saw the most worrying thing about her though, namely the ambient magic aura that only he could see, twisting around them and subtly influencing their feelings towards her.

She noticed Stross staring, and turned her eyes to focus on him. "Mmm, and aren't you the most interesting of the bunch. My name is Alva... in case you were wondering." she said, draping her arms across his shoulders and leaning down so that their lips were nearly touching.

"Uh...I need an adult." Stross whimpered.

"I am an adult." Alva whispered and brought herself even closer, practically grazing her lips on his nose.

"Fen!" Stross jerked away, turning to see Fenora and Lydia sitting there silently with a glazed look in their eyes.

His eyes widened when he realized it, the same trick he'd seen used time and again. He quickly darted his gaze to both Lurbuk and Jonna, seeing that they were in the same state. "Y-you're hazing their minds. What do you want? Let them go now!" he snarled.

Alva sucked her teeth in distaste at this. "Now now, there's no need to be so rude, little boy. I merely wanted to have a conversation with you... in private."

Stross frowned, but found himself trapped. If she could filter people's minds to make them ignore her, it was possible she could do worse. "What is it you want to say?" he asked.

Alva slinked back, immediately losing her flirtatious attitude and becoming steely and cold.

"I'll cut the formalities. I know what you are; you were hardly subtle about hiding it just now. As a fellow life-drinker I will give you a warning, but only one. This town belongs to us. You will be content with the two mortals already in your thrall and leave this place."

Alva didn't even wait for Stross to nod before she left the inn, slamming the door behind her.

A second later, everyone shook themselves from their daze, and life carried on.

"I'll have you know there's nothing filthy about eating meat. It's delicious." Fenora picked up the conversation as though no time had passed all. "And besides, not all of us have the luxury of being able to drink soul sweat in order to sur... vive..? Stross?"

"Fenora? Are you sure there are no other changelings in Skyrim?"

Author's Note

I really need to find more time to work on this story. :ajsleepy:

Okay, so I know this chapter probably felt like a whole lot of filler. But don't worry, this was just buildup for the next chapter, and it's going to be a big one.

Heroes don't know fear

Author's Note

Hey everyone, you glorious readers you.

So I know I said the next chapter was going to be a big one, but I wrote this bit for the beginning of the next chapter and found it didn't fit too well with the investigation. I didn't want to just throw it away though, so I decided to post it as a small inbetween-y chapter instead.

The rest of the Morthal arc should be up sometime next week. And as always, thank you all so much for reading my work. It means a whole lot to me.:heart:

Heroes don't know fear

Fenora wanted to get out of Morthal and head to Ustengrav as quickly as possible, and this feeling was understandable. Their experience in the small town had so far been less than stellar, and somehow it seemed they’d avoided the worst of what lurked in the shadows.

Out of nowhere, Stross started frantically spouting some wild story while they were still finishing breakfast. The changeling talked so fast that Fenora could barely catch what he was saying, and the bits she did understand sounded unlikely enough to be made up. She argued back and forth with him on several points, and had an especially hard time believing she was put in a trance and couldn't remember anything that happened. But eventually Stross convinced her... mostly by hugging her legs and whining until she did.

She wished it was just some stupid prank though. The alternative was a lot worse.

“We don't have changelings here Stross. We've got vampires instead.” She said before getting up from the table. “And if that's what she said, 'quote unquote', then there's more than just Alva. Frickin’ bloodsuckers… as if we needed more incentive to get moving."

Fenora paced for a couple seconds, thinking it over and weighing her options. "I still need to brew up a couple potions for the road; hopefully this alchemy shop has a mixing station. Just give me like fifteen minutes and we can be gone after that.”

With that, she shoved her way out the door and made a beeline for the shop known only as the Thaumaturgist’ Hut.

Fenora had never actually met a vampire before, though she’d heard stories here and there. In the stories the vampires always had some strange and mythical power, like being able to turn into clouds of mist, freeze a person's blood inside their veins, or even swallow a man whole. Until now she had thought most of them were exaggerated for the sake of the storytellers, but this ‘Alva’ person really did have them all in a helpless trance…

That was terrifying. She didn’t want to think about her non-existent odds against someone like that. Better to heed the warning she gave to Stross and get out as quickly as they could.

But unfortunately, Stross had other ideas.

“So… we’re not going to stay behind and protect the town?”

Fenora felt herself slump. Somehow she knew this was going to come up.

“Hmm, well let’s see…” she tapped her chin in an exaggerated thinking pose, “we could continue on to Ustengrav so I can complete my dragonborn training, and give me a chance in Oblivion of beating Alduin to save the entire world and everyone living in it. OR we could waste our time saving one tiny village. That is a tough choice.”

Stross blinked his eyes. “Uh… are you being sarcastic? I can't tell when you're being sarcastic.”

Fenora sighed into her palm. “Look, if you’re so worried just go over to the Jarl’s house and tell them about it. Let these lazy people sort out their own problems for once.”

Stross wanted to argue further, but couldn’t find the drive to. Instead he decided to just do what she suggested and talk to the Jarl. He glanced over his shoulder sadly, seeing her and Lydia disappear into the potion shop, and continued to warn the town of the danger without them.

The Jarl’s house wasn’t that hard to find, just look for the largest building in town. The only problem was getting to it, as it seemed he wasn’t the only one wanting to see the Jarl today. A large group of men had gathered in front of the doors, their frustration flaring in his changeling vision. It was clear the only thing keeping them from simply storming the Jarl’s home was the lone armored man blocking them from the doorway.

He had the advantage of a muscular build and the height granted by a small set of stairs as he tried to address them as calmly as he could.

“Everyone calm yourselves, you’ve already been assured there’s nothing to fear.”

“Shor’s piss there's nothing to fear!” one man in the crowd spat. “Ravencrone’s done nothing but sit on her aging hind! The death of Hroggar’s wife and child was written off as nothing but an accident, and now she allows that damned wizard into our town.”

“And what of the noises from the marsh?” another asked, “They’re getting louder and louder every night. This last night I could barely sleep.”

“How are we to feel safe in our own homes?!”

As the people’s concerns mounted, their voices only grew louder, until they were shouting and shaking their fists in the air.

“Please, enough of this already.” Aslfur had to raise his voice over theirs, “I’ve already told Jarl Idgrod of your concerns. Return to your homes or go about your business. We’re already doing all we can.”

There was a moment of tension before the group dispersed, annoyed and unsatisfied, but knowing it wouldn't help to demand answers from a Jarl that had no anwsers for them. Aslfur let out a breath of relief as he watched them go.

It was then that Stross picked his way forward, if there was a best time to talk with him, it was now.

“Hmm, what is it outsider?” Aslfur asked the cloaked bosmer boy.

“Can I talk to the Jarl? It’s important.”

Aslfur looked him over a moment, then glanced back at the remnants of the crowd, the people of Morthal returning unsatisfied to their lives.

“Alright. Come inside.”

The interior of Highmoon Hall was much like any other important building in Skyrim, built solidly out of stone and wood, with banners representing the Hold lining the walls. It had a few differences that made it unique though, such as how the light filtered in through the tiny windows near the roof to give the whole place an odd pale glow. All along the walls were the mounted bodies of lesser pests, such as skeevers and mudcrabs, making it feel slightly like a hunter’s den.

The people were different too, as Stross found out as soon as he entered.

“You will not disrespect Jarl Idgrod while in this hall! DO WE HAVE AN UNDERSTANDING?!”

Stross felt his legs go weak as the giant man yelled down at him. “Okay I admit it! I'm the one who left the seat up! Please don’t hit me!” he begged.

“Gorm, ease up. He’s not one of those troublemakers.” Aslfur said before turning to Stross. “I apologize for that. Gorm is very loyal to Idgrod and her family, and no one has had anything nice to say to her as of late. Many are unsatisfied with the Jarl’s seemingly lax decisions and reliance on her visions. But she leads us well, as she always has.”

“Do not speak about me as though I were not present.” came an aged, yet calm and intelligent voice. Idgrod leaned back on her throne in the center of the room. “I thought these years of being my steward and my husband would have taught you that.”

She then turned her eyes to Stross. “Now… what can the Jarl of Morthal do for you on this lovely day?”

Stross approached her and took a knee.

Idgrod rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother with all that ceremony nonsense, boy. Just tell me what’s the matter.”

“U-uh. O-okay.” Stross said and unsurely went back to standing up. “I think that Morthal is in danger.”

Idgrod barked a laugh. “Well of course Morthal’s in danger! I’d wager all the other holds of Skyrim are in danger too, not to mention the rest of the world beyond. Being in danger is part of being alive, kid.” She said before putting on a more serious look. “Or were you referring to something specific?”

“Alva is a vampire. And I think she’s planning to do something bad to the people here.” Stross explained.

Idgrod raised a brow at this. “That’s quite a bold claim. I assume you have some evidence to back it up?”

“She told me herself! I… think she didn’t want me to interfere with what she’s doing, so she tried to scare me off.” Stross said, making it a point to hide what he was.

Jarl Idgrod rubbed her forehead with a thumb. “I meant good evidence ya nitwit! I might think that Alva’s a scheming, family-killing whore, but just thinking it don’t make it true. If this is all, I’ll consider your warning noted. Be on your way.”

“Wait!” Stross pleaded, “I know she’s a vampire! I just want to help. Please!”

Idgrod sighed and motioned for Gorm to step down. “Kid, I can tell your heart’s in the right place, but my hands are tied here. If you’re really so determined to prove that conniving harlot’s guilt, then maybe you can look around Horggar’s old house for clues, or question some of the townspeople. The guards didn’t find anything though, so don’t hope for too much.”

“Okay... I'll do that. Thank you.” Stross said with a nod. “You won’t regret this.”

“Don’t step on any toes while you’re out there!” Idgrod called as Stross dashed off to start playing detective.

Silence returned to Highmoon Hall after the outsider left. Gorm went back to his position and leaned against a wooden support beam. Meanwhile, Aslfur stood next to his Jarl, his wife, wanting to speak up, but not knowing how to begin.

“I’m getting that feeling from you again dear.” Idgrod gave him a casual sideways glance. “You know you can speak your mind around me.”

“Why did you allow that outsider to do this? I know you have a dislike of Alva, but you’ve never allowed your personal feelings to influence your decisions, not ever before. It seems so unlike you.” Aslfur said worriedly.

Idgrod closed her eyes. “I had a vision Aslfur… weeks before the fire that took Hroggar’s wife and child I saw it. I saw Morthal, a grey shriveled husk of a town about to be swallowed up in a river of blood. More than that though, I felt something. I felt a presence I thought I’d never feel again. This is the first time I’ve heard anyone even mention the word ‘vampire’, and I hope that elf boy is wrong. But if he’s not… Divines help us all.”

The door to the hall opened again and Stross peeked his head in. “So uh… I just realized, I don’t have a clue about anything that happened here.”

Idgrod rubbed her eyes. “Divines help us anyway.” she groaned.

“They laughed at me... they said only a crazy person would carry around twice their weight in random plants and animal parts! Well who’s crazy now?!” ~ Eluara Tandis – crazy person
…

Fenora stared at the flames licking the bottom of a glass bowl full of troll fat, waiting for the chunks to turn into a viscous slime. In the meantime she’d been idly grinding a handful of bear claws into a fine powdery dust. A bowl of egg-whites from a rock-warbler egg was sitting nearby, ready to be added to the mix. Normally the final mixture would have to be diluted with water after it cooled, but that would take almost an hour. Instead she’d just bottle the concentrate and finish it later.

That is… if the frickin’ troll fat would hurry up and finish melting already!

“My thane, do you think it was wise to send Stross off on his own?” Lydia asked. “The people of Morthal are rather infamous for being… unwelcoming.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, you filthy outsider!?” the shopkeeper screamed.

Fenora kept watching the troll fat boil. “Stross is smart. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Stross is optimistic and puts too much faith in others. He’s definitely not going to be fine. In fact I’m counting on it.

“He’ll probably go straight to whoever’s in charge and get turned away.”

He’ll probably reveal him true form to the townsfolk in a desperate attempt to make them believe him, and get cornered by an angry mob.

“I’ll say I told him so, and then we’ll leave and go to Ustengrav like we were supposed to be doing.”

Then I’ll swoop in and save him, tell him they're a lost cause, and we run for our lives to Ustengrav.

“And best of all, we won’t have to deal with any vampires.”

…And I won’t have to die fighting an enemy I couldn't possibly beat.

Silence returned to the Thaumaturgist’s Hut. Fenora carefully moved the bowl of troll fat off the heat and swished it around a bit. Satisfied that it was right consistency, she added in the powdered claws and started stirring them in. Next was the warbler egg, and she had to mix it in quickly or else the residual heat would cook it.

Now she just had to bottle it.

“My thane…” came Lydia’s concerned voice. “Are you afraid?”

Fenora jerked, fumbling the bottles in her hand and nearly dropping one. “What? No, of course not.” She laughed. “I mean… why would I be? I’m the dragonborn!”

She placed the five bottles in a row and started to fill the first. “It’s not like there’s anything I can’t handle if I put my all into it. I have to save the world from Alduin after all, a few vampires are nothing compared to that.”

One bottle filled and corked, four to go.

“I mean sure they have that stupid thing they do that turns our minds into sludge before we can even react, but I’ve had worse.”

Two filled.

“I’d just have to catch them off guard and hit them with my sword before they can use it. I can’t exactly do anything else against them, but that's no problem.”

Three.

“What else am I supposed to do anyway? I can’t counter their magic... or whatever it is. There's no way I could stop them from putting me in a trance and doing whatever they wanted to me. They could drink all my blood, killing me in an instant. Or maybe they’d like to have a dragonborn as their eternal servant, hunting down more people for them to feed on. Or heck they could dress me up in a sailor suit and have me sing Mirai Start for all I- OW! Fuck…”

Fenora didn’t realize that in her rambling she filled the bottle too much, and the scalding liquid overflowed onto her hand.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck.” she cursed under her breath. She frowned at the burn mark on her hand. She hadn't realized it until now, how vulnerable she was. She'd slaughtered her way through bandits and undead, killed a dragon, nearly been killed by a hagraven and got right back up like it was nothing. It took being rendered helpless by vampire magic for her to finally see herself as the glass cannon she was. Her hand became a fist that slammed down on the table.

“DAMMIT!”

Fenora let out a few shuddering breaths before she felt a hand gently grab onto her shoulder.

“My thane.” Lydia said soothingly. “It’s alright to be afraid.”

“How?” Fenora asked in barely a whisper, “How is it okay to be afraid when everyone’s counting on you? Everyone in Skyrim is depending on me to save them. Even Stross looks at me and sees a hero that isn’t afraid of anything. How is it okay to show anyone I’m weak, that I'm not invincible? It's so much easier to pretend I don't care enough to do anything... than to admit I'm not strong enough face what's ahead.”

Steel breastplate pressed into Fenora’s back as Lydia pulled her into a hug. “My thane, I’m afraid every second I’m with you. Every time we face a monstrous foe, I fear for my life and for yours. Every time you lead us into some long-forgotten ruin, I fear we will not return. But I steel myself and follow you anyway, because it is my duty to protect you… and because I care about you.”

Fenora felt her eyes getting moist as Lydia continued.

“Stross cares about you as well. He doesn’t help you because he sees a hero, he help you because he sees a friend who needs it. He will not think less of you if you confide in him. I think he would prefer a hero who knows they're afraid and tries to help anyway, rather than a hero that can't be bothered to care.”

Lydia was about to pull away, but Fenora grabbed her hand before she could. “Lydia… thank you.”

Lydia smiled and sank back into the embrace. “You’re welcome Fenora.”

Of the Wolf and his Sheep

Author's Note

Finally... it took two weeks longer than I thought it would, but I think I finally made this chapter okay enough to read.
I think it's alright now.

*Erised's eye twitches*

Oh, who am I kidding? It's an absolute train-wreck. I just want to get this over with so I can move on with the story.
I'm sorry! I've failed you all! *Erised curls up in the corner and starts sobbing hysterically*

Of the Wolf and his Sheep

Fenora walked out of the Thaumaturgist’s Hut with four bottles of potion concentrate in her pack. She sighed to herself as she scanned the dull grey surroundings of the town, knowing what she had to do, and it would start with catching up to Stross.

It didn’t take long to find her changeling; he ran into her first in fact.

At first Stross begged her for more time. He rambled about how much he’d already found out, and stressing the direness of the situation, and the extent of Alva’s influence on the town.

He’d learned the story of the burnt down house from Jarl Idgrod, how a local woodcutter named Hroggar lost his wife and daughter in the fire. The guards reported it as a tragic accident caused by an overfed hearth. But rumors had floated from ear to ear in Morthal, rumors that framed Hroggar as starting the fire on purpose. And unlike most gossip, these rumors had solid reasoning.

Days before the tragedy, Hroggar had been seen visiting Alva’s home frequently, spending long nights with her and even talking about her as though he weren’t a married man. After the death of his family, he seemingly showed no remorse or guilt over his loss, all too happy to begin living with Alva and go on with life as though nothing had happened.

Stross could make a guess as to what was really going on though. Alva wanted Hroggar all to herself, (either for his blood, his body, or both), but his family was in the way. An unfortunate accident would be just the thing.

“It’s just like in Equestria. It’s easy for changelings to force a breakup or divorce between ponies so they can catch one of them on the rebound. Some will even risk switching disguises to hook up with both at once. ‘Doubling your winnings’ they call it.” Stross explained with a biting hatred in his voice, “And that’s when they’re feeling patient. Most of the time, murdering one half of a pair is just a quicker method, and consoling somepony in their time of grief doesn’t hurt their chances either.”

Stross hated Alva for stooping so low to get what she wanted. Even worse, she clearly had no plans on stopping where she was. She didn’t just want one person to feed on, she wanted the whole town. Hroggar was just her first step, her foothold. And pretty soon she’d have everyone in Morthal as her banquet.

Stross only grew more determined to put a stop to it all while he shared what he’d learned with his friends.

For Fenora, it was almost painful having to dash his enthusiasm.

“Stross, I’m sorry.” She told him. “We can’t stay here to help these people.”

Stross opened his mouth to protest, but Fenora talked over him.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but what do you think we could do? I’m screwed if I have to go up against Alva and her freaky vampire magic. I'd be dead before I even got my sword out.” Fenora told him with a sigh, “I’m sorry Stross. I know you want me to care more about people, but I have to know my limits. Next time… When I'm stronger, I promise that next time I’ll stay and do everything I can. But I’m just no match for-“

“Is that it?”

Fenora balked for a second at Stross’s question.

“If Alva’s mind powers are the only thing keeping you back, then don’t worry. I’ll deal with her. All you have to do is follow my lead and look pretty.” Stross said and rubbed his hands together as a smile formed on his face. “I’ve got the perfect plan.”

"What plan?" Fenora asked, to which Stross just giggled evilly. "Stross! Talk to me. What the heck are you thinking?!"

Fenora liked to think she knew Stross alright by now. She realized he was goofy and naive at times, but sometimes he showed a surprising amount of insight. There were times when out of nowhere the changeling would come up with ideas, so strange yet brilliant it astounded her.

This was not one of those times. This was the opposite of his brilliance. This plan Stross came up with was pure, solidified stupidity.

But it was too late to turn back now, and so Fenora just stood there, holding her face in her palm as they stood on the doorstep of the very vampire she’d hoped to avoid at all costs.

“I’m sorry… come again?” Alva asked in a bored-sounding tone.

“I want to join you! Fellow vampires unite!” Stross said with a big smile full of pointy teeth.

Alva stared at him blankly for a moment, and when she realized he wasn’t kidding she allowed herself a small chuckle. It lasted barely a full second before she looked Stross dead in the eyes and told him, “No.” and slammed her door in his face.

But Stross had come too far to give up that easy. He was going to do whatever it took to keep Morthal safe from her clutches. And so… he knocked again.

Once again Alva opened the door, looking far less amused than before. She glared down at him as though waiting for his excuse for wasting her time.

“What if I said… pretty please?” he asked and batted his eyes.

Alva frowned and grit her teeth. But surprisingly, she stepped aside and beckoned then into her home.

From the outside, Alva’s house looked like any other in Morthal; it was simple, made of strong wood walls and a thatched roof, built on supports to keep it off the soggy ground. But inside told so much more about her; finely crafted furniture with expensive silk coverings decorated the room, and bags of coin lay spilled across their surfaces. A small bookshelf in the corner housed more bottles of alto wine than books, and placed here and there were candle holders carved from mammoth tusk and inlaid with gold. Clearly Alva liked to enjoy all of life’s little decedent pleasures.

The sound of heavy breathing drew their attention to Hroggar.

He sat near a set of stairs leading into a basement. His eyes were blank and expressionless, and every so often he would droop uneasily forward in his mindless daze, a constant victim of Alva's mind control.

Alva motioned our heroes to some seats near the opposite end of the room. “Sit.” She commanded.

As the heroes took their seats, Alva looked over the two mortals first before honing in on Stross. “Well fledgling… you have gained my attention, so speak. Why should I be bothered to include you in my activities with this town and risk everything I’ve worked so hard to accomplish? Keep in mind that I was here first, and so far you’ve been nothing but an annoyance.”

Stross took a breath and slowly let it out. It was time to nail this.

“Because you need me. I know I don’t look it, but I’m a skilled infiltrator, better than any in this world I’d wager. I can go anywhere, do anything…” Stross stood up, and in a pulse of red embers shifted his form to that of an Imperial soldier, then again to a Stormcloak, “be anyone.”

He saw genuine interest in Alva’s eyes for the first time. Now was the time to add a dash of fear. His form shifted again until Alva was staring at a mirror image of herself.

“And wouldn’t it be tragic if all your work was for naught because ‘you’ decided to reveal yourself to a town of paranoid, angry fishermen?”

Alva’s eyes shot open wide, and her lips peeled back into a bestial frown. “Why you little- You dare to threaten me in my own home?!” she hissed.

At her words, Hroggar lurched up and took hold of an axe. Fenora and Lydia rose and drew their weapons to follow suit.

Alva snarled in Stross’s face, “I could kill you where you stand.”

Stross kept the steely look in his eyes and the superior tone in his voice. “Hmph, you could try. Just as I could try to kill you. But I won’t.” he said, shrugging casually. “It would be a waste if either of us died, especially when we could accomplish so much more by working together.”

He stepped back and made a sweeping motion to the items decorating her house. “I can see you enjoy the wealth that comes with conquering these mortals, but your goals are far too small for a woman with so much potential. You talk about Morthal like it’s some grand prize, but if you to made use of my talents, all of Skyrim could be yours. I can help you attain all you wish to possess, and more. All I ask in return... is a chance to prove myself, to earn my place at your side while we watch the world bow before us.”

Alva tapped her chin in thought, appearing to mull over the pros and cons. But Stross was certain that he’d convinced her. He presented himself as either her greatest ally, or worst enemy. The choice was obvious. All she had to do was go for it.

“Very well. You have captured my interest." She said finally. "But before you jump for joy I must test your loyalty to me.”

“What do you wish me to do?” Stross asked and took a knee, noting how Alva smiled when he did.

“There is a wizard in this town by the name of Fallion. The villagers treat him with scorn for his practice, but I have seen the truth. He wishes to create a cure for vampirism, and he is close to the answers he seeks. I cannot allow this.” Alva said with a bite in her voice. “Fallion already suspects me and has set up countermeasures to protect himself. I would have sent Hroggar to deal with him were it not for that Jarl, Ravencrone, watching my every move. However…” she grinned, “If a certain outsider no one had seen before were to dispose of him, and then vanish without a trace, well then...”

“So you want me to murder him.” Stross summed it up.

“Discretely… if possible.” Alva stressed, “I don’t need another scandal like with Hroggar’s family. Do this for me and I shall consider you an ally.”

“I can do discrete.” Stross told her, “Consider it done… master.”

Alva grinned. Things were going along better than she could have hoped.

“Oh Fallen preserve me! What by Celestia’s invisible mustache was I thinking?! I was like THIS close to losing it back there!” Stross cried as Lydia hugged him and gave him reassuring pats on the back. “Do you think she bought it? I hope she bought it. We’re so dead if she didn’t believe me. MY HANDS ARE SO SWEATY!”

“There there, my other thane. I thought you made a terrific evil vampire.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t offer me and Lydia to be her sex slaves.” Fenora commented. “So… now we’re running errands for the very same monster we’re trying to stop. Sorry if I seem lost, but what was the point of that?”

“Well now we can work to undermine her schemes from within, and eventually take her down.” Stross explained. “Because that she thinks we’re on her side now, we can do whatever we want around here and she won’t try and murder us!”

“Stross, that’s… actually kinda clever.” Fenora admitted, but quickly turned back to skepticism. “But why bother when you could just do what you threatened her with: make yourself look like her and start running through the town acting like a vampire. Then hide and watch while she’s driven out with torches and pitchforks.” Fenora asked. “That seems like it’d be a lot easier… and funny.”

Stross got a distant look in his eyes and chuckled. “Heh-heh, yeah… funny. Funny until it all goes wrong.”

He tilted his head back to them. “I know I’m just a bughorse from magic ponyland, but this isn’t my first rodeo. I learned what works and what doesn’t. So trust me when I say that setting an angry mob of ponies on an ultra-powerful changeling REALLY doesn’t work. It just ends with a lot of spilled take-out noodles. Lots and lots of spilled noodles; noodles that I really liked the taste of; noodles I cried over when they hit the ground.” Stross sniffed. “I never got to say goodbye to any of those noodles.”

Fenora gave Stross a hug. “Okay. I get it. We’ll do things so no one gets hurt.”

“Thanks Fen.” Stross said and pressed his face into her shoulder.

“Hey Stross. You weren’t talking about food just now… were you?”

“Yes and no.” Stross put simply. “Yes… and no.”

Back on track with their mission, our heroes set out to find the wizard Fallion. Asking the townspeople where he was earned them a warning at best, and a gob of spit at worst. Luckily one woman pointed them towards Fallion’s house before taking her leave.

The house itself looked to be recently built, though the damage made it hard to tell. Every single window had been broken and replaced with boards. The damage seemed to have spread out from there, as several of the wood panels had been either damaged or defaced; some were newer than others, hinting they’d been replaced for a time before the owner simply gave up.

Where the damage came from wasn’t exactly a mystery either.

“MORTHAL DOESN’T WANT YOU!” a pair of villagers screamed at the top of their lungs as they passed the house. Then one of them scooped a rock off the ground and threw it, leaving yet another dent in the wood. “Take your freaky magic and LEAVE US BE!”

Getting nothing else but silence, the villagers continued on their way.

Once they were gone, Stross walked up to the door, lightly knocked a few times, and waited.

Moments later they heard a scuffling from inside and the door opened, albeit barely an inch.

An eye glared at them through the crack, and a weathered voice spoke up. “I don’t recognize any of you. Who are you and what do you want? Are you here to accuse me of some misdoing, or heckle me for preforming witchcraft? ‘Cause I’ll have none of it!”

“Actually no.” Stross said harmlessly, “I know everyone’s been giving you trouble lately, but do you mind if we come in? We were hoping to talk with you about something.”

Fallion paused, closed the door to unlock the chain, and opened it again. He was a redguard man, not yet to the point of old age, but definitely getting there. His face was creased with lines of frustration and worry, but seemed to ease as he regarded Stross and the others.

“Well this is a surprise. People in Morthal with actual manners and decency? You’d think the world’s gone mad.” He muttered. “Well as long as you’re not trying to get rid of me, then by all means, come in. It’d be a nice change of pace.” he said, leaving the doorway to attend to other things.

“Heh-heh, well… it’s funny you should mention that.” Stross chuckled as they entered, and shut the door quietly behind them.

“The wizard won’t be a problem anymore, master.” Stross said as he knelt. “Right now my minions are bringing his body into the marsh to dispose of him.”

“Excellent. One less headache to deal with.” Alva grinned and allowed Stross to rise. She then turned to pour some glasses of wine, still chuckling mirthfully to herself.

“You know… the villagers were always mistrustful of that wizard, just like all outsiders. Sneaking out to the march in the middle of the night to experiment with his little purifying rituals didn’t help his image either. All the better for me.” she returned and handed Stross one of the metal cups full of strong-smelling liquid. “It’s so delightfully ironic, don’t you think? That these poor, foolish mortals suspected and shunned the only one that could save them, all while turning a blind eye to the real danger hiding in plain sight?”

Stross gazed into his cup as a grim thought crossed his mind again. Equestria or Nirn… Vampires or changelings, it made no difference. Both worlds had their wolves in sheep’s clothing. “Ironic indeed.” He mumbled.

Stross dipped his mouth down and took a small sip.

Then he realized it wasn’t wine.

Alva cocked an eyebrow at Stross while he gagged and sputtered and coughed, dropping the metal goblet on the floor and letting the rest of the dark red liquid to soak into her expensive carpets.

Once he got over the shock, Stross looked up to see Alva’s suspicious glare. “I uh…” he scrambled to think of some excuse for why a ‘vampire’ just gagged at the taste of blood. “Forgive me master, the taste caught me off guard. It wasn’t as, um… fresh as I’m used to.”

Alva’s suspicion fizzled and was replaced with mere indignity. She scoffed and tossed her hair before quickly downing her own serving. “Fresh blood is a luxury I’ve been working towards for quite some time now. Although with your assistance, that goal might be a bit closer to my grasp. Tell me, how would you like to try something a bit more fun?”

“Fun?” Stross asked.

Alva smiled that innocently evil smile of hers. “Indeed. The guards in this town are barely a threat as they are, but could still prove to be a hindrance. You and I are going to make sure that when the time comes, Morthal’s defenders will be little more than lumbering hunks of meat. I trust you can perform a simple mind-altering spell, yes?”

Stross began to fidget.

Changelings were somewhat notorious for their ability to manipulate one’s thoughts. Shifting a pony’s disposition towards them and away from anyone else made feeding easy, whereas numbing their victims minds until they were practically braindead was a nice short-term, nonlethal solution to threats. But those kinds of spells were costly in terms of energy needed to cast, and required a lot of foreknowledge about the target of the spell for it to be effective; in short, you needed to know what a pony liked in order to make them not like it, or make them like something else instead.

Stross had two problems with mind magic, the first being moral. To him, forcing somepony to like or dislike something was almost like killing a tiny part of who they were, and the very thought made him feel uneasy. Persuading, encouraging, or otherwise convincing someone that they should be a certain way was okay. But not giving them a choice was wrong in every way he could think of.

The second problem with mind magic was much more simple...

“I um… kinda, sorta… never learned how to do that.”

Alva balked. “Then explain to me how you were able to keep such control of your thralls!" she demanded. "From what I've seen, they clearly don’t care what you are or that you're feeding on them. How else do you make them so complacent?!”

“Actually it’s simple. I’m not using any kind of trick on them at all. What keeps the three of us together is the greatest, most powerful magic there is: the magic of love and friendship!” Stross told her, spreading his arms to embrace the entire world as rainbows and doves flew out from behind him, an angelic choir sang in the background, and the words ‘love and friendship’ appeared above his head in big bubble letters.

“COME AT ME WORLD! STROSS IS GONNA LOVE AND TOLERATE THE SyayT OUT OF YOU!”

(meanwhile, back in reality)

“Read this.” Alva said, shoving a spellbook into Stross’s face, “It is a simple spell that even a complete imbecile could learn. Be ready in fifteen minutes. It’s time to pay the guards a little visit.”

Because it was a small town in the middle of nowhere, Morthal’s guardforce wasn’t all that impressive. Including Benor, there were a total of five guards for the whole town. Still, five was more than enough to cause problems, and Alva thought it worth the effort to pacify them.

The plan was simple: go to the barracks before the first patrol left, and place a mind haze spell on each of the guards that would prevent them from even thinking of raising a hand against anyone, literally.

The guards anywhere in Skyrim were a stoic lot, Morthal’s guards even moreso. They didn’t take any funny business from anyone, especially outsiders like Stross. It would have been a challenge to drag them aside without being labeled a lollygagger.

However… no right-minded guard wouldn’t say ‘no’ when offered a nice bottle of mead… or ten.

So while the guards were busy slugging back their bottles as fast as Stross could offer refills, they didn’t even notice the changeling working his newly acquired magic on them.

“You know... this doesn't seem so bad.” Stross thought to himself as he began his work on the fourth guard. It was so much simpler than he thought mind magic would be, and a lot less draining too. "And it's so easy!"

Ribbon-like tendrils of magic worked their way out of his horn, and were covertly woven together in a loose ball, not unlike a handful of magic spaghetti. To concentrate, he recited a passage from Alva’s book in his head.

{All creatures of Mundus share a similar emotional spectrum. The key to illusion spells such as Rage or Courage, is to shift the balance of this spectrum.
All feelings can be traced back to a basic ‘core emotion’, of which each has its opposite; Rage has Calm; Courage has Fear; Happiness has Sorrow, and so on. Through use of illusion magic, one can add more of one or more emotions, offsetting their opposites.}

Like the several castings before, the finished tendrils snaked their way through the air and into the oblivious guardsmen. They didn’t suspect a thing, and none of them even bothered to get up and leave. They just stood there contently, drinking their free mead like armored alchaholic sheep.

Stross found illusion magic incredibly easy to pull off with his changeling senses. He could use them to see the guard’s emotional state, and add the perfect amount of Calm. Unfortunately, that was about all he could do. He only had the basics of illusion, and the book said a person’s emotional balance would go back to normal over time. Stross could fine-tune all he wanted, but couldn’t make it stick.

That was Alva’s job.

Once he was satisfied with the guards’ level of passiveness, and fed a bit to regain the energy he’d used, Stross would lead them back into the barracks so Alva could lock the spell in place.

Stross looked at the line of four guards and Benor, inspecting his work one last time before Alva could grade him like a school teacher.

“So..? How’re we all feeling?” he asked them, and after a long and awkward pause, they each moaned out a reply.

“Dude… I’m like… totally at peace with the world right now.”
“Yeah bro… I’m toooootaly chill.
“Gnarley bro.”
“Hippie and/or surfer dude catchphase.”

“And you don’t mind if I do… this!?” He flicked the helmet of the guard closest to him which making a sharp ringing noise, but the man didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

A bit bolder, Stross pulled back the illusion on his mouth and gnashed his pointy white teeth in the guards’ faces. He snarled and slobbered and blew raspberries, but they just watched him curiously, almost in a daze.

For a final test he took one of the bottles of mead and poured it out over Benor’s head.

Benor didn’t even move his head out of the way. He just started lapping his tongue at the drizzle when it reached his mouth.

“Heeee!” Stross let out a mischievous squeal. “I take back everything I thought about mind magic. This is awesome! I can do whatever I want and none of you even care! I don’t even have to worry about it draining me ‘cause I can just feed on you guys once you’re all mellowed out!”

He knocked on the door, signaling to Alva.

She opened the door after a moment and brought the men inside. He was told to stay outside and keep watch for anyone. Not a hard task since no one tried to enter the barracks anyway. Still the bestial glint in Alva’s eye when she looked at the guards had not escaped Stross, and it had him more than a little worried.

That was... until he heard the pleasurable moans and the squeaking of bedboards coming from inside the barracks.

Stross turned away and tried not to listen as a blush spread across his face. “Well that’s… one way to get love out of someone.” He mumbled to himself.

Minutes passed and the noise hadn’t died down in the slightest. Stross idly conjured a ribbon of calm and let it dance in front of his face for a bit, then listened a bit closer to what was going on inside.

Stross looked back at the ribbon as it weaved in and out of his fingers, and some less-than-innocent thoughts crossed his mind. He laughed, “I’m gonna have so much fun with this back in Equestria.”

It was then that he realized what he’d just said. If he got back to Equestria.

If he even wanted to go back.

Stross stared up at the cloud-blocked skies over the little lakeside town; the dense grey cover just sat there with no pegasi teams to clear it away. He thought about his time in Skyrim, and how it compared to his life in Equestria.

Equestria was warm, friendly and welcoming as long as he kept up his disguise (random weekly disasters notwithstanding). By contrast, Skyrim was seemingly hostile no matter who or what you were (with random hourly disasters par for the course). Yet somehow, Stross felt happier here.

Maybe it was Fenora. There were plenty of mares in Equestria he could work his way towards, stallions too if he felt like it. But Fen had seen him for what he was, and still gave him a chance… still liked him. Even when she was being brash or dismissive, he could tell that she cared more than she let on, and he liked to think he brought out more of that side of her; after all, he got her to stay and protect Skyrim despite her resistance to the idea.

What if he found a way back when this was over? What if he found it before they saved the world, and what if only he could go back?

If that were the case, would he actually choose to go, even if it meant leaving Fenora and everyone else behind?

Stross pondered the answers for longer than he liked. If it came down to it, he would never leave Fenora to fight Alduin alone. He’d stay with her even if they failed and the world crumbled around them. But when it was over… when they’d won…

The door to the barracks slammed open, breaking him out of his thoughts. Alva stepped out and donned the hood of her fancy silk cloak, looking thoroughly disgusted.

“So, how was it in there?” Stross asked.

“Your work was satisfactory to our needs. Let us move on.” she answered almost robotically.

“That’s great, but I meant… how was it?” he asked her, daring to waggle his eyebrows at her. “Were they good for you?”

Alva frowned deeply. “Don’t mistake your delusions for truth. What you heard was merely a smokescreen, and act to keep up appearances and discourage interference while I worked. I barely allow these filthy mortal to even touch me, let alone insert their members into any of my orifices. And don't ever think otherwise!”

Alva huffed through her nose, and they kept walking.

“One of them blew his load all over your face didn’t he?”

Alva’s cheeks went red. “Sh-shut up!”

Things were eerily silent when Stross and Alva arrived back at the latter’s house. Alva reached for her key, but the door opened just as she was about to insert it into the slot.

“Hey, you’re back.” Fenora greeted them from the doorway.

Alva looked surprised to see her already inside, but brushed it off and entered. As Stross followed behind her, Fenora nudged his side and gave him a wink.

He understood immediately.

Alva sank into one of the chairs with an exhausted sigh, letting her arms meld with the armrests. Fen and Stross decided to remain standing however.

“So… master,” Stross said, sliding over to where Alva was sitting, “what do we do now?”

Alva closed her eyes and hummed in thought for a moment, a satisfied smile playing across her face. “I must admit, since your arrival my plans have moved forward much faster than anticipated.” Her smile drooped into a calculating frown. “Perhaps too fast.”

She stood up and turned to Stross. “I believe now is the time.”

Stross tilted his head. “Time?”

“Time to return to my master, and inform him that Morthal is ripe for the taking.”

"There are others?" Stross played along, trying to seem oblivious. "I thought you were just speaking in 'royal second-person' when we first met."

Alva chuckled. “Hmm, it does suit me, doesn't it? But no, I was referring to my master and the rest of his coven, a coven of which you'll no doubt become a part of once all is said and done. But if we’re to make our move, we must do it now, before that aging hag catches wind of our doings.”

“You mean this aging hag?” the raspy voice of Jarl Ravencrone stopped everyone silent as she made her way up from the basement. “You traitorous bitch.”

Multiple emotions competed for dominance on Alva’s face as she gaped at the Jarl, stuttering to find coherent words. “I- you- What are you doing in my home?!” she snarled.

“Investigating a report from a concerned citizen, pursuing a cases of breaking and entering, aggravated assault, and unlawful pillaging of one’s belongings. As well as confirming suspicions of conspiracy against the town.”

Fenora rolled her eyes. “I broke in, knocked out Hroggar and made her follow me inside while we tossed the place.”

“The way I said it sounds more official. The point is, we found all the evidence we need to have you sentenced to death twice over, vampire!” Idgrod said and produced a small leather-bound journal.

Alva’s eyes bulged. “Give that back!” she shouted and thrust an open palm swirling with dark red energy at Idgrod. “I command you!”

When Idgrod merely raised a quizzical brow, she turned her palm to Fenora. “You, seize her!”

Fenora looked at her, but didn’t move. “Yeah… no.”

Whether in confusion or genuine fear, Alva staggered back. “What?! But how? I-“

“Have no power over anyone. Not with my specialized pendants protecting our minds.” As he spoke, Fallion ascended the basement stairs as well. He held up a silver necklace with runes hastily carved into it. “I’ve been onto you since the moment I arrived. I took all the abuse this town could muster so that one day I could foil your schemes. Looks like that day is now.”

“Th-that’s cheating! Stross do someth-“

Avla was cut off mid-sentence when she received a stun spell to the back. Once her face met the floor, Stross blasted two more bolts into her before he was satisfied she couldn’t move.

“And stay down!” he growled.

While Fen and Lydia picked her up and deposited her in the nearest seat, Stross turned back to Idgrod. “Well, I told you you wouldn’t regret letting me help.” he then nodded to Fallion, “Thanks for your help too.”

“Ya did good kid. Unfortunately there’s no time to celebrate.” Idgrod told him and handed him Alva’s journal. “Here, have a read.”

Stross took the book and quickly flipped it open and started to skim. There were no dates recorded though, so it was hard to tell how far back they were. The first chunk of pages were just plain summaries of days or maybe weeks, Alva's frustrated scribblings describing how bored she was with her life. Now and then a page would be dedicated to her fantasies, of a heroic knight whisking her away to a life of wonder.

One entry changed it all, the one talking about how she met a charming stranger in the marsh one night.

The letters on the following pages were less lazy and more focused. That stranger happened to be a master vampire who had turned her, promising they’d be together for an eternity if she’d take over Morthal for him. This ‘Movarth’ wanted it to be some kind of feeding ground for him and the rest of his followers, and a place they could stage further attacks from.

The next passages described her attempts at a systematic takeover of the town, including how she first enthralled Hroggar to protect her coffin while she slept. A woman named Laelette was sired as a lesser minion soon after, her disappearance excused as 'leaving to fight for the Stormcloaks'.

Then came the house fire. The letters were cut so deep in the pages they were nearly ripping holes through them. Alva had realized Hroggar’s family were getting suspicious. But instead of doing the deed herself, she ordered Laelette to kill them, likely to keep the heat off of herself if anything went wrong.

Needless to say, she wasn’t pleased with the results. Worse for her, Laelette was racked with guilt over what she’d done, and Alva believed her to be going insane. She cast Laelette out, noting that it was ‘an acceptable loss’.

The most recent entry, Stross found, was about him:
{This morning was an interesting one. Before the morning began in earnest I made my to the Moorside inn, hoping to coax that cheapskate Jonna out of her shell and into bed with me. There I stumbled into another vampire and his harem of two.
Never have I witnessed such careless disregard for keeping oneself hidden. That foolish boy spoke openly about his feeding habits and hunting tactics, even showing off his fangs to his thralls, right in the middle of the inn.
His inexperience will lead to a swift demise, I'm sure. I can only hope that he will leave Morthal before that happens. This town is too valuable to lose, and my situation is precarious enough without some idiot fledgling messing it up further.}

Closing the journal, Stross had several questions on his mind. He was about to ask them, but Idgrod jumped to the most pressing one.

“Movarth, the vampire mentioned in that journal... he’s an old name I never thought I’d hear again. If he’s planning a takeover of the town then we haven’t got much time.” she told them all. “I’ll gather my gaurds. If we’re lucky, we might be able to wipe him out once and for all.”

Stross sucked his teeth. “Ooh, uh… yeah. About that. See Alva and I just paid them a visit and well… they’re kinda useless now.” He said awkwardly. “And drunk.” He added, “Really really drunk. Like so incredibly drunk that I doubt anyone else has ever gotten more intoxicated in the history of-“

“Okay, we get it!” Idgrod moaned, and bridged her nose in thought. “Alright, new plan. Meet me in the longhouse, and drag the bitch with you.” With that, she marched out the door, grumbling under her breath about 'vampires these days'.

Our heroes, dragging Alva in a chair and followed closely by Fallion, followed Jarl Idgrod back to her longhouse. Stross was certain they were being watched, but now wasn’t the time to deal with it.

Once inside, the Jarl led them into her personal quarters and began rummaging through several large trunks. There must have been dozens of boxes lining the walls, unorganized stacks piled all the way up to the ceiling. That made it a pain in the flank trying to find anything.

“Movarth was a crafty bastard back in my father’s time. He was cunning, patient, and he didn’t give up easily. As could be expected from a vampire hunter turned vampire himself. Ever read the book ‘Immortal Blood’? It’s about him, up to the point he was turned.” Idgrod told them while she rummaged through yet another crate full of cabbages. “Still, he’s nothing if not predictable. He’ll likely be holed up in the same old cave he used as his hideout all those decades ago. That’s where you’ll need to go to finish him off.”

Idgrod then opened a tiny metal lamp, and to everyone’s shock an entire woman sprang out.

“Oof!” she said upon landing on the floor. “Oh Idgrod, good to see you again sister. Is it time to take our vengeance on the non-believers?”

“Oh, uh… no Argi, we’re just slaying some ancient vampires.” Idgrod rubbed her neck awkwardly. “That is if I can ever find dad’s old chest.”

“The one with the big silver ‘t’ on it? Oh Iddy, you silly old goose. It’s under your bed!”

Idgrod paused as if something smacked her upside the head. Then she facepalmed and walked over to the heavy bed in the center of the room, singlehandedly upending it. Sure enough, there was a large chest in the shape of a coffin marked with a large silver ‘t’ laying underneath.

“Good luck with the vampires sis. Don’t forget to blink!” Argi said before leaping back into the tiny lamp from whence she came.

“I trust that none of you saw any of that. Now onto business.” Idgrod said, turning back to our heroes. “My first thought was to grab some able bodies from the town and form a rag-tag militia to destroy Movarth. But then I realized… that’s stupid! Movarth would tear them to pieces. So we ain’t doing that.”

“Thank the Fallen!” Stross chimed.

“Instead, the three of you are going to go out there and deal with it.”

“That’s hardly better.” Fenora remarked.

“Look travelers,” Idgrod sighed, “you’ve already done more for us than most would have, given the chance. But right now you’re the only ones who can do this for us. We’re counting on you.”

The whole ‘you’re the only one who can possibly save us’ spiel was starting to feel familiar to Fen. It was doubtless that Stross was about to jump on board any second. So… why not?

“Say no more. You can count on us.” Fenora stepped up, much to the surprise and delight of her followers.

“Thanks kid, ya got guts. Use what’s in that chest so Movarth doesn’t rip ‘em out.”

Fenora nodded and took a look inside. The first thing to grab her attention was a whip, a thickly wrapped leather coil. It was covered in chips of candle wax for some reason.

There was also some kind of crossbow, fancier and more intricate than any she’d ever seen before, with more gears and springs and levers than she thought anything would need just to fire a bolt. Stranger still, its quivers were more like metal cans that locked into slot underneath. Maybe it was so it could be could reloaded faster? Convenient, she supposed.

While Fenora tried to figure out how the thing was supposed to work, Stross decided to dig through the chest as well. With the glee of a foal opening Hearth’s Warming presents, he pulled out a pair of wooden stakes, engraved with some kind of markings on the handles. He tossed one to Lydia, and she began to inspect it.

“Hmm, these have both the symbols of Arkay and of Meridia.” She said, brushing her fingers over the symbols.

“Is that… good?” Stross asked.

At that point Fallion chimed in. “Arkay is the Divine of balance between life and death, whereas Meridia is the Daedric Prince of life-energies. The only thing they have in common is their hatred for the undead… like vampires. For one to call upon both Daedra and Divine for aid…”

“I guess hunting vampires really…” Stross grinned, “raises the stakes?”

“That was terrible my other thane.” Lydia shook her head, but laughed and toasted her stake against his.

The two chortled for a minute while Fenora sat fiddling with the crossbow contraption, until finally there was a satisfying *click*, and she stood up with a smirk on her face.

“I think I got it!” she said triumphantly. Donning a wide-brimmed hat from within the chest, she turned to her companions. "Alright gang, let's kill us some vampires."

It was eerie how even in the middle of the day, it still felt like the dead of night inside the swamp around Morthal. It might have been a bit brighter, but the fog still made it impossible to see much of anything. Still, they managed to find their way somehow, and things were pretty quiet as the three of them stalked through the marsh to where Movarth’s lair supposedly was.

Fallion had stayed behind in order to make sure Alva was detained, but had wished them all luck in their endeavor.

It was fine by Fenora. An old man would hardly be any help in the fight anyway.

When they finally found the cave entrance, Fenora noticed a figure standing guard out front near a pair of freshly lit braziers; that meant someone was sure to be home. By some stroke of luck he didn’t seem to notice them back, and Fenora had the others hold their positions while she stalked around for a better angle.

Once directly behind him, Fenora brought up the crossbow and took aim at the man’s back.

She squeezed the trigger, sending a bolt whizzing into her target!

Sorry, did I say one? …I meant twenty.

“Fuck fuck, fuckin stop dammit!” Fenora swore as the crossbow spastically spat out bolt after bolt.

Finally getting the machine to stop its assault, she leaned back and let out a sigh of relief.

Then she noticed Stross and Lydia’s stared as they hovered over her with a mix of concern and disbelief.

Fenora looked over the damage caused. As expected, less than half the shots actually hit their target; the rest went off into the distance or embedded themselves in nearby trees. “Um…” Fenora chuckled sheepishly, “Whoops?”

The cavern was huge, dug deep into the earth like a fallout shelter, although must less clean. Laying all around the rocky entrance corridor were bits of meat, ranging from decomposing scraps of skin to large hunks of flesh. Some of the bits, like fingers and feet, were undeniably from people.

It didn’t take long to find out where it was coming from. An orc in fur armor shuffled by, dragging behind him a cart full of chopped-up body parts and a large muddy shovel.

With much greater trigger control, Fenora brought the crossbow to shoulder and took down the orc with a clean headshot.

Moving forward, the group couldn’t help taking a peek at the contents of the cart.

“Gods…” Lydia breathed.

“Yeah. These guys are really going to town.” Fenora agreed. “Stross, some on. …Stross?”

Stross picked up a piece of the desiccated leftovers, his back turned and head hanging low. “… we have to stop them.” he said in a harsh whisper, “We have to make them pay for this.”

“That’s why we’re here. Come on.” Fenora told him before continuing on.

Stross took one last look at the shriveled hand, so small in his own… too small. He gently placed it atop the rest of the meat and kept moving.

…

If the cart was carrying the scraps, the next room was the butcher shop from Tartarus, or Oblivion, or whichever equivalent of Hell you prefer. Bodies that had been sucked dry of every last drop of blood were thrown in a great haphazardly pile, ready to be brought down a line of thralls. The first would strip off any clothing or valuables and sort them into neat little piles. The next would start the process of chopping and hacking them into pieces with an assortment of cleavers, greatswords and even a woodcutters’ axe. Finally the bits of meat were thrown into one of a dozen handcarts, ready to be wheeled out and dumped into the consuming maw of the marsh.

Dozens of travelers, merchants, bandits, and even a few soldiers… every one of them were just walking sacks of blood to Movarth’s vampires. Capture. Feed. Strip. Dispose. Repeat with the next.

Overseeing it all was a single vampire in a fancy robe, barking orders for the thralls to move faster while he lazily sat back and let them do all the work.

It was effective… It was efficient… It was…

“Disgusting.”

Fenora had to glance over at Stross to make sure it was still him. Hearing this kind of tone from the happy, lovable changeling was just plain jarring.

“Alright, gimme a sec.” She whispered and took aim with her crossbow again.

“No.” Stross stopped her, his eyes locked onto the vampire directing the operation. “You and Lydia stay back. This one’s mine.”

Stross crept forward, coiling Fenora’s whip around his hands. She hadn’t even noticed him nab it, but that wasn’t really the point. The point was the vampire had his back turned, and his thralls only had the mental capacity to strip, hack, and haul.

None of them noticed until Stross had the whip pulled taught around the vampire’s neck.

Sharpened nails frantically grabbed at the coil, but Stross was on that too. One stun blast later and the vampire went limp; not unable to move, just too weak to fight his way out. Unable to hear their master’s commands, his thralls were just as useless.

“You see this?” Stross hissed, “You see what you’re doing? No one should ever have to stoop this low! The world doesn’t need this! I’m making the world a… better… place…”

The vampire choked his last, eyes rolling back into his skull, and went limp.

Stross let out a sigh. “…by killing you.”

Three simultaneous pops rang out. It was like a firecracker set off under a pillow, and it wasn’t hard to see where it came from. The vampire’s three thralls slumped or fell over dead at their stations, a strange purple smoke smoldering out of their eyes and mouths, their souls finally freed. Whoever they were, goodness knows they didn’t deserve what happened to them.

“Nice work Stross. Good to know we can take out the thralls by killing the masters.” Fenora noted for later, then realized Stross was being oddly silent. “Stross... you okay? You’re being kinda… me-ish.”

“Well hey, you’ve got bandits to hate on, I used to have other changelings to hate, and now I’ve got vampires.” Stross told her. Then he looked at the slaughter room. “Do you think when this is done... we can find time to bury them?”

Fenora looked at the piles of bodies. It was going to be a lot of time digging if they did.

“We’ll see. Come on,” she said, leading them deeper through the network of tunnels, “let’s find Movarth and shove a stake up his ass.”

“That sounds just like my days at Housecarl College!” Lydia commented.

A banquet table sat in the middle of a great chamber. Gold and gems littered the surface, kegs of wine and blood sat like mountains on top. Around it were half a dozen vampires, each with a minimum of two thralls as their servants.

Movarth Pique sat at the head of the table on a makeshift throne, and frowned.

He was thoroughly dissatisfied with the way things were, for even though prey was in plentiful supply, and they could easily retreat to safety after striking. Even though he and his followers were adorned in the spoils of their hunts, and their lair was decorated with fine furniture and expensive rugs… it didn’t ignore the fact that they were LIVING IN A CAVE!

Movarth snorted out his nose.

Ten months ago he’d sired that young woman in the marsh. For ten months he’d waited for any sign of progress with the tiny town. And for ten months he’d slowly been losing his patience. Who did Alva think she was, anyway; an adventurer getting distracted for weeks with sidequests?

It was then that he noticed a figure entering his impromptu dining hall. “Speak of the lazy devil.” He thought.

“Alva. Why have you returned? Have you something to report?” he asked, “You better not have failed me.”

“Of course not master.” Alva shook her head. “In fact, I’ve made quite a lot of progress. The town is nearly ready for us to invade.”

Movarth raised a brow. “What is this?” he thought to himself, “Actual competence?”

He motioned for Alva to sit next to him and explain herself, and she did… formally even. No snagging herself a drink along the way, and she sat quite modestly, back straight with her hands in her lap. As she told him of her progress with the town, he also noticed a difference in her speech; it was concise and to the point, a few stutters here and there, but at least she wasn’t making an attempt to flirt with him while she spoke.

It was then that he noticed what she was wearing: a simple grey cloak and tunic, both made of simple, almost shoddy fabric. And boots? Most unlike her with her decadent and pretentious ways. Then again, he had collected quite a few pairs of boots himself, so perhaps she was still trying to emulate him.

Once Alva had completed her summary, Movarth scratched his chin in contemplation before rising. He bid all his followers to do so as well.

“You’ve done well Alva. It seems these months of planning and waiting have finally paid off.” He complimented, stiffly as always. “Prepare yourselves,” he told the others, “we invade Morthal at dusk! By dawn tomorrow, the town shall be ours.”

“Master.” Alva called, “There’s one other thing you should know.”

He turned. “What is-“

Movarth’s body reacted before his mind did. His eyes saw it: the tensing of the arms, the way Alva reached into her cloak. He grabbed her wrist expecting to see a dagger, but what he saw instead made his already cold blood freeze.

A stake, etched with the symbol of Arkay. One like he’d used when he was mortal, hunting vampires for sport.

“You dare.” He breathed. He would make the traitorous wench pay for this!

Then something happened he didn’t expect. Alva let the stake drop out of her hand, but instead it was caught in a bright red field. It zipped around behind him and plunged into his back.

Movarth howled as the stake, blessed by Devine and Daedra started purging his body with their magic.

Alva managed to break free from his grip, and right in front of his eyes, she vanished in motes of ember.

Awkwardly reaching back, Movarth twisted and wedged the stake out of his back and cast it aside. His other followers were confused and in disarray, and Alva was nowhere to be seen.

“Where are you? Where are you?!” he growled, his vampire eyes scanning the room with Detect Life. He nearly had a lock on her silhouette when something whizzed by his head, cutting him on the cheek.

He only had time to spot the archer before three more bolts hit him in the chest, neck, and forehead.

“Now that I have your attention…” she quipped loudly.

“GET HER!” he roared, and his followers rushed to obey.

…

Stross panted as his invisibility disguise fell away, and he slipped away into what looked like sleeping quarters. Quickly he checked his hands, and whined when he saw several holes reappearing. Fenora and Lydia sounded like they were providing a decent distraction. But how long would that last?

He needed a pick-me-up to get in the fight fast.

“Hm? Oh hello there pick-me-ups.” He said, spotting the several colorful bottles lining the bedside tables.

Now, alchemy was a complex art, and those potions could have had anything in them. So Stross did what any responsible drug user would do…

He started glugging down all of them.

Blue one. (Restored 50 magika. Lost 50 health.)
Red one. (Restored 50 health. Lost 50 magika.)
Dos Equis. (Stay thirsty my friends.)

…

Fenora fired another volley of arrows from her one-man archer squad of a crossbow. Because they were situated at the top of the wooden ramp leading into the chamber, giving her a wide area to fire at, the vampires were tending to stay back to fling spells at them while they let their thralls do the up-close and dangerous fighting.

She’d have to thank Fallion again for letting them keep the silver amulets that blocked mind-numbing spells. But then again, fire, ice and lightning wasn’t much better.

Fenora had already slugged down half a bottle of her special potion concentrate, and could feel it taking effect, numbing her body to pain and freeing her up to fight until she collapsed.

The other half of the bottle she’d given to Lydia, and she could see how well it was working already.

“This… is… just… like… back in… Housecarl Collage!” Lydia punctuated every word with a massive swing that crushed the mob of thralls under the weight of her axe.

Past the row of lesser vampires, Fenora saw Movarth standing up again, finally recovered from the stake Stross put in him. He took a stance and made a large sweeping motion with his arms.

Fenora barely had time to react before the giant fireball impacted the wooden supports holding up the platform she was standing on. “What the ‘Blivion!?”

It started to creak… then slowly tilt forward…

Fenora looked down at the vampires waiting to grab her the second she fell, unable to get anywhere else there was only one thing she could say.

“No no no no no NNNOOOOOO!”

But just as she was about to fall, Stross swooped in and carried her to safety on his wings, getting her just high enough to scramble over the crowd and introduce some faces to the bottom of her boot.

Landing her within dueling distance of Movarth, Stross spun around and tossed a flashbang into the group of vampires.

Agonized wailing and the smell of blistering skin filled the chamber as soon as it detonated.

Stross’s face lit up with sadistic glee. “Fen, you take big boss vampire! I’m gonna make his followers see the light.”

“Gladly.” Fenora said as she began slowly strafing around Movarth.

Movarth’s fingers tensed, his stony glare tracking Fenora’s every movement. Fenora returned his stare with her own, looking for some kind of tell as to what he was going to do.

With a quick-draw motion she sent a trio of bolts flying his way.

They were right on target, but Movarth simply wasn’t there when they reached him.

He appeared out of nowhere behind her, retaliating with a trio of fireballs that she was barely able to duck.

This went on for several more rounds. Fenora would spin around to fire at the vampire lord, trying to catch him before he dodged her shots and vanished. But no matter how fast she was, he was faster. Years of experience hunting the race he was now a part of had honed his skills, and coupled with vampire perception and speed…

Fenora was fighting the hopeless battle she’d been dreading.

“Hold still damn you!” she shouted in frustration as Movarth dodged yet another bolt. “GAH!”

This time she hadn’t been quick enough on her recovery, and one of the fireballs hit her square in the back.

“Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.” Movarth shook his head, calmly walking towards the fallen hero. “You think that picking up a fancy toy and wearing the ratty old hat of a true hunter puts you on par with me? I’ve been doing this since before you were born!”

Fenora pushed herself to her feet and unfurled her whip.

Movarth snorted. “A whip? Just what do you think you’re going to do with a whip?”
…

“Aw yeah, take it! Take it you bitch! You like killing innocent people? You like drinkin’ ‘em down like clamato juice? Well this is what you get! GET YOURS!” Stross yelled as he stuck a flashbang to the vampire’s face.

Writing at his feet were the other half dozen vampires who’d already ‘gotten theirs’.

Lydia was nearly done beating their thralls into submission. Jacked on Fenora’s potion, Lydia couldn’t even feel the beating she was taking in return. Her arms were covered in cuts, and her face was a veritable roadmap of scars and bruises, but she just kept going with barely more than a ‘thank you sir. May I have another?’

Then from the center of the hall came several high-pitched squeals of pain.

Everyone still alive turned to face the noise and saw Fenora repeatedly whipping Movarth with her whip. The sharp cracks made everyone wince as the master vampire started actually begging for mercy.

“OW! Stop that at once- OW! You insolent girl- AAH! You hit me in the dick with that one- OWW!”

“What kind of sadist uses a whip?” the vampire Stross had in a headlock asked.

“I know, right? Kinda messed up.” Stross said before shoving another sizzling flashbang in his face.

…

“Enough…” Movarth gasped, desperately trying to block Fen’s lashes. “Enough… ENOUGH!”

Fenora paused for a moment before whipping him once more.

“I! SAID! ENOUGH!” Movarth roared, each word punctuated by a growing aura of his dark vampire power. “Foolish mortal… now you’ve made me angry. Very! Very! VERY! ANGR- Gleh!”

“Nuff of this.” Fenora said, grappling the whip around Movarth’s throat and pulling him to his knees with all her might. “Get over here!”

Then she shoved the end of her auto-crossbow into his mouth and pulled the trigger until it ran out of arrows. With his face looking like a pin-cushion, Fenora tossed the crossbow away and tightened her hands around the whip.

Pulling, twisting and hearing the popping sounds coming from Morvarth’s neck, she gave one last heave, freeing the vampire’s head from his shoulders.

Fenora breathed heavily. “Fenora Tandis wins… Fatality.”

“Fallen’s grace!” Stross broke the silence.

“Excellent work my thane!” Lydia complimented.

Fenora was about to smirk, but then she saw the piles of bodies around her companions and realized how many more kills they’d gotten. She knew the important thing was that they’d wiped out Movarth and his coven, saving Morthal, but… come on, there had to be some sort of bonus for killing the boss.

“Uh… Fenora?” Stross whimpered.

And it was obvious that she did most of the work anyways.

“My thane…”

Aside from a preemptive staking from Stross, she did all the damage to him, so-

“Behind you!” Stross and Lydia screamed.

Fenora turned around a second too late.

Movarth was far from done. Seconds before she killed his human body, Movarth had started the ritual releasing his true form; a giant bat-faced demon. With one powerful strike from his arm, Fenora was sent flying across the room and slammed into a column of rock.

“Fenora!”

“My thane! Die beast!” Lydia shouted, turning to rush the monstrosity.

In a single hulking motion Movarth blocked her axe, grabbed her by the torso, and leered into her face menacingly. He opened his mouth to take a bite.

Then something stuck to his shoulder. There was a muted pop, and searing pain erupted across his skin tearing through flesh and bone at a terrifying rate. In his rage he smashed Lydia through the banquet table into the floor, and continued to thrash about.

Within seconds, Movarth’s arm that was as thick as a large treebranch was eaten off by the flash-melt, and fell to the floor where it promptly turned to ash.

“Yeah, you like that?!” Stross taunted. “I’ve got plenty more where that came from!”

He summoned up power for another flash-melt, only for it fizzle out before it formed, and a familiar pain coursed through him. He looked up to see Movarth’s new form towering over him with nothing but sheer hatred on its face.

Stross staggered backwards, desperately trying to create even a regular spell… but no such luck.

“Uh… heh. Maybe we can talk about this?” Stross offered.

Movarth wasn’t inclined. He grabbed Stross by the neck and hoisted him up, the changeling’s struggles almost pointless.
The vampire beast opened his mouth, and a dark red energy surrounded them. As Morvarth drained the life out of Stross, his arm started to regenerate, slowly but surely.

Stross felt himself getting even weaker, the pain flaring through his head becoming a constant ache through his entire body. His vision swam and blurred, his hearing become distorted, he felt his limbs go limp.
He had to resist.

As Movarth drained him, Stross responded in kind, fighting in a tug-of-war for his life. Neither was able to gain ground on the other for long, as any time one of them gained an advantage, the other would find some strength to flip the tables again.

Still, it was becoming clear to Stross that he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Syphoning wasn’t his forte and never was. But for Movarth, feeding like this was how he survived.

Stross realized he was going to die if this kept up.

“Yol… TOOR!”

Stross heard Fenora’s thu’um and knew he was saved as soon as the flames started eating away at Movarth’s back.

With his concentration broken, Stross poured every ounce of his own into ripping and tearing every bit of life energy out of Movarth as he possibly could.

The vampire’s form started to wither and shrink, his grip on Stross’s neck loosened and he fell to his knees.

Changeling sense wasn’t needed to see the palpable soul energy being pulled out of Movarth. His face contorted into a grimace of pain, and the sound of death slowly trickled out of his mouth along with the little black flecks of his soul. All of it disappeared into Stross’s mouth until nothing more came out, and Movarth was as still as a statue.

Fenora dragged herself up to them with her sword, and for good measure decapitated him a second time. Movarth’s body hit the floor again, this time for good, and with nothing left in it to sustain it, the hollow shell slowly turned to ash.

Finally… a sense of calm finally returned.

It was then that Fenora became acutely aware of her injuries.

She took short, labored breaths. Even her potion couldn’t eliminate the pain of a shattered ribcage. It was going to suck even more when the adrenaline wore off.

Looking at where her changeling was on all fours, she reached over to help him up.

“H-hey…” she said weakly, feeling her own blood trickle from her mouth. “W- we did it. We killed ‘em.”

She pulled Stross over her shoulder and let him lean on her as much as possible. Somehow he looked to be in even worse shape than she was.

Slowly… carefully, she started limping them over to where Lydia had been incapacitated.

By the time they were halfway to the ruined banquet table, Stross started to heave. His fingers tightened on Fenora’s singed shirt and looked to her, his eyes watering. “F-F-Fen… help.”

Falling out of her grasp, Stross started spewing black tar out of his mouth!

If the time he’d used the blackbow on the undead was a garden hose, this was a broken fire hydrant!

In her panic Fenora managed to mentally slap herself. Undead life is poisonous to changelings. Vampires are undead. And Stross just swallowed the soul of a master vampire!

“STROSS! Hold on!” Fenora screamed and tried to pick him up and carry him, never minding the torrent of sludge she was getting covered in.

She dragged him over to the table and propped him up against the edge, giving him a bucket to throw up into.

Why’d she give him a bucket? She didn’t know. But it was something!

“What do I do?!” she begged, seeing the bucket was already full. “Stross how do I help you!”

He turned to face her, and she gasped. His eyes were gone! Melted! Bleeding out more of that black goop like a torrent of tears!

“Oh gods… oh gods…” she muttered over and over. Now it was clear what was happening; Stross’s body was withering away so fast it was melting. That was how it purged itself! Stross was dying!

In Shroud Hearth he made it sound like no big deal! Why…

Fenora slapped herself again. Of course he made it sound like no big deal. He didn’t want her to worry! That was what he did!

She couldn’t let him die like this. She just couldn’t.

Then Fenora remembered something. She rushed over to where Lydia was and unclipped the stake from her belt.

If it was blessed by the gods of life energies, made especially to kill the undead, then maybe it could remove the undead soul from Stross before he died. It was the longest longshot she’d ever fired, but she had nothing better.

Stross was lying on his back in a pool of his own liquefied skin and organs by the time she reached him again. She took the stake and pressed it lengthwise to his chest, even more horrified when his ribs bent and snapped like hollow twigs under the pressure, swallowing the stake, her hands, and all.

“Please work. Please work. Please work. Please work.” she chanted, over and over, more desperate each time. “Please Stoss. I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to do this without you! I want you here with me!”

The oozing stopped. Fenora couldn’t tell if it worked because she’d been right, and had saved him, or if she’d been wrong, and there simply wasn’t anything left to wither away.

Fenora touched a hand to his face- no… the bone underneath where his face should have been. “St-Stross?” Empty sockets stared back at her.

No part of him moved.

Tears fell freely from Fenora’s eyes. The damage she’d taken in the fight caught up with her. An unnatural fatigue set in, and she slumped over next to the bony body of her beloved changeling. Not caring what she was lying in, she let herself drift off to sleep.

…

In the silence. In the darkness. A voice echoed in the distance.

“I have found the other changeling.”

The burdens we carry

The worn dirt path softly crunched under her boots, the air was crisp and clean, nothing but clear sky above. Fenora was glad to be back on the road again. Something about the road always felt like finding a long lost friend.

Morthal had vanished from sight almost an hour ago, and the fog that surrounded the town had finally given way to the light of the sun. But even so, she still had aches and pains all over from the fight with Movarth. All of them did.

Stross had been easily the worst off. Easily.

When she woke up with her head still lying in the dried pool of melted changeling, she had no idea how much time had passed, but her first instinct was to see if he was really dead or not, stupid and hopeful as it was. He didn’t look much better than when she’d passed out next to him, still nothing but crumbling shell and exposed bones. But somehow… he was actually breathing, shallow and slow. Nowhere near conscious, but alive, and that made her feel a million times better.

As for her and Lydia, chugging that potion may have kept them going through the fight, but they been beaten to Oblivion and back. Lucky for them, the vampires had been lavish and greedy enough to hoard entire rooms full of everything she needed to get them back on their feet.

The spoils of war, hard earned.

There were barrels of fresh water to clean their wounds, several beds to rest in (even if they were shaped like coffins), and the spare sheets made great bandages when torn into strips. Next to the living quarters there was some sort of ritual area littered with alchemy reagents, battered tomes, and more than a few soul gems.

Those soul gems were exactly what Fenora was hoping to find. She took any that were full, and stuffed as many as she could into Stross’s decaying mouth. A couple of loose teeth fell out when she did, but if he could feed on the souls in the gems it would heal back with time. That was the hope at least.

In truth she wasn’t sure it was actually working, but Stross was… looking a little better each time she checked back on him. Or at least he wasn’t looking worse. It was hard to tell.

Whatever the case, she knew it would be a while before it was even safe to move him, just as it would take some time before Lydia felt well enough to walk. So after Fenora finished brewing up a few more healing potions and administering them, there was really only one thing left to do while she waited.

Loot the place.

Did I mention that the vampires were serious hoarders? Well I’m mentioning it again, because they were SERIOUS hoarders.

The first thing Fenora pillaged was their wardrobe, an entire wall of dressers stuffed with whatever stolen clothing they’d seen fit to keep for themselves. She’d been wearing her current outfit since the escape from Helgen almost a week ago, and to be honest, it couldn’t take much more abuse; the front had a giant claw-shaped hole from her fight with the hagraven, plus the new patch on the back burned off by Movarth’s fireballs. With all the other general damage and caked on dirt from traveling like they did, it was practically falling apart.

Luckily there were a lot of clothes to choose from, though some of them were pretty strange. There was a black ninja getup with a metal headpiece, and red and black jesters’ outfit, and even a pair of red and green plumber suits. Finally she settled on a plain white shirt and brown work pants, trying to look at least a little normal.

That isn’t to say she didn’t take anything else though, because she took at least ten other outfits in case a fresh set of clothes was needed. She also figured Stross would appreciate a variety of clothes to complement his disguises. That is… if he ever got bet-

When. When he got better.

There was quite a bit more to loot, including several pieces of jewelry, and enough septims to fill a comically large sack of gold.

The only the only thing the vampires didn’t keep was food. Sure there were plenty of barrels full of “wine” and a more than a few fresh cuts of “meat”, but Fen knew not to trust any of those. She could only guess what the vampires were feeding their thralls, and the less she thought about it, the better.

After shoving some more soul gems in Stross’s mouth, cocooning his body in a bedsheet, and loading up their plundered items in a handcart, Fenora was planning to go back to Morthal for some breakfast.

It surprised her to find a group of townspeople waiting for them when they got out. Each of them were slumped over, loosely cradling some improvised weapons while they slept. A couple small fires were smoldering down to the cinders.

At first she thought Idgrod had sent a search party to find them; they had been gone for some time. But it turned out they were actually planning to kill the vampires themselves. A ragtag group of townspeople, unarmored, equipped with makeshift weaponry… were going to defeat a master vampire.

Having actually faced Movarth and his small army, Fenora could almost visualize how that would have turned out. Spilled takeout noodles indeed.

Thankfully the townspeople became aware of their odds before they delved headlong into the vampires’ lair, and fearfully stayed outside the cave entrance, waiting outside all night long to ambush them. The lot of them walked back to Morthal together, humbled and unsatisfied… but still very much alive. And that was what mattered.

A few other uninteresting things happened before they got on the road. They ate breakfast in an awkward silence; they learned that Fallion had finally perfected his cure for vampirism and used it on Alva; Alva was being sent the prison in Whiterun despite the townspeople demanding they get to hang her themselves; lastly Laelette, Thronir’s wife, was still nowhere to be found, but they said they’d keep looking for her.

Things were finally wrapping up in the foggy little town, life going on as best it could for them. Fenora even bothered to return the auto-crossbow and as many of its bolts as she could find to Idgrod.

The Jarl let her keep the whip and hat though. Fenora just wished Lydia would stop calling her Indiana Jones. She didn’t even know who that was!

All things considered, it felt good knowing the vampires were finished, and moving on felt liberating. She briefly wondered how great it would feel once she saved the world from Alduin, and finally got to go back to her little farm in High Rock.

With her thoughts wandering back to the dragons, Fenora suddenly remembered their presence, looming in the distance like a growing storm. Suddenly the lightness she felt knowing she’d helped save Morthal was squashed under the weight of the larger task at hand. Moreso by the fact they’d wasted so much time in the process.

Two days ago they set out from Whiterun to get Jurgen Windcaller’s horn. Two days had passed and they still didn’t have it. She knew they did a good thing for those people, but the current doomsday schedule was making her more than a little nervous.

Traveling the rocky countryside was slower than normal thanks to their trove of treasure. Lydia was an absolute lifesaver, agreeing to drag the cart for her. Fenora had considered leaving the stuff behind in Morthal, or even stashing it in Movarth’s lair so they could double back for it later. But nice as that sounded, she was certain it was as good as gone if they did, if they even remembered to go back for it.

Her own burden started to sag on her shoulders again, and she shrugged the straps back into place for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Stross...

She hoped he’d be okay. When she wrapped him up he was bones and mush held together with spindly tendons of changeling stuff, looking almost like one of the countless draugr they’d slain together. She wondered if he’d ever be the same, if she’d ever have her lovable little changeling back.

Lydia's voice suddenly pulled Fenora out of her thoughts.

Snapping back to reality, her eyes were drawn to a lone man standing in the middle of the road. His clothes looked like that of any farmer or wandering merchant, but Fenora knew by his face what he wanted from them.

“Good day to you ladies!” he called in a flippant tone, “That’s quite a lot of cargo you’re hauling. It would be a shame if something happened to it!”

He raised his left hand and waited for something to happen.

“I said… It would be a shame if something happened to it!”

He clenched his teeth. “I SAID! It would be a SHAME if something happe- GET OUT HERE AND POINT YOUR BOWS AT THEM ALREADY!? Gods sakes we practiced for this!”

Finally a quartet of archers burst out of the bushes, previously hidden from view.

“Now,” the man said, stepping forward, “as I was saying, that’s quite a lot of cargo you have there. It would be a shame if something happened to it, so how about you give it to us? For safe keeping.” He gave a dark chuckle, showing off the gaps in his teeth.

Fenora took Stross off her back and placed him ever so gently on the ground, never taking her eyes off the man.

“Sure. Okay.” She said plainly.

“That’s right, and don’t even think of- wait really?” the bandit stopped himself in shock.

Fenora nodded with a smirk. “Yeah really. Here… let me give you my sword first. Wuld… NAH KEST!”

A sound like a whip-crack rang out, Fenora instantly closed the twenty feet between them, and the bandit found himself impaled though the gut before he could react.

“Sorry.” Fenora said venomously, “I should have warned you it was sharp.”

She wheeled herself around, using the bandit’s body as a shield against the rain of arrows from the four archers behind her. Two on either side, neither side much closer. She chose to charge at the ones on the left, hoping Lydia would distract the ones on her right. Hefting the lifeless body in front of her, she shambled forwards at the archers who kept firing more arrows at her instead of doing something smart, such as getting out of the way.

Using the length of blade protruding out of her human shield’s back, Fenora sliced open the first archer’s chest with a quick pair of stabby swipes.

As he collapsed in a bloody heap, Fenora felt her arms go weak and she dropped her first victim to the ground along with her sword, heaving with exhaustion.

“What’s going on?” She thought. “I don’t normally get tired this fast.”

Her second thought was, “Woah fuck!” as the other archer lunged at her with a dagger the size of her forearm.

She managed to dodge by a hair’s length and Fus Ro Dah him to the ground.

Retrieving her sword, she finished him off before he could recover. Yet the question on her mind remained as her arms gave out again and she hunched over on her blade. Why was this happening? Why was she getting so tired all of a sudden? It was like something drained the strength right out of-

Oh gods, of course…

Changelings fed on souls to keep their bodies intact. He was dying and there was no one nearby but her.

She’d unknowingly parted with some of her soul to keep him alive. How much, she didn’t know, but she’d likely saved his life with a chunk of her own. It was a fact that made her feel both proud of herself and violently sick at the same time.

Then another thought came to her. If soul energy could keep him alive and help him recover, like with soul gems, technically any soul energy would work.

“Lydia, wait!” Fenora called, just as Lydia was about to finish off the last of the bandits, an imperial woman by the looks of her, with a face mottled with dirt and scars. “Bring her over here. We can use her.”

Fenora went to Stross’s bundled form and started undoing the knots around his face.

“My thane?” Lydia asked as if wanting some reassurance, but did as Fenora asked and dragged the wounded bandit with her.

“What are you doing? Get off me you nord scum!” the bandit woman yelled, thrashing against Lydia’s grip.

Fenora ignored the scuffle and uncovered Stross’s face. His sockets were still empty, and his lips were still missing. Inside his mouth the soul gems had lost much of their glow and started to crack. But his scaly skin was showing signs of reforming, and there was actual muscle around his face and neck now.

“Gods, what is that?!” the bandit yelled, suddenly full of fright upon seeing him.

“My friend.” Fenora answered and grabbed her, forcing her face to face with the changeling. “You’re going to help him get better. Stross, if you can hear me, feed. Feed all you want too, she’s just a random bandit who attacked us.”

The woman struggled in Fenora’s grip. “What? NO!” she screamed, “Gods please no! Let me go, I’ll do anything! Don't let that thing eat me!”

“M-my thane…” Lydia said nervously. “Forgive me but, I must object to this. Killing bandits is one thing, but surely you don’t think this is…”

Fenora continued shoving the bandit’s face closer to Stross’s, despite her constant, frantic struggling. “Is this what; cruel and unusual punishment? She’s gonna die one way or the other! Why’s it matter how-”

“What Stross would want.” Lydia cut her off, and Fenora looked up at her relaxing her hold in the bandit. “Do you think this is what Stross would want?”

Fenora stared at Lydia, then back down at Stross past the back of the bandit’s… the woman’s head.

Fenora’s fingers loosened on the mess of tangled hair, but didn’t release her. She was about to feed a person to Stross, sacrifice another living being so her friend could get better.

To her it just made sense not to waste a soul if the person was going to die anyway. But she could only imagine the things Stross would be screaming at her if he only could. He had no eyes, but could he hear her? Did he know what she was doing right now?

“Stross... you’re my friend. I love you, and I want you back. I don’t know if you can hear me or even control how much you take, but if you can... try to take some. Skim her excess life force or whatever you call it. Just come back.” Fenora tightened her grip on the bandit woman and shoved her face to Stross’s mouth. “And please forgive me when you do!”

Fenora worked on rewrapping Stross.

The bandit lay safely on the side of the road. She was alive, breathing steady, but too weak to get up. Her face wasn’t the grimace of pain like in Bleak Falls, nor had her screams been the tortured howls she remembered.

Still, before she covered his face again, Fenora looked for some kind of judgement, some kind of sense if he forgave her or not. She placed a hand on his cheekbone, feeling the beginning of skin starting to grow back over his face.

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t know whether she was apologizing to Stross, Lydia, the bandit, or to herself. Probably, it was all of the above. “Please… don’t hate me for wanting to save you.”

She checked her pockets. She had three tiny soul gems left, probably filled with the souls of rabbits, mice, or possibly a deer. They were alive at one point, but at least they weren’t people, and she felt comfort in knowing they weren't still alive. She swapped out the cracked and empty gems with fresh ones and finished covering him up.

Then Fenora looked over to her housecarl, who was hitching herself back up to the loot wagon and trying to look indifferent about the whole thing.

“Hey, Lydia?” she called, slowly walking over. “I’ll take the cart for a while if you like.”

“Thank you my thane, but I’m fine. I am sworn to carry your burdens after all. And to do as you command.” She said coldly, all the while avoiding eye contact.

Fenora clapped a hand on her companion’s shoulder until she looked at her. “Lydia. I’m sorry I’m not always the hero you, or Stross want to see. But I’m the hero Skyrim needs.” She said stiffly.

Lydia met her glare. She hadn’t realized until now how much taller her houscarl was, or how imposing she could be. She matched her stare though, piercing through her. Finally though, both their expressions softened.

“I know my thane. I know.”

Defeated, she unhitched herself from the wagon and stepped aside. “I could hold onto Stross for a while… if you like.” She offered.

A wan smile crept onto Fenora’s face. “Sure.” She undid her Stross-pack and passed him over, “We’ll carry each other’s burdens. Careful though, he’s pretty heavy.”

While Fenora finished hitching herself up and walking on ahead, Lydia whispered a quick prayer to Stross. “Hurry up and get better. Fenora’s scary when you’re not around.”

Fenora walked in front, constantly checking the magic map Stross acquired. Dirt path slowly transitioned back to snow-covered ground as the little white arrow made its way to the glowing waypoint.

“Alright…” Fenora muttered, “if we keep walking this way we should be there in almost a-“

*Thwack!*

“OW! Son-of-a!” Fenora cursed after walking straight into a tree branch for the twelfth time.

“Watch out for that tree my thane!” Lydia called from behind her.

Fenora grumbled and rubbed her face.

Thankfully they’d arrived at Ustengrav, the resting place of Jurgen Windcaller and, according to the Greybeards, a place where all dragonborns passed their initiation rite to become fully-fledged wielders of The Voice!

Fenora was honestly expecting something a little more grand.

“Geez, this place is a wreck.” she said as they walked through a crumbling entranceway with barely enough standing pillars to hold the ceiling up.

“I guess you could say it’s... ruin-d.” Lydia said with a smirk, and they both had a good awkward laugh over it.

‘Ruin-d’ was a good word for it. Once upon a time this might have passed for a respectable tomb for someone like the founder of the Greybeards, but now the entire place was falling apart. The air was thick with dust and cobwebs, and a lot of the time they had to step around chunks of rubble littering the floor.

It was up ahead near a collapsed passageway that Fenora saw something that gave her pause. She pulled the loot cart aside and hid it near some inconspicuous storage urns, taking only the essentials with her.

Drawing her dwarven greatsword, she stalked closer for a better look.

Bandits. Dead, hacked-up bloody bandits, but bandits all the same.

Something wasn’t right though. Sure bandits would set up camp just about anywhere, but these ones had pickaxes instead of weapons. The rough chunks of stone chipped from the collapsed passage confirmed they were trying to clear it, and with purpose. Only they’d been killed, and recently enough for the blood to still be wet.

“So bandits come in hoping to find treasure, and get killed. But by what?” Fenora thought aloud.

While she was looking around she noticed a hidden side passage leading deeper in, and the doors were open.

She motioned for Lydia to follow behind her, and the pair entered the crypts.

Room after room of dead bodies added more pieces to the story of what happened. They passed no less than ten sorcerers garbed in black, and at least twice that many draugr. Necromancers came, killed the bandits camping out, reanimated the bandits and used them for digging, woke the draugr and got into a fight.

Ah the circle of life in Skyrim.

“Lucky for us they all killed each other.” Lydia commented as they finally made their way out of the tombs.

“I don’t like it.” Fenora said grimly, “Think about it. Fights like that don’t just end with everyone conveniently landing a simultaneous deathblow; there’s always someone left over, even if they’re dragging themselves away and bleeding to death. I didn’t see any blood trails back there, did you?”

Lydia shook her head ‘no’.

“Then there’s still someone in here, and they’re either smart enough to let the necromancers and draugr kill each other off before finishing them, or strong enough to kill them all themselves.” Fenora deduced. “I don’t like either of those options. Keep your guard up.”

The path through the tombs led to the other side of the collapsed entryway, sort of a roundabout way to get inside. This somehow led to a massive cavern in the earth with the ruins carved along its sides. There was no such thing as a ceiling above them, which allowed both sunlight and water to pour inside. The level below was lush and verdant, with trees and grass surrounding the pool of water from a rushing waterfall.

Fenora let out a low whistle. “Nice view.”

As they continued they found a staircase that led back up, and it seemed the only way to proceed.

Fenora didn’t take a single step once she reached the top though. Pressure plates covered the floor in its entirety, and somehow the smell of oil still lingered in the air.

“My thane, a plaque.” Lydia pointed to a nearby carving in the wall. “I can’t read it. What does it say?”

Fenora looked over it. The scratches were the same as the word wall in Bleak Falls. She shook her head. “I can’t either. I can understand the words, but I can’t read a lick of Dovah. It’s not like if I just stare at it hard enough it’ll suddenly make se- Wah tahrovin, feim ni. Mulaag hin zii, gron nii voth ahkrin.”

Fenora shook her head. “The fuck just came out of my mouth?!”

She looked over at the pressure plates. “Don’t fade from danger, huh?” Taking her sword, she pressed the tip onto the first pressure plate and leaned on it. She heard it click, but nothing came out.

Fenora smirked. “Looks like some of them are safe to step on. We just have to find which ones. Come on up Lyd- LYDIA BEHIND YOU!”

“What? GODS NO!” Lydia screamed as she was plucked off the ground by one of the largest spiders she’d ever seen. “Let go. Let me go!” She struggled and kicked against the multitude of legs grabbing at her, causing her and her captor to swing on the strand of web holding them up.

Fenora leapt from her perch on the stairs and slashed at the sticky rope with her sword, cutting them down.

The three of them fell to the floor, but the spider recovered much quicker. It lunged at Fenora, knocking her down and skittering past them, disappearing up the stairs and further down the tunnels.

“Fenora! It took Stross!” Lydia yelled, showing the bundle missing from her back.

Fenora didn’t have to be told twice. With her housecarl right behind her she stormed up the stairs and sprinted across the pressure plates, not caring for a moment when jets of flame licked at her heels.

By the time they made it to the spider’s web-coated lair, both of them were thoroughly singed, and Fenora was heaving from exhaustion. Her lower endurance was going to take some getting used to.

Through the sounds of her heart beating in her ears, Fenora could hear chittering in the walls.

Suddenly a spider burst out from behind a set of oversized egg sacs on her right, and two more followed suit on the left.

Fenora quickly brought her sword down on the closest one, hearing a wet crunch as its body crumpled.

Turning to face the two remaining, she saw Lydia had already engaged one of them, and was wrestling with its frontmost legs while its pincers hissed and dripped with venom.

The other one charged right for her, knocking her off her feet.

Fenora rolled with the hit, planting her boots on the spider's underside and kicking it onto the plates behind her. The satisfying sounds of flames roasting it met her ears.

Two more crawled towards them from the wall and were just as quickly slain before the big one that took Stross finally showed its ugly face. It reared up, grabbing at them with its front legs while spitting venom form its mouth.

Fenora unleashed her thu’um in a wave of fire breath that stuck to the spider’s outer shell like burning oil. It thrashed and screeched in panic, leaving enough of an opening for Fenora to drive her sword point-first into its face.

While Fenora fell to her knees from the exertion, Lydia picked up the slack and started hacking at the spider’s head with her axe until it was nothing but a green pulp.

“I think that’s the last of them.” Fenora said, looking around, “Now where’d they take Stross to?”

“He was wrapped in that bedsheet.” Lydia reminded her, “We just have to look for body wrapped in something… white.”

The words dried up in her mouth when they looked at where they were: a spiders’ nest, full of long-dead people and animals cocooned in spiderwebs.

Their heads turned until they met each other again.

“I’ll check the ones over here, you check the ones over there?” Lydia offered with a weak smile.

Fenora pulled apart yet another cocoon. Her knife kept getting stuck in the webs, so she’d given up trying and just used her hands instead. She pulled off the last layer of webs, revealing a white skull that dropped its jawbone in her lap. She sighed and tossed the mummified bones with the rest she’d gone through.

“Hey Lydia, found anything yet?” she called over to her housecarl. Lydia had been pretty squeamish the whole time they were unwrapping the dead. Maybe it was Nord tradition telling her it was wrong to disturb them, or maybe it was the fact that some were still… juicy.

“A few coin purses and a book on spider mating habits, but no Stross.” Lydia replied.

This was getting old.

Still, they weren’t going to leave him behind. She was sure he’d stay behind and look for them if they were comatose from magic emotional starvation, kidnapped by spiders and trapped in a cocoon in a room full of identical looking cocoons… or you know, whatever else.

Fenora moved on to the next, stretching the web layer till it finally broke.

“Lydia!” she called, “I’ve got bedsheets here.” she said and undid the knots, leaning closer for the moment of truth.

“Pth-pblulebethr-bleeeeh!” Stross sputtered as he spit out a shower of soul gem bits in her face.

“Stross! You’re-“

“Pleh!” Stross spat out one last piece that hit her in the eye.

“You’re awake!” Fenora said, overjoyed to see him. Even better, he was alive again! She pulled him into a hug and rubbed her cheek against his. He still looked like he’d gone through a thresher, but he was back! Stross was back, baby!

She smiled and looked into his eyes. He smiled and stared back.

Right then, everything was good.

“Who are you again?” Stross asked.

Tip of the Blades (Windcaller's Horn arc conclusion)

Fenora stared at Stross, jaw dropped in horror. Stross stared back, still giving her that dopey, jagged smile.

Her breathing quickened as her mind went into panic mode. He didn’t recognize her.

Stross didn’t recognize her.

Maybe this was a side effect of coming so close to death? It had to be. If it was, he might start to remember with time.

But what if he didn’t? She’d have to explain everything to him, who she was and why he was with her… every little bit that he’d missed. And if he didn’t remember her, what else did he forget? Did he remember Equestria, or even what he was?

If he didn’t, she’d try and help him remember.

Only...

How could she? Fenora barely knew anything about his past, how his species worked, or about the world he came from. She suddenly felt guilty about never asking him more about any of those things, never showing interest, even for the sake of getting to know him better.

Now he was just a poor lonely changeling stuck in a world that wasn’t his own, with no memory of anything!

All she could do now was help him in any way she could, just like he had done for her.

Stross made her care, about other people, about the fate of Skyrim… about him. The least she could do was make sure he had someone looking out for him.

Fenora told herself, promised that she wouldn’t let him wander, lost and alone.

She’d-

“Just kidding.”

Fenora blinked. “What?”

“I’m just kidding Fen!” Stross laughed, wiggling in his bindings. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. You were all like ‘Oh no! Stross senpai has amnesia and can’t remember our love! What will I do!?’ It was so hilari- ow! OW! Gah, why?”

“You! Freaking! Dickbiscuit!” Fenora screamed, punctuating every angry syllable with a kick to the changeling’s sides. “I was so worried about you! *kick* I thought you were going to die. *kick* Then I thought you were never going to get better. *'nother kick* Then I thought I was gonna have to teach you how to be you again! And I-*slightly softer kick* And I…”

Fenora heaved a long sigh. “Stross you moron.” She gave Stross one final *kick* before giving him a much-needed hug. “I’m glad to have you back.”

“I’m glad to have me back to.” Stross giggled and nuzzled her face. “Can um... can you carry me though. I can’t feel my legs.”

“Soooo,” Stross sang in after a while, “what’d I miss while I was… corpsey?”

“Oh y’know…” Fenora said, her stride faltering for a split second, “stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Fenora took a moment to throw a pleading look to Lydia, who in turn made a zipping motion across her lips.

“The usual. We walked to Ustengrav, ran into some bandits on the road.” I fed one of them to you like a monster. “They were trying to take all the stuff we looted from Movarth’s cave and- oh! I’ve got to show you some of that later. We left it near the entrance so we wouldn’t have to drag it through the catacombs.”

“What happened to the people in Morthal? Are they doing okay?” Stross asked, and Fenora smiled on the inside. She should have guessed he'd want to know. Even in his current state, he was worrying about everyone else.

“They’re doing as well as they can after everything that happened. We ran into a tiny mob of them on the way back to town. It’s a good thing we were there to fight for them. They never would have stood a chance against all those vampires.” Fenora told him, “We did a good thing together Stross.”

She could feel the changeling beaming with pride.

The group came to a halt in front of an archway. Beyond it, the only way forward was covered in a darkness that looked dense enough to be solid. Another plaque adorned the wall next to the arch, it’s text roughly translating to [When darkness and cold encircle you, look to the flame in your soul. Fire is warmth. Fire is light.]

Pretty obvious what needed to be done.

“Yol.” Fenora sent out a small plume of fire into the dark room beyond.

The light revealed that the floor was actually a pitch black polished stone that could only be seen in the light. It also didn’t cover the entire floor.

What they could see by firelight was more of a narrow bridge, one that they could only hope led all the way across. The space it didn’t cover seemed to drop off into nothing.

They’d need to tread forward slowly and carefully while Fenora revealed a bit more of the path every few steps until they reached the other side, requiring her to use her fire breath each time.

Or…

“Hang on a sec here. I’m doing this the easy way.” She said, wrapping one of her bedsheet bandages around the end of her sword and setting it on fire.

Holding the light out in front of her, Fenora led the way for them.

As it turned out, the path often turned at sharp angles, winding its way to the other end instead of it being a straight shot. Lydia stayed close behind her the whole time, Stross too, though he didn’t really have a choice since he was a little… tied up.

It wasn’t that hard. The worst part was how fast the cloth burned out and had to be replaced.

While Fenora re-lit her torch/sword for the third time, Stross decided to strike up some conversation again.

“So this is it right? We’re finally getting that magic horn for the Greybeards? I wonder what kind of ultra-secret power it’s going to give you so you can beat Alduin.”

“Huh,” Fenora huh’d. “I never really thought about that.”

“Are you kidding?!” Stross said in shock. “You never even wondered what sort of amazing superpower you might get from it. You’re the dragonborn! Maybe you’ll get a shout specially made for fighting dragons, or a spell that can turn all the dragons in the world into delicious pancakes!” Stross gasped, “Maybe you’ll be able to turn into a dragon yourself.”

“What?” Fenora deadpanned. “That’s dumb.”

“No it isn’t!” Stross argued determinedly. “Just imagine it: you’re standing alone on the top of a mountain peak-“

“How’d I get up there?”

“I dunno. You climbed there. That’s not the point. You’re standing there while an entire army of dragons circles the sky above, breathing fire and doing other menacing dragon stuff. Then, a bolt of lightning shoots down from the sky and strikes you! When the light fades you’re no longer Fenora the elf, you’re… Fenora-zilla, the ultimate dragon who is bigger, sexier, and more powerful than all the other dragons combined!

“Then you launch into the air, smashing them into the ground with your powerful tail, biting them in half in your massive jaws, and blowing them away with nothing but your wingbeats! When the battle is done, you hover over the lands of the tiny people you saved and smile as they shower you with praise before flying off into the sunset. Doesn’t that sound awesome!?”

“I think it sounds worthy of legend, my thane.” Lydia chimed in.

Fenora smirked. “Okay, yeah. That does sound pretty epic. But what would I do with that power after Alduin and his army are dead?”

“Umm… rule the world maybe?” Stross suggested. “From your golden money palace, where you live with your devilishly handsome changeling husband?”

Fenora caught herself snickering. “Sorry Stross, but there’s no way that’s happening.”

Stross’s ears drooped as she crushed his dreams.

“If we’re living anywhere together, it has to be someplace that doesn’t take an army of servants to clean.”

“Oh.” Stross perked up again.

Fenora caught her laughter short, looking over her shoulder at him. “What, you thought I meant the part where we ge- Heht! Shit shit shit!”

“My thanes!” Lydia dove forwards as Fenora teetered on the edge of the bridge, flapping her arms in a desperate attempt to keep her balance.

The two of them reached out, but literally slipped through each other’s fingers.

“Lydiaaaaaaa!” Fenora screamed as she and Stross fell over the edge into blackness. “Aaaaaaa- Oof!”

Hesitantly, Lydia peeked over the edge.

“Oooowww.” Fenora groaned from literally four feet below her, “I think I landed on my tailbone.”

So yes, disarming as it was, the whole ‘bottomless pit’ wasn’t actually bottomless; it was just made to look that way. But it made a little more sense when they thought about it. The tomb was originally meant to test users of The Voice, not slaughter them.

Still, the last obstacle took that point to a whole new level.

“Alright Lydia, you wait there… and Stross, you sit here…” Fenora instructed, setting her companions in front of the glowing red stones. There were three in total, each one opening a gate at the far end of the room.

She knew the point was for her to make a running start past each of the glowing switches, and then use Whirlwind Sprint make it through the opened gates before they closed… but that just seemed like such a hassle. And besides, she’d used Whirlwind Sprint to skewer living enemies on the end of her sword. She doubted she had anything more to prove.

Triggering the final gate switch, Fenora calmly sauntered through the open gateways with plenty of time, throwing the switch on the other side to keep them open for her friends.

“What is my life?” Stross sobbed dramatically as Lydia carried him through. “I’ve been relegated to being a paperweight!”

“Don’t worry my thane, paperweights are in high demand in Skyrim.” Lydia told him, “In fact we even have a special name for them: housecarls.”

None of them knew if she was joking or not, but they shared a good laugh over it all the same.

The main burial chamber was just up ahead, and within it was Windcaller’s Horn, finally.

This was it. After all their questing and digressing along the way, they had finally made it.

The room was modest in size compared to most they’d seen so far, yet there were touches here and there that made it unique, and befitting of one who’d spent their whole life learning what it meant to be at peace with the world, and with one’s self.

Tranquil waters pooled on the sides of the chamber, decorated with statues in the shape of dragons roaring towards the sky. The remains of banners hung from the ceiling by metal rods, the faded words upon them likely retelling the key moments in Jurgen’s life, and the lessons he learned.

However, it soon became clear that our heroes were not the only ones here.

The second the metal coffin housing old Jurgen came into view, two other figures did as well. One was covered from head to toe in plate armor and sat idly prodding a small campfire, the other was garbed in leather and sat atop Jurgen’s tomb, staring straight at them from her perch.

“What the ‘Blivion..?” Fenora muttered and reached for her sword.

“Don’t even think about it!” the woman on Jurgen’s tomb snapped. As quickly as the words left her mouth she produced a crossbow, larger and more powerful looking than the one Fen had used, and loaded with an arrow that could skewer a wild boar.

She leveled it at them along with a narrow glare.

Lydia shifted her feet, ready to dive sideways and take the shot for her thane.

Fenora did the same with thoughts of simply dodging it.

Stross stayed tied up on Fenora’s back.

For a few tense moments, no one dared to move.

“So…” the woman spoke. “You must be the dragonborn I’ve heard so much about. Took you long enough to get here.”

“And who would you be?” Fenora asked, ready to act at any second.

“A friend.”

Fenora frowned deeper. “The only friends I have in Skyrim are standing next to me. But I recognize him well enough,” she motioned to the armored man, “he beat the living shit out of Stross to get the dragonstone, back in Riverwood. Don’t think I forgot about that. So just who are you?”

“Making demands at the business end of a crossbow.” the armored man's deep voice echoed from inside his helmet. He hadn’t bothered to move, still sifting the burning bits of wood with a twig. “She’s either really confident… or really stupid. Can we really trust her to stop Alduin?”

“We have to. She’s the only one who can.” The woman said, setting her crossbow down and removing her hood. Underneath was a head full of greying hair and a scarred face that was slowly beginning to show her age. “My name is Delphine, I’m the one who wanted the dragonstone you delivered to Farengar. You’re not the only one that’s taken notice of the dragons returning, nor are you the only one who’s doing something to stop them.”

“Look, we’re just here to get Windcaller’s Horn so we can bring it back to the Greybeards. That’s it.” Fenora told her.

“Of course you are. I have it right here.” Delphine said and held the horn up for them to see. “I’ll even give it to you, no strings attached. If… you can answer me one simple question.” she casually tossed it up and let it fall back into her hand. “What does it do?”

Fenora looked at her questioningly. “It stops the dragons. Somehow.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Delphine grunted, her firmness making it sound more like a fact than a question. “Well let me enlighten you. It does NOTHING.”

They flinched as Delphine hopped off Jurgen’s tomb and threw it like it was an old shoe. The horn bounced and skidded on the floor, finally stopping when it hit Fenora’s foot.

Fenora picked it up and held it in her hands. “No way. There’s gotta be some kind of mistake! The Greybeards-“

“The Greybeards are a bunch of old men who sit on top of a mountain meditating all day long!” Delphine shouted, “They wouldn’t know the first thing about killing dragons! And now those old fools have taken our only hope… and sent her on a milk run. Unbelievable.”

Fenora ignored her, turning the horn over in her hands as though trying to find the ‘on’ switch. Shaking it slightly as though that would make it work.

All this time she’d expected so much from finding it, especially after everything the Greybeards had already taught her. It was supposed to be some sort of legendary artifact that she could only get by proving she was the dragonborn, and it would give her the power to save the world. But…

Now she was holding it in her hands. It felt almost shoddy, worn from time, chipped from where it hit the floor just now. Worst of all, she didn’t feel anything from it, not even the slightest tingle that she’d done anything meaningful by getting it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be!

“So what will you do now?” Delphine asked, reminding them she was still there. “Will you continue to be strung along by a bunch of disconnected, aloof old men? Or are you going to knuckle down and listen to someone that actually knows what they’re doing?”

Fenora’s fist tightened around Windcaller’s horn. She was already getting sick of this woman and her condescending tone. “And I suppose you have a better plan.” She said more bitterly than intended.

“Actually, I do.” Delphine said matter-of-factly. “During the Dragon War, the dragonborns were the ultimate dragon slayers, able to permanently kill a dragon by taking its soul. But they weren’t alone. They had an army of specially trained soldiers that would bring the dragons down long enough for them to deal the killing blow. That is what I propose we do now. We raise an army, train them to fight the beasts, and then we kill them all. If Alduin tries to stop us, we kill him too.”

There was a pause as Fenora waited for her to continue.

“That’s it?” she said in disbelief. “That’s your master plan; we hire a bunch of dudes, find a dragon, group up and hit it till it dies… a hundred times in a row?!”

“Zero out of ten, would not recommend.” Lydia gave her rating.

Delphine crossed her arms and frowned. “Would you rather sprint around the countryside, staring up at the skies until you find one, and then chasing after it till it lands to fight you?”

“I’d rather press the big red button labeled ‘Kill all the dragons’. I don’t even care if it’s on the front of Alduin’s face.”

“Nose boop of genocide.” Stross declared.

Delphine shook her head, her nostril’s flaring. “You’re unbelievably optimistic if you thought this would be so easy, but those are your choices. If you’re really serious about defeating the dragons and saving Skyrim, meet me outside Solitude in two days; there’s something I need to take care of if we’re to get started.”

With that, Delphine turned to leave through the chamber’s only other door.

“Care to elaborate on any of that?!” Fenora called after her.

Delphine paused, glancing back over her shoulder as though considering it, but in the end she just kept walking without another word.

Fenora turned to face her friends. A moment of silence hung over them, and Fenora still clenched Jurgen’s horn in her hands.

“Geez what a bitch.” Stross scoffed. “So what’re we gonna do now Fen? I’m ready for anything! Except stairs. I don’t think I can handle stairs right now.”

Fenora sighed. She wished she could borrow some of his enthusiasm.

Looking at the horn in her hands, she thought of the Greybeards. They were the wise old men that were supposed to guide her on her journey; that was how it happened in the great hero stories her mother told her at bedtime. She had trusted them. Now it seemed their wisdom and guidance led them to a dead end.

Now all they were left with was a plan so simple even bandits would laugh at it, given to them by the most smackable bitch in Skyrim.

“Do you get the feeling that no one was prepared for this?” Fenora finally asked, despair edging its way into her voice. “I’m no grand strategist, but I haven’t heard a single thing out of anyone that sounds like a solid plan. It’s like no one bothered to write a manual to go along with that prophesy, and so we’re left chasing whatever’s in front of us, hoping it works out somehow.”

“The blind following the blind, my thane.”

Fenora buried her face in her fists and groaned.

“What are we doing?” she muttered hopelessly. “What are we going to do?”

“Go on vacation and clear our heads?” Stross offered.

“Yeah,” Fen snorted, “wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Who says it won’t be? We have time.” Stross reasoned, “She said to meet her in Solitude in two days for whatever stupidness she’s got in store. So let’s just go there now and hang out for a while. Maybe we can even think of a better plan ourselves once we’re not so stressed out.”

“I think Stross has a valid point, my thane.” Lydia agreed. “After everything that’s happened in the last week, we could all use a chance to recover. My cousin serves in the Blue Palace, and I’m sure she’d be glad to show us the sights.”

Fenora took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Can’t be worse than everything else so far.”

“Oh come on Fen, you can do better than that!” Stross said from behind her head, and she suddenly felt him nibbling one of her ears.

“Ahh! Stross cut it out, that feel’s weird.” Fenora batted at him.

“Oh? What about if I stick my tongue inside one of your holes?” Stross asked and stuck his long slender appendage into her ear.

Fenora shrieked at the slimy wetness worming its way inside her head, and awkwardly tried to wrestle Stross back into his sheets.

This only made him escalate to covering the rest of her face with big slobbery kisses until she was laughing uncontrollably. Meanwhile Lydia temporarily forgot her vows as Fenora’s protector, and simply stood by, giggling in amusement herself.

“Okay! I’ll try and loosen up already!” Fenora relented, still gasping with laughter. “Let’s grab our stuff and get out of here. Solitude’s a pretty decent walk from here; we’ll need to go soon if we want to get there before nightfall.”

“Road trip!” Stross cheered, throwing his hands up.

Fenora looked back at the burial chamber, and Jurgen’s tomb. Giving one last fleeting glance to the horn, she gave a final sigh and let it fall to the floor with a definite *clack*. Then she turned, and with companions in tow, left the chamber behind.

…

A minute later Stross stumbled back into the chamber, his legs too frail to support him for long. Frantically he grabbed the horn in his bony fingers and cradled it to his chest like it were an infant.

Gasping, he lunged forward towards the metal coffin, a few feet at a time despite his body’s protests.

“Stross!” Fenora yelled, her voice full of concern as she ran over and tried to pick him up, with Lydia following suit mere seconds later. “What the heck are you doing, you crazy bug?”

“Nnnnuuuuuuu!” Stross wailed. “It’s not right Fen! It’s just not right!”

Fenora slapped him. “Calm down! The ‘Blivion are you talking about?”

“I gotta put it back Fen!” Stross said, holding the horn out towards its decorative pedestal atop the coffin. “He was a great guy; I read about him in the books the Greybeards had! He learned that with great power comes great responsibility. And then he tried to teach that to everyone else too! He’s like the spidermane of Nirn! I can’t just leave after we messed up his grave.”

Fenora, pragmatist that she was, realized a dead guy wasn’t going to care if they fixed up his grave or not, and they hadn’t even ruined in the first place. It stupid, sentimental, possibly OCD, and most importantly it was holding them up.

So naturally, she let Stross lean on her while she walked him over.

It was slow. But for Stross, she didn’t mind.

When they finally got to the centerpiece, with its carved surface covered with recently disturbed dust, it was pretty clear where the horn was supposed to go: the forged metal hand reaching up from the center, reaching as though offering the horn and waiting to receive it again.

Weakly, Stross reached up and slid the horn back between the fingers, a look of content crossing his face as he did.

“There. That feels right somehow.”

It was a small thing, but doing it made Stross’s spirits feel lighter than air. He was practically glowing with pride as he-

Wait, what’s that now?

Oh sorry... my mistake.

It was his body that was suddenly lighter than air, and he was glowing with something else entirely.

“Fen… what’s going on? I’m floating and I’m glowing. Why am I floating and glowing!” Stross started to panic as he was lifted into the air with Fenora trying to hang on.

From somewhere a wind swept up, and with his changeling vision he could see it. It was just like when they’d defeated Mirmulnir outside of Whiterun, only now the dragon soul was being funneled into him!

Everything felt strangely serene as the golden energy was channeled into him. It was soft, like sitting against a big tree atop a grassy hill, watching the sun set over the edge of the world, letting its rays wash over you until it finally faded away.

When the light did fade away, everything that had been skeletal and spindly was back to normal. Cracked and faded scales were shimmering ebony once more. Stross was healed and whole again… but with one little difference.

“Woah…” Fenora said breathlessly, staring at the pair of leathery dragon wings that erupted from the shell on Stross’s back. "Awesome."

“Hey,” she tapped on the grave, “you got any more of those?”

Author's Note

What?! Stross is EVOLVING!

Congratulations! Your CHANGELING evolved into PRINCESS TWILIGHT!

Fight and Flight

Fenora trudged along the road deep in thought, the sound of her feet hitting the ground loosely syncing up with the flap, flap, flapping just overhead. Stross was still learning how to use his new wings, adjusting the strength of his wingbeats so he could get off the ground, but not painfully rocket himself into the ceiling.

At least he was getting used to them quickly. But she was wondering was how it was possible that he got them in the first place. She’d formed a few wild theories so far, though none of them were that solid.

Theory number one was simple. When he replaced the horn, Jurgen saw that he was worthy in some regard, and gave him dragon wings. A nice thought, but a bit too easy.

Her second theory had to do with Stross being a changeling; they were weird after all, so maybe they absorbed characteristics from whatever souls they ate. Though by that logic, he should have sprouted bunny ears, cat paws, a deer tail, and all sorts of other animal parts from those soul gems she fed him.

While that sounded adorably freaky, it didn’t fit.

Thus theory number three made the most sense to her, even with her blind leaps of logic.

She figured that when she’d unwittingly given up part of her soul to save him, it hadn’t been consumed. Instead that part of her soul, her dragon soul, had fused with him, and that allowed him to acquire the power from Jurgen’s tomb as though he were dragonborn.

Heck, for all she knew he might be dragonborn now.

Fenora never bothered to ask herself what giving up something as precious as her soul would feel like. But somehow, it was comforting.

“Worst case scenario, if something happens to me, the world has a spare dragonborn kicking around.” Fenora chuckled at her dark sense of redundancy.

Suddenly a gust of wind hit her from behind, blowing off her hat and whipping her hair into a tangled mess. That was the fourteenth time in under two hours. If she didn’t know better, she’d have said Stross was doing it on purpose.

Looking up she saw the changeling diving and looping through the sky, circling over her and Lydia like a flamboyant vulture.

“DO A BARREL ROLL MY THANE!” Lydia shouted, and Stross did a quick spinning motion. “No, that was an aileron! Try pressing ‘Z’ or ‘R’ twice!”

Fenora shook her head and smiled. “Hey Stross, how close are we to Solitude!? It’s gonna get dark soon.” If he had the time to show off, he could at least act as their navigator while he was at it.

“It doesn’t look that far away now!” the changeling’s voice called back, muffled slightly by the wind. “I think we can get there before dark if we hurry! We just need to cross that big bridge near the-“

“What?!” Fenora called. Stross had trailed off and gone silent, whatever he was mouthing was too soft to hear.

Suddenly he swooped down and landed right in front of her, nearly knocking her over in the process. His fingers gripped her shoulders and he looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“We have to hurry.”

Alduin drifted through the ethereal sky, his massive form casting a pitch black shadow over all of Sovngarde. A perpetual haze of his own making obscured the path to Shor’s hall, leaving the souls of the dead to aimlessly wander, forever lost in limbo.

Swooping down into the fog he effortlessly plucked the souls of two dozen soldiers and consumed them. Another light snack to regain his strength.

“Those foolish mortals,” he thought with an amused chuckle, sensing ever more souls of the dead entering what was now his hunting ground, “so enraptured by their petty conflict, so blinded by pride. My victory shall be swift, unmerciful… and effortless.”

Another dive. Another thirty souls in his belly.

Then a chime came to him from the mortal world, from his kin that could not follow him into the land of the dead.

“Alduin, my liege.” came the voice of Odahviing, one of his most powerful hunters, one of ten he had since risen from death.

“Speak Odahviing. What have you to report?”

“The others grow restless my lord. They have waited many centuries for their revenge on the mortals. They wish to know when we are to strike, and why we delay. We should decimate them now, while the nords are weak from their conflict.”

“FOOL!” Alduin roared through the void. “As ever, your words fail to hide your intent Odahviing. Battle will come with time, you shall find a worthy foe. Of this I have no doubt.” Alduin paused as a pang of frustration rippled through his being. “But so long as the dragonborn lives, I cannot risk the souls of our kin. We must build our forces, continue to search for our priests of old wherever they lie in slumber.”

Silence. Hesitation.

“Odahviing… there is something else you wish to tell me.”

“Lord Alduin… Yolos sensed the dragonborn. He left to pursue her, to strike her down in your name.”

“…What? NO!” Alduin shouted, true panic entering his voice for the first time in a very long time. “Fly Odahviing. Stop him! Force our brother to return at once!”

As Odahviing broke the connection, Alduin drifted through the void once more, acutely aware of how weightless and alone he was.

“Damn you dragonborn…” he muttered. “STOP EATING MY ARMY!”

Fenora dodged right as another torrent of flame blew past her. Lydia sprung at the opportunity to land a blow with her axe, and was rewarded with a shower of sparks erupting in her face.

The landmark known as Dragon Bridge was certainly living up to its name.

“IIZ!” Fenora blasted the first word of Ice Form at the flaming monstrosity.

The frozen chunks that formed melted and boiled off in mere seconds, revealing the dragon’s snarling face. Reigniting himself, Yolos charged at her, tearing across the ground on all fours.

It was nearly sunset when our heroes arrived at Dragon Bridge in all their haste. It was an old monument made of stone, adorned with a sculpture of a dragon’s skull, and the only thing spanning the Karth River for miles. A small village was budding up around the sawmill built on the opposite side, a tiny collection of houses and an inn.

That village was now on fire.

The dragon had been waiting for them to arrive, circling the town and spitting fire down upon it, hoping to draw them in.

Yolos, he called himself. Stross thought he said something else entirely, some dumb phase about only living once. But in Dovahzul, Yolos meant ‘flame’. And it quickly became apparent why he was called that.

“BURN DRAGONBORN!” Yolos roared as he chased her back across the narrow stone bridge, causing great cracks with every step.

For an onlooker, it might have looked like Fenora was leading him away from the village so the people could get to safety.

Really she was just running for her life.

It was clear that there was no way to even get close to him. Yolos had a nasty habit of setting himself on fire, which made attacking him at melee range a trade-off between how much damage you wanted to dish out, and how crispy you wanted your skin to get.

Talk about being too hot to handle.

When they reached the center of the bridge, Yolos saw his chance. Fenora had nowhere to escape.

He sucked in a huge breath and unleashed his most powerful thu’um. “Valinaar Al Yolos!” (Majestic destroyer flame)

Fenora glanced back for a split second, and time seemed to slow. She felt the heat before the flame even formed.

Her mind raced.

Thirty feet of stone bridge in front of her, instant burning death behind. With no better option, Fenora did the only thing that wouldn’t kill her instantly.

Jump off.

While the bridge above erupted in an explosion of searing heat, Fenora plummeted towards the rock-filled rapids a hundred feet below.

She braced herself for the impact and freezing wetness… but it never came. Instead there was just the gentle evening breeze against her face and a pair of arms holding her tightly around the waist; the feeling of Stross flying her to safety.

The second they rose up to ground level again, Fenora noted with a mix of relief and pure horror that she had made the right choice.

Everything in the path of the dragon’s fire had been burnt a sickly, smoldering black. The rocks were still glowing red from the heat, trees were reduced to charcoal and ash, grass and plants had burned to nothing in an instant. Even the soil was scorched to a crisp. Not even a Whirlwind Sprint would have gotten her far enough to avoid that.

“That could have been me.” Fenora thought with her mouth agape.

“Fen, how do we beat this hot head?!” Stross asked as he flew higher, noticing Yolos glaring at them from the bridge.

“Fuck.” Fenora thought, “Why do I always have to come up with the plan?”

Again her mind went to work, trying to piece together something decent. Then she noticed it.

Wherever Yolos walked, there were tiny heaps burning on the ground. The fire was too hot even for him, and his scales were burning off in his own fire cloak!

She quickly relayed this to Stross. “He can’t stand the heat he’s bringing, so we have to keep him on fire! Let him burn himself out while we keep our distance! Then when he’s burned out, maybe we can move in and finish him off.”

It was simple… It was a start…

“I’m all over it!” Stross said and lobbed a flashbang that stuck right to the dragon’s face.

While Yolos roared and stomped in a frenzy, Stross dropped her off at the top of the waterfall overlooking the town and the bridge. “Stay here and wait for my signal.” He told her.

Before she could ask what the signal even was or what she was supposed to do, Stross zipped off again.

Fenora watched as he hovered right in front of Yolos and did what Stross did best: pissing off the big baddy. He started spouting insults, nonsense, and puns regarding fire too lame to recount. He wasn’t even done by the time the dragon took a lunge at him, trying to catch Stross in his jaws, fire burning hotter than ever.

By then Stross had gotten just what he wanted, and after getting in one last verbal jab, he turned and fled.

Yolos shot into the air after him, nearly slamming into the smaller, slower flyer. But Stross was able to evade to the side, ducking and weaving through wing and tail.

Stross zipped and darted through the ash-filled air, jets of flame rushing past him as he banked from side to side almost at random to avoid getting hit.

For a while that was the game they played, Yolos lunging and swiping and breathing streams of fire, anything to kill the annoying pest. Meanwhile Stross would always be just out of reach, just to the side of where Yolos was aiming. He flew circles around the dragon’s comparatively massive form, constantly darting out of sight and out of reach.

While this went on, molten flakes of scale sloughed off Yolos with every movement, every swipe, and every flap. They fell to earth still ablaze, like a flaming snowfall in the setting sun.

Then Stross suddenly veered off and started flying towards the waterfall.

Fenora stiffened reflexively. He was diving towards her!

“Ca-CAW!” he screeched as he scooped her up. “That was the signal by the way!”

Fenora grabbed onto whatever part of him she could, and tried her best to not look down as they started climbing higher and higher. “The signal for what?!”

“Winning!” he sang.

Fenora dared to look below them. The ground was way too far away, and the dragon wasn’t far enough. Yolos pumped his wings furiously to give chase, and with her weighing Stross down, he was getting closer.

Stross slowly halted his ascent and chose to simply hang in the air.

“What are you doing? What are you doing?!” Fenora jerked in his grip.

Stross narrowed his eyes at Yolos like a predator moving in for the kill. “Wait for it.”

A stream of fire rushed past them.

Stross flapped them slightly higher. “Wait for it…”

With a furious roar, Yolos put on a final burst to close the distance. But as he did, his entire body exploded in a cloud of red-hot coals, not unlike Stross when he disguised himself.

When the dragon’s body cleared the cloud, the fire was gone, snuffed out. All that was left of the armored scales were drifting in the wind, and the membranes of his wings… those were just gone.

Yolos recognized this a second too late. For a moment the three of them just hung there, Yolos in confusion and shock, Stross’s face a perfect picture of smugness.

Fenora felt Stross uncoil his arms from around her chest and dropped two feet down onto the still smoking dragon.

Time sped back up. The world went back into motion. The dragon started to plummet towards the ground hundreds of feet below.

Fenora realized what Stross just did with her.

“Kick his ass Fen! It’s all you baby!”

Sneering at his annoyingly encouraging voice, and with panic forcing her to think quick, Fenora plunged her sword into the dragon’s chest and held on for the ride.

“Stross you cheeky little cockroach, get me off this thing!” Fenora shouted as she fell.

The wind whipped up, throwing scale dust into Fenora’s face and eyes. Yolos was somehow still alive, and though the fire was gone, he was still sizzling hot to the touch.

The dragon twisted and contorted, trying to brush her off with his wingless arms. Each time she kicked the appendages away. More than once during the freefall her sword dislodged from his chest, and she was forced to plunge it into a new spot so she didn’t tumble off.

Then to her horror she felt his mass start to tilt.

“No you don’t!” Fenora yelled, and used Unrelenting Force to flip him on his back again. “I’m not getting flattened under your overcooked corpse!”

With the ground fast approaching Fenora braced herself for the impact and prayed that she didn’t break anything.

Then to her relief she felt something grab her from behind.

She held onto Stross for dear life as they abandoned ship, and he squeezed back just as hard.

While her changeling carried her to safety, the sounds of Yolos crashing through the stonework of Dragon Bridge rang out from below them. From the snapping sound it made, Fenora was thankful she didn’t make that landing with him.

They landed on the side of the bridge opposite of the village, where the soil was burned black from dragonfire.

Fenora let out a sigh as her feet met the ground again, and after collecting herself, she turned to see Stross giving her a winning smile.

*Slap.*

“Ow!” Stross cried out in pain and tubbed his cheek. “What was that for?”

“Dropping me onto a falling dragon.”

“Sorry, I thought you wanted to finish him off.” Stross whined. “Sooooo,” he asked hopefully, pressing his fingers together, “what do I get for catching you then?”

Fenora snorted and gave him a playful slug on the shoulder before walking off to where the dragon lay defeated.

Yolos was a pretty sorry sight after the beating they gave him; broken, chest full of holes, charred to a crisp by his own fire, clinging to life by the thinnest of threads.

As they approached, the wind picked up, ash filled the air once more, and the sound of massive wingbeats reached them.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me…” Fenora groaned as a second dragon swooped down and hovered near the bridge, near its kin, silently observing them all.

“…Brother!” Yolos called out, using what was surely the last of his strength. “Hiif zey viik daar dovahkiin… ahrk ek duziir pusojur (help me defeat this dragonborn… and her insolent bug).”

For a while, the second dragon merely hovered without a word. Then finally it shook its head. “No Yolos. You were foolish to face her alone. I shall not correct your folly. Dragonborn,” he turned to Fenora, “remember the name Odahviing. One day we shall fight, and only one of us will live. Until then… beyz mul. Meyz bahlaan wah luft dii suleyk. (become strong. Become worthy to face my power.)”

With that he turned and flew away, leaving Yolos to breathe his last breath alone.

“Yeah you better run!” Fenora shouted after him. “I’m totally going to kill that guy later.” She sneered.

“Fen look!” Stross drew her attention back to the dragon they’d already slain. Gold embers spread out from the blackened bones, and with the sun’s final rays, the golden light of the dragon’s soul rushed towards them.

Fenora leaned in eagerly, wanting to see who it would go to, to find out if her theory was right or not. She wondered if Stross was dragonborn now, or if the new pair of wing were just for show.

She wondered if she had enough of her soul left to still be considered dragonborn herself, or if she’d shifted that burden entirely onto Stross.

To her surprise, and delight, the light surrounded both of them. Fenora felt what remained of Yolos and his knowledge of fire fill her. Destruction… warmth and light… an unstoppable force fueled by passion and rage.

It felt good, and Fenora found herself smiling.

But more than that she knew she was still dragonborn, and Stross was too now.

They’d killed another of Alduin’s army and saved a small village in the process.

Today was a good day.

She glanced over at Stross, about to congratulate him on their victory. But seeing the look on his face made her pause. There was no cheer in him, no look of revelation at the knowledge the dragon’s soul had given them.

There was only horror, and horrible guilt.

“Stross?” Fenora asked cautiously.

Tears ran down the changeling’s face as he stared at his hands. His black scales free of blemishes and shining in the setting sun, the signs of a changeling that was well fed.

“Wh-what am I?” he asked with a deep quiver in his voice. “What am I Fen?”

Fenora draped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into a hug. “You’re my friend Stross.” She told him with certainty. “No matter what happens.”

The sound of splitting stone rang out. It grew louder and louder, like an avalanche under their feet until finally the mid-section of the stone bridge gave way and collapsed, taking what was left of Yolos with it. Two tons of dragon and solid rock splashed down into the river below.
On the other side of the bridge stood Lydia with a worried look on her face, as well as several villagers with less than happy expressions.

Stross huddled behind her to hide from their glares.

“Aw crap.”

It was dark now; the sun had set hours ago. Fenora and company were making their way towards the city of Solitude, relying on the pale light from the moon to get there. The sound of wolves howling in the distance kept them on edge as they walked, despite the road being a fairly straight shot to where they were going.

She’d have gladly kicked in ten gold to stay at the inn at Dragon Bridge, then make the walk to Solitude in the morning. But no.

“Stupid ungrateful villagers.” She thought angrily, “Of course they’d be more focused on how we broke their stupid bridge, and not how we saved their lives!”

She guessed it was lucky they let them leave without a fight. While she would have personally enjoyed beating the stupid out of every single one of them, she didn't think Stross shared her sentiment. And right now, her changeling had a lot on his mind.

“Hey Fen… sorry I got us in chased out of town.” Stross apologized.

Fenora rolled her eyes. The damage was done long before they got a look at his dragon wings and black scales and cute little fangs.

“Don’t worry Stross. It’s not your fault these people don’t know how to welcome a hero." she told him. "Still... You can hide those wings, right? We really don’t want to cause problems in Solitude.” She could already imagine bounty hunters chasing them across all nine Holds.

Stross flapped them a bit, wincing at the noise they made. Where his old wings were thin, flimsy things that could be folded up neatly inside his shell, these new ones were much more awkward. They weren’t huge, only about the size of two medium shields, and Fenora was surprised they could carry him in the air like they did. But they still took up a lot more space.

“I uh… I dunno. Hold on a second.”

Stross awkwardly fidgeted while he walked. He quickly gave up trying to wrap them around his shoulders, and switched to folding them as against his back as tightly as he could. Once that failed too, he finally let out a defeated sigh and engulfed himself in red flames.

“Well, this will have to work. What do you think?”

When the flames flickered out, Fenora found she was looking at herself.

Then she was suddenly looking away from herself.

“Stross! What did I say about turning into me?” she yelped while covering her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I can use my other forms too. I’m just testing this modified disguise to see if it actually hides my new wings. Your body is nice and familiar, so there’s less chance I’ll mess it up.” Stross said in her voice.

Ignoring the fact that he was already familiar with her body… somehow, Fenora peeked through her fingers. Sure enough, his disguised form lacked wings of any kind. Only now there were two other things that people were bound to notice.

“Looks great Stross. You can change back now.” Fenora said, covering her eyes again.

“One thing first!” Stross said, causing her to groan. “Like the rest of my forms, this is just an illusion; my wings are still here, they’re just invisible.”

“Really? You can’t just, y’know… changeling them away?” she asked.

Stross gave her a light smack with his now invisible wings, and Fenora was forced to look back at her naked counterpart’s frustrated frown.

“Have you been paying any attention when I tell you stuff? Yes it’s all fake. Only changelings who have harvested a huge amount of love can perform a true bio-shift; illusions are just cheaper to cast, even invisibility.”

“So you’re telling me that all this is fake right now.”

Stross nodded firmly.

Fenora felt wrong even thinking about what she was about to do, but her curiosity was too great. She reached out with both her hands.

Soft yet firm… smooth and warm… jiggled in just the right way. Gods, they even got hard when she rubbed them with her thumbs. “Stross… are you absolutely sure this is just an illusion? These seem disturbingly real.”

Stross rolled her eyes and suddenly Fenora’s hand fell straight through a layer of magic embers, hitting against smooth chitin on the other side.

“It’s because I want you to think it’s real. I can make it feel like something’s there when it’s not, or make it feel like it’s not there when it is. But all of me is still here, and that means-” Fenora felt her head being lightly smacked again. “my wings can still hit stuff!

“I need to be really careful from now on. And I’m counting on you and Lydia to help cover for me if something goes wrong, okay?”

“You can count on us, Stross.” Fenora told him. “But you might start by putting some clothes on.”

Stross’s smile turned into a wry grin. “It’s getting pretty dark out. Are you sure you don’t want to play with yourself some more?”

“Stross…” Fenora breathed stiffly. “Go get dressed. We’ve got like ten outfits in the cart to choose from. Pick one and wear it!”

Stross chuckled, never losing that impish grin. “Sheesh, alright already. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re uncomfortable with your body.”

“Only when it’s being worn by someone else!” She countered as Stross went to Lydia and their cart of loot. Fenora was glad to see Stross being playful again, but she really wished he could have copied someone else.

The temptation was almost too great.

With her back turned and her feet firmly planted where they were, Fenora chanted over and over in her head, “I’m not going to stare at my own ass. I’m not going to stare at my own ass. I’m not going to stare at my own ass. I’m not going to-“

“Lydia! Your nose is bleeding!” Stross gasped behind her, and Fenora couldn’t help break out laughing.

Eventually they spotted the torchlight of guards standing watch over the main gate. Stross put his disguise up, and slipped into a fancy red tunic. He had to slice some holes in the back for his wings, and let them hang limp to fit under his cloak, but after a lot of struggling, he was finally ready to go.

Remarkably, the guards didn’t give them too much trouble.

Fenora protested handing over their weapons, but Stross talked her into it. After the incident where Ulfric murdered High King Torygg, no one but the city guards and soldiers were allowed to carry any kind of weapon with them, not even a knife, not even a frozen mackerel!

After making it inside the gates, they made their way through the darkened streets to an inn by the name of The Winking Skeever. That just had to be an innuendo for something.

Everyone but the inn’s nightkeeper was asleep at this hour. But all the same, they paid the man the usual ten septims and walked up to their room.

Now… it should be noted that the inns of Skyrim are all generally well kept. But Solitude always had to be a cut above in everything they did, fanciness and high society, all that jazz. That meant polished wood floors, the finest furniture, having those bottles of water that cost extra if you drink them (seriously, what’s up with that?). And of course…

*Whumph!*

Beds you could sink into for days.

“Aaaaaaahhhhh.” Fenora let out a contented sigh as she let the mattress swallow her.

“So,” Stross said, sitting next to her, “what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“You mean besides sleeping in ‘till noon?” Fenora asked with a laugh. “I guess we could visit the Bard’s Collage. So many traveling minstrels have told me about that place, I almost want to humor them and see what the fuss is about.”

“There’s also the Blue Palace, my thane. My cousin serves as a housecarl to the Queen. I’m sure she could take the time to give us a tour of the city.” Lydia told her as she stashed their loot inside a wardrobe. All of it. In one wardrobe.

“That sounds great. We’ll start there,” Fenora said with a yawn, “and figure out the rest as we go. So Stross, who’re you sleeping with tonight, me or Lydia?”

Fenora was expecting him to follow up on her obvious dirty joke, or at least get a blush out of him, but instead he just looked off in thought for a moment.

“Actually, I think I’ll take a little fly around outside the city. Changelings don’t need to sleep anyway.” He said before heading to the door.

“Stross, you alright?” Fenora already knew him well enough to know something was up, even when he tried to assure her otherwise.

“Just be careful out there, okay?” she told him, and he nodded. “Alright… I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Stross left them, and Lydia flopped into the bed next to hers. Fenora told herself not to worry. There were a lot of things she needed to talk with Stross about, not least of all finally confessing what happened at Bleak Falls. But that could all wait until morning.

With that thought in mind, Fenora closed her eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Author's Note

I mean come on, how much trouble can one little changeling get into in one night?
:pinkiecrazy:

Side-quests and Solidarity

“A new hand touches the beacon. Hear me and obey. A foul darkness has seeped into my temple, a darkness that you will destroy. This shall be the first of your trials.”

…

“Wolf Queen. Long have you slept the dreamless sleep of death, Potema. No longer. Hear our call and awaken. We summon Potema!”

…

“I’ve spent so long chasing this legend. I’m so close! The pieces were in my grasp. It can’t end here. …it just can’t…”

…

“NOOOOO! Make it stop! I don’t want to see this! Why are you showing me this?! It's not me! It can't be me!

"I don't remember... I swear I don't remember doing any of this!

"Oh Fen, why didn’t you tell me? I’m a monster."

Fenora woke with a start, a cold sweat soaking her clothes and matting strands of hair to her face. She took several seconds just to breathe, and try to stop her heart from beating out of her chest. She heard things in her sleep last night, things that made her toss and turn, but she couldn’t remember. The more she tried to recall them, the more they slipped away.

She shook her head. It was probably nothing.

“You’re up!”

Fenora turned to see Stross sitting at the small table in the corner of the room, giving her that smile she’d come to love.

She felt a small wave of relief when she heard his cheerful, chittering voice. For some reason she couldn’t justify, Fenora was afraid she’d wake up to find he wasn’t there anymore. It brought a hollow feeling in her gut just thinking about it.

It seemed silly to be afraid of something like that.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving.”

Fenora pushed aside her earlier thoughts and focused on the assortment of food Stross had brought her.

It was funny how food worked; most of the time you don’t even realize you’re hungry until it’s in front of you. In Fenora’s case, she hadn’t eaten anything since before they set off for Ustengrav, almost a full day ago. Something she set to rectify as she devoured her eggs and toast with the fervor of a starving wolf.

It wasn’t until she went to wash it down by guzzling a flagon of milk that she noticed Stross watching her with obvious amusement.

“Uh, y-yeah. Thanks for breakfast Stross.” Fenora said, wiping her face with a napkin to hide her embarrassment.

Stross chuckled and flashed a pointy grin. “Sure thing. You’re a riot Fen.”

“Speaking of riots, what did you get up to last night Stross?” Fenora asked, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, but deciding to play it safe. “Any people we owe money to, places we can’t go anymore?”

“Give me some credit Fen.” Stross feigned looking hurt. “It’s not like I unleashed the apocalypse last night. In fact, I think I made the world a little bit safer.”

“Oh?” Fenora raised a brow. “Do tell.”

…

It’s kinda funny how it all happened. I didn’t really plan to go anywhere when I left last night. I’ve been confused about a lot that’s happened lately, and I just wanted to get up somewhere calm and quiet to clear my head.

I started out just circling the area around the city for a while. It got pretty cold up there, but it was peaceful. The wind and clouds drifting past me as I flew, the moon casting its pale light on the ground below… I wish you had been there with me, it was nice.

I was able to think about my life back in Equestria, and how different it was. I thought about how many times I snuck into a new town with a new face, tried to find someone I could feed on… about how many times something went wrong and I had to run from the ponies I’d gotten close to, or sever our ties so they could be happy and safe.

Then I started thinking about everything I’ve done since I came to Skyrim: exploring dungeons and crypts, fighting bandits and monsters, helping save the world from dragons… meeting you. I thought about you a lot.

So when did your late-night heroing start?

When this giant beam of white light shot out of nowhere and nearly blinded me.

“AAH! Fallen’s grace, my corneas! My corneas are trying to burrow into my brain and kill me!” Stross screamed as he tried to right himself in mid-air.

“Cease thy pathetic flailing and come to me, mortal. Meridia beckons thee.”

Rubbing the spots from his eyes, Stross descended to the source of the light which now formed a radiant pillar towards the sky. He landed atop a great temple carved into base of a mountain, and poised at the very peak of it was a statue of a great winged woman casting the pillar of light towards the sky.

“There you are, foul unworldly life-drinker.” Merida said to Stross with a commanding and superior tone. “I know of your deeds. From the moment you arrived on Mundus you have harvested the souls of the living for your own nourishment, defiled that of my domain. Therefore you are obligated to offer aid in recompense.”

Stross winced at Meridia’s accusing tone, but stepped forward regardless. “S-sorry. I don’t like feeding off of others, but… it’s just what my kind have to do.” he apologized. “I’ll help if it makes things better. What do you need?”

“As indeed you shall. Look at my temple, lying in ruins. So much for the constancy of mortals, their crafts and their hearts. If they love me not, how can my love reach them?” Meridia asked rhetorically. “It is time for my splendor to return to Skyrim. But the token of my truth lies buried in the ruins of my once great temple, now tainted and blah… blah blah blah, blah blah blah-“

So, I learned Meridia likes to talk about how great she is, but eventually she got to the point. See, this ‘petty feud between us mortals’ as she calls it, has taken so many lives that the halls of the dead couldn’t hold them all, so the soldiers’ bodies were brought to her temple so they could be given their last rights and prepared for burial.

Problem was, this necromancer named Malkoran had other plans. He locked himself inside her temple, and was harvesting the souls of those dead soldiers to make himself unstoppably powerful.

…

Stross paused in the middle of the story, fingers gripping the edges of his tunic. “It was horrible Fen. There were bodies lying everywhere, and every room was filled with this wierd black fog. It was so thick I could barely breathe. But that wasn’t the worst part,” he said with a quiver in his voice.

…

Stross covered his mouth, trying to keep his breathing shallow as he quickly trekked through room after crumbling room. The smell of the fog made him retch, and he didn’t want to spend any more time in here than he needed to.

Meridia’s light shone in from above, reflecting off a network of giant glass orbs to guide the way and unlock the doors leading deeper in. It was also the only source of light in the temple, as every torch and brazier was snuffed by that deathly fog, as was every flame Stross attempted to light.

The dark proved to be hazardous as well; more than once he’d tripped over the body of a soldier, still clothed in their bloodstained armor. Imperial and Stormcloak alike were kept here for burial, but now they lay desecrated and abandoned on the cold stone.

Other than a few tripping hazards, resistance had been non-existent. That is until Stross got fairly deep inside, and he first saw them. At first they looked like nothing more than a thick patch of shadow, until they swarmed together with swords and axes and hammers. The figures were like shadows of men, silhouettes with glowing red eyes that burned brightly as they attacked each other.

Their blades rang out as steel parried steel, but passed through their spectral forms as though they were made of air. Yet they kept attacking, each futilely trying to destroy the others.

Stross slipped into his changeling vision… and what he saw horrified him.

I… I’ve seen ponies die before, Fenora. I’ve seen their souls flicker and fade away. I’ve even seen how my kind’s feeding makes them weaker while they’re alive.

But until last night, I’ve never seen a soul that had been so… mutilated. It was like looking at an animal that had been broken, skinned and gutted, but was somehow still alive.

…

“I could feel them Fenora. I could see it in them.” Stross said with a shudder, “There was no thought, no reason. There was only anger and pain. It was all they had left in them. Everything else was just… missing.”

“But you found the necromancer who was making them like that. And I’m also guessing you killed him for it, right?” Fenora asked.

“Well, not exactly.” Stross said, which made her frown. “I mean he is dead now… But...”

…

Malkoran stood at a makeshift altar deep in the Kilkreath temple, his focus on a ritual circle surrounded at the ends with soul gems. The body in the center slowly decayed as the life essence was sucked out of it. The gems started to glow with energy until there was no more to take. Then, like the others, a black smoke rose from the remains, coalescing into yet another vengeful spirit.

Suddenly the doors flew open, accompanied by panicked yell.

“Get away, get away! Too spooky five me!”

I finally found him after running past like a million of those shades. He was using some kind of staff to keep them from attacking him, which I found out through my amazing skills of perception, and quickly found a way to destroy.

“Who are- Gah! Get off me you fool!” Malkoran shouted as Stross grabbed him and shoved him towards the ghosts like a shield.

“Make them go away!” Stross cried.

“I said get off!” the necromancer roared and whacked Stross over the head with his staff.

*Snap*

“Ah..? Uh oh.” Malkoran mouthed he realized his mistake.

The shades approached on all sides. Stross could only scramble to a safe distance and watch in horror as the necromancer was brutally hacked apart by his own creations. After what Malkoran had done to them, Stross could hardly feel bad, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch.

With the ending of their master’s life, the magic keeping the shades tethered to the world of the living was undone, and they faded away, finally at peace.

"Is it over yet?" Stross asked the empty room.

…

“And then Meridia said I did such a good job, that I’d be her champion. She gave me a magic sparkly sword, and said to go out and put the living dead to rest wherever I found them!” Stross finished proudly.

“You mean Dawnbreaker.” Fenora realized. She sat back, quite impressed with her little changeling. “They say it was forged from a drop of sunlight that fell from Aetherius into Meridia’s realm. The last time anyone saw it was during the Planemeld, when the Fighters’ Guild faced off against the forces of Molag Bal! So… where is it now?”

Stross shrunk back in his seat. “Well… I had to give it to the guards at the gate before they’d let me back in the city.”

Fenora gave him a flat stare. “Meridia, Daedric Prince of life energies makes you her champion and gives you a legendary sword, and you hand it over to some random shmuck in a uniform. Way to go Stross. Gold star.” she said with a semi-sarcastic eye roll. She knew he couldn’t get back in the city with it on him, but giving up something like that for even a moment? Her father would have fainted at the thought.

“Well I sure put it to good use last night.” Stross said proudly, “Meridia had me go to like a dozen different caves and tombs to make sure all the dead people were… y’know, dead. Honestly, I had no idea there were so many necromancers in Skyrim; Princess Celestia would have a migraine from all the dark magic being used around here.”

Fenora shrugged. “Ehh… most people will do anything to be rich or famous, no matter how wrong it is. That just means whoever stops them gets paid more. You remembered to search their corpses for treasure, right?”

“I checked, but most of them just had robes and daggers on them.”

“Figures.” Fenora muttered, “Stupid wizard bandits. Someone needs to tell the criminals around here to carry better loot.”

“Tell me about it. I found more treasure on a pack of wolves that tried to eat me.”

Fenora and Stross shared a knowing glance at each other before bursting into giggles.

“Although… I did manage to find something neat during all that undead smiting.” Stross said, pulling out an ancient-looking amulet on a long piece of string. “Presenting the amulet of the Gauldur, the forgotten Archmage.”

“Who?” Fenora gave him a puzzled look.

“Uh, hang on here.” Stross started digging through a pile of books until he found the two he was looking for, one called Lost Legends, the other a battered old journal. “So. Remember back in Ivarstead when I found Narfi’s dead sister Reyda? Well there was also a dead adventurer in that cave who was looking for a piece of the Gauldur’s amulet, the same one I found when Reyda and I defeated Sigdis.

“An old elf named Daynas Valen hired three adventurers to help him search for the amulet; it’s all in this journal. While I was clearing tombs, I happened upon Daynas and the other two. Only… they were already dead.” Stross admitted sadly. “From the notes in the journal, one of them went to Saarthal up near Winterhold, and barely got out alive with his piece. They were looking for the final bit in a tomb just south of Solitude, but they got ambushed by draugr and didn’t make it.

“I was already there to slay the undead in that tomb for Meridia, so I figured I’d finish their quest for them. Daynas spent his whole life searching for this thing after all.”

Fenora picked up the cracked amulet and ran her fingers over the shallow engravings. “A lifetime of searching for this thing, huh?” She turned it over. “Why does it look like it’s held together with resin?”

“Oh. I couldn’t get the pieces to fit back together, so I fixed it with changeling spit.” Stross told her.

“Eww.” Fenora held it at arm’s length.

“The book said Gauldur got a lot of his power from his amulet, and I thought it would make a nice gift. But it must be broken- er… more than it is already, because it doesn’t seem to do anything.” Stross admitted sadly.

Fenora patted him on the shoulder anyway. “Well, maybe we can find someone that can fix it. Or we could sell it to a collector for a bunch of gold. Some people are crazy about ancient artifacts. So thanks. You do the craziest stuff when I'm not around.”

Fenora pocketed the amulet and went to finish the last bits of her toast, but noticed Stross had gone oddly quiet.

“You okay Stross?” she asked.

The heavy sigh and the look in his eyes told her that he wasn’t.

“Fenora…” his voice was barely a whisper, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Fenora felt a knot in the back of her throat. “Tell you what?” she asked, hoping Stross was referring to something else, though the lilt in her voice betrayed what she already knew.

Stross looked at her, the betrayal evident in his eyes as he spoke those three words. “Bleak Falls Barrow.”

This wasn’t how Fenora wanted to do this. She had planned on telling him today, with nothing in the way and nothing trying to kill them. She desperately wanted to get it off her chest in fact. But Stross had taken her off guard just now. She wanted to be the one to bring it up, like getting the first strike in a battle. Now she was on the defensive, and that wasn’t her forte.

“Fenora… I killed all those people. I almost killed you! You knew what I did this whole time, and you never even bothered to mention it.”

“Stross I-“ Fenora began, but Stross interrupted her.

“It was Meridia that finally told me what happened about it. An angry goddess had to tell me the truth, instead of the one person in Skyrim I thought I could trust. She never stopped accusing me of being a soul-eating monster no matter how I tried to say I was sorry. When I tried to explain how I feed, she called me a liar and showed me what happened at the Barrow. At first I didn’t want to believe her, I thought she was trying to trick me somehow.

“...It really happened though, didn't it?”

He was asking her. For a fleeting moment Fenora thought of telling him it was all a lie. She could keep up the charade forever if it meant Stross was happy.

But that wasn't right.

“Yeah. That really happened. I wasn't there for most of it, but I saw what was left over. When I saw you like that... I thought you were gone for good.” Fenora told him. “I guess you know how you got that sword stuck in you, huh?”

Stross tried to squeeze his eyes shut before the tears started, but a few leaked out anyway. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice sounded strangled and weak.

“Stross, I’m sorry.” Fenora reached out to him, but he flinched away. “What was I supposed to say? What would have made it alright?”

Fenora already thought of several things: Those bandits were horrible thieving murderers that deserved whatever they got; Stross probably saved a lot of lives because he killed them; by eating their souls Stross became more powerful than ever, and that let him protect all of Whiterun when the first dragon attacked.

But while those seemed like perfectly valid reasons to her, she knew that Stross wouldn’t agree. For him, the 'ifs' and 'whys' didn't matter. That tale of changelings that always ate the souls of their victims came to mind, along with his adamant hate for anything so evil. It was why she’d kept his own soul-eating a secret from him, dreading his reaction if he ever learned what he did.

“I wanted to tell you.” Fenora told him sincerely, “I was going to, but it was never a good time. We were always fighting or traveling, or dealing with some kind of problem. I was afraid of what you’d do. I couldn’t risk making you depressed or… angry.”

Stross said nothing. She hoped that meant he saw her point.

“I know you’re upset, but we have some time to ourselves today. Are you going to be alright?”

“What do you think?” Stross whimpered.

Fenora frowned, then scooted out of her chair and circled around the table. “It’s not your fault you know.” she said while opening her arms to hug him.

The speed Stross stood up from his chair was startling. “How can you say that?!” he demanded. “How exactly is it not my fault?!”

“You were starving, Stross. You had to eat. That’s what your kind does, isn’t it?”

Stross’s eyes hardened. “Yeah. It’s what my kind does. It’s why everyone in Equestria is terrified of us.” He said bitterly before looking at Fenora again. This time his expression softened back to quiet remorse. “Fenora… I wanted to say goodbye.”

Fenora tensed. “What?” That hollow feeling in her gut returned. Surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant.

“I wasn't sure at first, but now..." he shifted, unsure of how to proceed. "Please don't bother looking for me after this. I'm going to go somewhere where I can't hurt anyone.” Stross said, his voice cracking. “You can keep Dawnbreaker, and the amulet. Think of it as a parting gift, a thank-you for everything you've done-“

“No!” Fenora shook her head and grabbed him, glaring into his empty blue eyes. “You stop this stupidness right now, Stross! I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn't want to see you hurt, and this doesn't mean you have to leave! I promise I won't lie to you like this again!” her eyes started to tear up. "...Please don't leave."

Stross shook his head and gently removed her hands from his shoulders. “It’s not you Fenora. You did more for me than anypony I ever knew back in Equestria. You saw what I was and still gave me a chance, and that means more to me than you can ever know. But now I know that you shouldn’t have. Changelings like me don’t deserve love or trust. I’m too dangerous to be around. What happened at the Barrow happened because I was almost dead from starvation, and if it happens again-”

“It won’t.” Fenora assured him. “We’ll keep you nice and fed so you won’t ever lose yourself again.”

“Fenora I-” Stross began, but faltered. “At the rate I use magic, I couldn’t survive on just you and Lydia. And I really don’t want to eat any more souls. I don’t think I could take it. I’m either borderline useless, or a soul-eating monster.” He sighed, “You’re better off without me.”

*SMACK!*

Fenora slapped him. Hard.

“Shut. Up.” Fenora said through tears and gritted teeth. “Do you have any idea how much I need you? Did you lose count of how many times I’d have died without you?! Because I sure did!”

“F-Fenora… I might be the thing that ends up killing you.” Stross told her. “Aren’t you worried about that?”

“A little, maybe.” Fenora admitted. “Truth is I barely even think about it, and even then I don’t care. I love you Stross! Truly I do.”

Stross’s eyes went wide and he tried to speak, but Fenora pressed a finger to his lips before he could.

“Shut up and listen to me, you stupid, annoying, caring… wonderful little bug.” Fenora shuddered, “I don’t care what you did when you were out of your mind, or what your kind does to survive. I don’t care what the risks are or what I have to do to keep you around. I already sacrificed half of my soul to revive you, and even that I’m completely fine with. I love you Stross... and I don't want you to go.”

Fenora moved her finger from his mouth to cup his chin. In a swift, fluid motion she pressed her lips against his, and didn’t let him break away until her point fully sunk in.

When they finally parted, Fenora’s gaze pierced into Stross’s soul with a stubborn determination that only love could bring.

“Okay?” she asked.

Stross’s mouth quivered, and he wrapped her with both his arms and wings as tightly as he could. He burrowed his head under Fenora’s neck and felt her warmth fill him up as she returned the embrace.

“Okay…” He said and heaved a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

Lazy life in the city

Author's Note

Happy New Year everyone! I'm alive and so is this story!

I know it's been a while since I last updated, but from here on I'll try to keep a consistent update schedule: one chapter every 7-10 days (More or less. Don't hold me to this. I'm doing my the best I can!)

Lazy life in the city

Stross followed Fenora to the door of the Winking Skeever. Though he had sought to clear his head last night, he now had more on his mind than ever.

Stross didn’t think he’d ever feel clean again, and he’d certainly never be able to think he was better than the rest of his kind, the ones that mercilessly siphoned their victims without remorse. He had already cried himself dry over his actions, and he was done sulking for now, but it still weighed heavily on him.

Living in Equestria was never exactly easy for him, considering what what he had to do to blend in. But his time in Skyrim was faster and harder than anything he'd ever experienced... always running into constant danger, being forced to exert himself… pushing his magic to the limits. Until he came to Skyrim he’d never been so close to death that he went feral. Not even once.

He couldn’t sustain himself at this rate, no matter what Fenora promised him.

Then there was the matter of Fenora keeping his deed a secret from him. It felt horrible to know that she had lied to him, almost as if their roles were reversed, like she was the changeling with a dark secret, and he was the foolishly trusting pony.

Yet on the other hoof… it was oddly comforting. Fenora knew how upset he would be if he found out, and she feared what would happen if he did. She covered up his act of wanton slaughter to spare his feelings, because she valued his company… his friendship. It was the kind of lie that always made Stross uncomfortable, yet it was still meaningful. How many times had he hid the truth to protect someone he cared about?

Fenora said she loved him, and unsteady as he was, Stross loved her back. More than that though, Fenora trusted him, wanted him. Stross felt he could forgive her at least, and continue to trust her in return.

He decided to think on it more later, setting his mind on their immediate goal instead. This made it easier to move forward.

Lydia was waiting for them at the Blue Palace, meeting with her cousin and preparing to show them the sights of Solitude. A guided tour of the city and a day to take a break from saving the world sounded pretty nice right now.

With his disguise in place, Stross stepped thought the door and onto the streets of Solitude, hand in hand with Fenora and ready for whatever the day had in store for them.

*CHOP!*

Stross looked up just in time to see a man get decapitated in front of a large crowd. The white of the bone was facing him from the gaping neck-stump, and a wayward spurt of blood gushed from the open wound.

“Oh, yeah. ‘Cus that’s what I want to see right after breakfast.” Fenora groaned, averting her eyes from the scene. “Fuckin’ Skyrim.”

“I-… he-… B-but…” Stross sputtered incoherently as a pair of soldiers picked up his body and dragged it off the stage. “Wha…”

Seeing her changeling in distress, Fenora pulled him closer and gave him a reassuring pat. “Hey, it’s alright. Public executions are nothing new. I’m sure they had a good reason. Hey buddy!” she pulled a nearby man aside as he walked away from the event. “What’d that guy do?”

He was a tall bearded man who wore a thick, soot-covered apron; he was a blacksmith most likely. He snorted at the question. “Caught the tail end of that, did ya? That there was old Roggvir, one of the city guards. He let Ulfric Stromcloak escape the city the day he murdered Torygg. Ulfric could have been stopped then and there, but ‘cause of Roggvir he got away, and the war got to where it’s at now. Least he’s not our problem no more.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish I says.” An old woman spat in passing.

“Ulfric huh? Figures.” Fenora said with a bite in her voice. She supposed they’d been lucky to not get caught up in any civil war nonsense so far, barring the time they got captured and brought to Helgen. She felt the urge to punch something whenever she heard about Ulfric’s shenanigans.

You would think the news of a dragon apocalypse would put the war on hold.

“Did he really have to die though?” Stross asked. “Couldn’t they have… I dunno, just locked him up, or exiled him? Or locked him up in the place they exiled him to?”

“Rumor has it, that was Queen Elisif’s original plan. But they didn’t want to risk Roggvir leaving to join the Stormcloaks when they let him go. Either way, it don’t matter now, and I got too much forgin’ to do to worry ‘bout it.” the smith said before walking off. “Be sure to stop by my shop if you need arms or armor.”

The crowd from before had nearly dispersed, people going about their daily lives and acting as though they hadn’t watched a man lose his head. To Stross, it was uncanny how at ease they were after watching someone die like that.

Fenora wasn’t slow to pick up on this either.

“I’m guessing executions aren’t a public spectacle where you’re from?”

“They don’t have executions of any kind in Equestria.” Stross told her.

“You’re kidding.” Fenora balked. There had to be something they did, possibly something worse than death. “Then how do they punish their criminals? What happens when someone breaks the law there?”

“They’re reformed, befriended, given another chance. Worst comes to it, they lock them away in magical time-out. It's not easy and it doesn't always work out well, but they never just... kill them.”

Fenora looked off into the distance, above the rooftops and towards the sky. She didn’t know whether to snicker or frown. A place where no one is killed for their crimes? A place where even the worst of the worst are given a second chance?

"Equestria sounds almost too good to be real. But wait-“ Fenora wondered. “If that’s the case, then how come changelings like you are still hated? Where’s your second chance?”

Stross’s answer was a simple one. “We haven’t earned it yet. Imagine more of what you saw in Bleak Falls, a lot more. Do you really think we’re worth befriending?” he asked.

“Yes. I do.” she said with certainty. “Maybe one day you can take me there and I can help you prove it. But until then, Skyrim isn't going to save itself. So let's get to the Blue Palace already."

Stross nodded, and they started on their way.

But it seemed their conversation hadn’t gone unheard.

“If you’re going to the Blue Palace, you might want to rethink that outfit.” A voice commented in a tone even the Canterlot elite would consider snobbish.

The two looked over at who’d spoken, an Altmer in a fine silk outfit by the name of Taarie. She looked at both of them with her face screwed up into a perpetual sneer.

Fenora quickly checked the shirt and pants she was wearing. They were a tiny bit singed from the fight with Yolos, and a bit sweaty from all the walking. But she didn’t see anything terribly wrong with them. It’s wasn’t like she was wearing Stromcloak armor.

“Why? Is there some kind of dress code?”

Taarie scoffed, looking distraught at the very idea. “Is there a- There are no dress codes in life dear, only standards. And you could certainly hold yourself to a higher one. I simply cannot allow you to enter Queen Elisif’s court dressed like that. Come.”

Fenora and Stross watched as she turned on her heel and briskly walked away.

“Well hurry up then! Don’t dawdle!” she called over her shoulder with clear annoyance.

“We should just keep walking.” Fenora said, wrinkling her nose. “I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to hoity.”

“I don’t know Fen,” Stross said as he shut down his changeling vision, “She seemed pretty genuine under all that unfiltered disgust. Besides, we might get some cool stuff!”

Fenora thought about it and shrugged. That was good enough for her.

Fenora wished she wasn’t so greedy when it came to getting new stuff. Finding a shiny set of armor in a dungeon chest was one thing… this was quite another.

“Do stop squirming. Honestly.” Taarie’s sister Endarie ordered while she made a few painful adjustments to the stupidly ornate dress they were fitting her with. “Hold one moment, I must find a different colored cape, something that might possibly compliment that garish silver hair of yours.”

Both Taarie and Endarie were Altmer, High Elves and sisters that ran a clothing store together: Radiant Raiment. Together they made extremely elegant and extremely expensive clothes for the nobles of the Queen’s court.

If only their personalities had the same beauty they put into their outfits.

Somehow Endarie was even more obtuse than her sister. From the second she arrived at their shop, Fenora had been hit with one backhanded insult after another. By the way the sisters talked, it seemed almost a hindrance to create the outfit, even though Taarie insisted upon it.

Endarie returned with a dark green cloth that she draped around Fenora’s shoulders to form the finishing touches on the cloak, pinning it in place with a look of supreme concentration.

Away from the grunts of discomfort and orders to hold still, Stross waited in the front of the store, deciding against his better judgement to make some idle chat with Taarie.

“This is a pretty nice shop you have here.” he began with the most neutral comment he could think of besides ‘how’s the weather’.

Taarie scoffed. “This squalid excuse for a shop is all we can afford, the way those damn nobles keep driving up the rent to fund their ridiculous war effort.” she said with a frown and a palpable feeling of distain. “This is no place for us to work in when we’re forced to make ends meet.”

Stross got a strong sense of irony as he glanced around the room, at the shelves of pristine wood littered with gems and expensive fabrics.

“I guess the war has taken its toll on everyone.” Stross said as sympathetically as he could.

“More like the nobles have taken their toll on everyone.” Taarie muttered, “And yet they still expect us to provide them with clothing fit for their ‘stature’. Hah! Endarie’s right to call them pigs… though I wish she’d stop doing it while they’re in earshot.”

“It’s finished sister. I’ve done what I could with her.” Endarie announced before swiftly departing back to her sewing room.

Stross let out a quick whistle as Fenora stepped out.

It was a decently long garment; the hem just barely touched the tops of Fenora’s feet, while the cape covering her left shoulder reached just past her waist. Endarie had used a bright green fabric for both, with a deep brown leather for the belts and laces. Overall the outfit was decently thick, but was tailored tight enough that it didn’t hide the curves of Fenora’s waist and hips. And those gold highlights laced throughout really tied everything together.

Rotten attitudes aside, the Altmer sisters knew their stuff.

“You look beautiful Fenora.”

Fenora blushed. It was nice to hear a genuine compliment after all of Endarie’s chatter.

“So, how much is this going to cost?” she asked Taarie with a bit of apprehension. Surely it was going to be a lot.

Taarie smiled devilishly. “Normally an outfit of this caliber would cost several hundred septims at least, far beyond your price range I’d imagine.”

Fenora felt her jaw drop. She knew she had that much… maybe. But she sure as heck wasn’t going to spend it all on one dress, especially one she couldn’t fight in.

“However…” Taarie said, her smile growing wider. “I do have a business to run, and commissions have been rather scarce lately. So if Queen Elisif were to see our work… and was convinced to order one of our dresses for herself, well… who knows how many would follow suit? Pun intended.”

Fenora let out a sigh. “If you wanted me to be a walking advertisement, you could have just asked. Sure, I’ll do it.”

“Excellent!” Taarie clapped her hands together, with the first genuine smile they’d seen on her face. “Hurry along now. And be sure to stop by Radiant Raiment again if you need a new look!”

Fenora looked to Stross as they left, shaking her head and giving a thumbs down.

After walking through the cobblestone streets of Solitude, with its high-roofed houses, exquisite architecture, and sturdy stone walls, Stross and Fenora finally made it to the Blue Palace.

Amazingly, Fenora only tripped and fell on her face once, cursing the length of Taarie’s dress.

The Palace itself was a giant stone castle comprised of two large wings jutting out from the central building. The roofs were covered in deep blue tile, thus living up to its namesake. But the first thing either Fen or Stross noticed was the number of guards present in the courtyard. In total there must have been fourteen of them, plus any number more inside.

It only stood to reason that after Ulfric’s act of regicide there would be cause for additional security, to keep the Queen safe and secure from any further acts of treason.

The one thing they didn’t see was Lydia.

“She never told us where in the palace to meet her.” Fenora realized. “I guess she’s inside waiting for us.”

“Halt!”

As soon as the shout was heard, so too was the unsheathing of a half dozen swords as the two of them were surrounded.

“AAH, They’re pulling weapons on us Fen!” Stross shrieked as he clung tightly to her back.

“I haven’t seen either of you around here before. No one is allowed within the palace except on official business.” A guard quickly informed them. “State your names and purpose immediately!”

“Alright, take it easy. I’m Fenora Tandis, this is my companion Stross. My houscarl Lydia has a cousin that works in the palace, we were supposed to meet them here. Also I’m supposed to show off this outfit to the Queen so she’ll want to buy one.”

“Very concise Fen. Little more than he needed to know, but very concise.” Stross whispered.

The guard looked over the both of them carefully, not lowering his weapon an inch. “A likely story.”

“Probably because it’s true. We were going to get a tour around the city.”

“Do you think I was born yesterday? You’re not fooling anyone with your ridiculous story.” the guard continued obstinately, flecks of spit spraying out his visor. “It sounds to me like you’re meeting up with your accomplices so they can take you around to spy on us, before you assassinate the Queen!”

Fenora made a low growl in the back of her throat. Fenora could handle Skyrim’s incompetent guards, but she was quickly learning to hate Skyrim’s paranoid ones.

“Who’s making up ridiculous stories now!?” Fenora shot back. She felt Stross tug back on her shoulder, and she reigned herself in with a tense inhale. “Look, could one of you just go in and tell Lydia we’ve arrived? Don’t worry, we’ll wait right here ‘till you get back.”

Fenora felt Stross’s fingers grip her shoulder tightly. He was nervous.

The guard stared at her through his visor. Fenora stared back, unblinking.

No one around noticed the slight glow near Stross’s forehead, nor the inaudible words he muttered. “You don’t have time to leave your post and deal with us. You should let us go in and look for ourselves.”

“I don’t have time to leave my post. Go in and look for them yourself.” the guard monotoned before stepping aside.

The rest of the guards followed suit after him, and our heroes walked in.

Stross let out a sigh of relief as the doors shut behind them, blocking the guards outside.

Just as quickly though, a grin spread across his face. “Hee heeee… I can’t believe that worked! I’m like a Jedi!” Stross cackled inwardly at his awesomeness.

The inside of the Blue Palace was feeling more cramped than one would think, partially due to the decorative plants filling the corners, partially due to the half dozen guards standing stoically at attention… but mostly due to the huge crowd of people occupying the throne room.

People young and old, merchants and nobles, soldiers and bakers. All of them were clamoring for the attention of the Queen. Every person present knew for sure that their problems took priority, and were more than willing to shove others out of the way, raising their voices above the rest in order to be heard. The Queen’s bodyguards and advisors had abandoned setting them into an orderly line, and had fallen back on simply keeping them at a respectable distance. Even that was failing.

Through the commotion, from the very back of the mosh-pit, Stross made eye-contact with Elisif the Fair for the very first time. Even without his changeling senses, her exhaustion and worry was plain to see. Stross had never met Elisif before now, barely knew a thing about her. Yet in this moment she looked less like the ruler of a nation, and more like a scared little girl who wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and hide.

“Gods, they try and keep us out, but they let these people inside?” Fenora gestured to the unruly crowd.

“ENOUGH!”

The voice boomed loud enough to silence the mob for a few precious seconds.

A tall, imposing man with steely eyes and a bushy red beard stepped before them all. “This kind of behavior will not be tolerated in Jarl Elisif’s court! If you cannot conduct yourselves in an orderly manner, your matters will not be addressed! Is that clear?”

This managed to bring the crowd down to a simmer, with only a scant few disgruntled mutterings before order was allowed to resume.

The man, Falk Firebeard, placed his hands on his hips and called forth the first person seemingly at random, and gave them a chance to speak.

It took quite a while before everyone had said their piece, was told their issue would be addressed in due time, and sent on their way with a few generic words of assurance. But while Fenora was simply standing by and fighting boredom, Stross was paying careful attention to what was being said, noting which class of people had the most grievances and how the peoples’ opinion of the Queen was faring.

To sum it up simply, everyone was discontent, and almost always due to the war. Merchants and farmers were being overworked and underpaid, having to fill enormous quotas of supplies for the war effort. Meanwhile the nobles weren’t faring much better, chaffing under the higher taxes on their trade companies so much that they were losing profit.

Stross could feel their frustrations. It was no wonder they hated Ulfric and his rebels; even in the city, far from the battle, his war was actively ruining their lives.

Aside from the norm, there were a few complaints about strange noises in the night, and reports of necromancers attacking travelers. Stross felt a bit better in knowing he had helped in his own way, but he knew it would take more than a few side-quests to end the war and get things back to normal for these people.

Surprisingly enough though, only one old man brought up the possibility of a dragon attack, and he was dismissed even quicker than the rest. It happened so fast that Stross couldn’t get a read on the steward or the rest before the next issue was brought up.

It was odd. Stross thought the dragons would have been everyone’s number one concern.

“Who’s next? Step up!”

Stross snapped his attention back to the present when he realized they were talking about him.

Fenora was quicker on the draw and stepped before the queen, dropping to a knee in a respectful bow. Stross hurried to follow suit as she introduced herself. “Greetings your majesty, I’m Fenora, and this is my companion Stross. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Stross couldn’t help taking a sideways glance at his friend. From what he’d seen of the elf so far, he honestly expected her to greet Elisif with a casual ‘Ey, what’s up queenie?’. But every part of her greeting was practically flawless!

“Where did this come from?” he thought. Then he noticed the slight tremble in her rigid kneeling form, and it all clicked. Fenora was probably practicing that in her head since they arrived.

Queen Elisif let out a tiny gasp and stood up from her throne. “Are you really Fenora Tandis, the dragonborn hero?”

Fenora and Stross shared a quick glance.

“Um, yeah. That’s me.”

Elisif let out a squeal of excitement. “Oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you! They tell me you defended Whiterun from a dozen dragons all by yourself, that you’re strong enough to carry four times your weight in cheese wheels, and that you can defeat a hundred men using only your fists! Is any of that true?”

Fenora recoiled a bit, unsure what to do when the Queen of Skyrim was bouncing up and down like an excited schoolgirl mere inches from her face. She was expecting her to be more... Queen-ish. Meanwhile Stross was just as confused, but having to stifle his giggles instead.

“L-lady Elisif please, a bit of tact?” the pale-faced court wizard reprimanded her, having been the first to recover from her outburst.

Elisif cleared her throat and straightened herself. “Ah, yes of course. It is a pleasure to meet you as well dragonbor-“

Her regained composure didn’t last long.

“Oh my gosh, I love your dress!” she said, running her fingers across one of Fenora’s sleeves. “Where’d you get it?”

“From… Radiant Raiment, here in the city.” Fenora answered awkwardly, “But those sisters were kind of-“

The rest of Fenora’s sentence was drowned out as Elisif told her Steward to commission three new dresses from Taarie and her sister, each in a different color.

“Uh hey, listen your majesty… it’s been great meeting you, but we were hoping you could help us find someone.” Fenora said, finally slipping out of Elisif’s grasp. “My housecarl Lydia has a cousin that works here in the Blue Palace. We were supposed to meet here so we could tour the city together.”

“My thane!” came a familiar voice.

“Huh, speak of the daedra.” Fenora said, turning to face her housecarl as she came running up the stairs to greet them.

“Your majesty, everyone…” Lydia said with a bow to Elisif and her court. “I apologize for not meeting you sooner, my thanes. Jordis and I decided to look for you and ended up getting lost.”

“Who?” Stross asked.

As soon as he did another woman in plate armor climbed the stairs to join them. If it weren’t for her slightly longer strawberry-blonde hair, and the calmer, more experienced look in her eyes, Stross could have sworn he was seeing double.

“My thanes, this is my cousin Jordis, the sword maiden.” Lydia introduced her.

Then the two threw an arm around each other’s shoulder and spoke in perfect unison with matching smiles, “We’re related!”

“Oh dear gods, there’s two of them.” Fenora said blankly. “I guess this means we can stop wasting your time now, your majesty. It was a pleasure to meet you.” She then made a quick bow and turned to leave.

“W-wait dragonborn! Please…” Elisif called before she could. “After you’ve finished seeing everything our fair city has to offer, I insist you join us back at the Blue Palace for supper. I have so many things I wish to ask you.”

Fenora was conflicted about objecting. On the one hand she wanted to spend that night getting ready for whatever Delphine was planning, but on the other there was free food, and with royalty nonetheless.

“We’d be honored to join you your highness. Thank you.” Stross answered before she could debate further.

Elisif smiled happily and returned to her throne, and our party of four descended the carpeted steps to leave.

As Fenora was reaching for the door, it suddenly burst open in her face and an old man rushed into the throne room with a music scroll clutched in his fist.

“Queen Elisif! Please hear my newest rendition of The Burning of King Olaf! I’ve made a number of alterations that I’m sure will change your mind about the festival!” he cried as the commotion in court started once again.

Stross looked over his shoulder one less time, seeing Elisif’s expression become tired once more.

“A Queen’s work is never over.” He thought as they left.

“Lydia’s been telling me all about the adventure’s the three of you have been on.” Jordis giggled as she led them out of the blue Palace and through the streets of Solitude. “You’re going to love Solitude! What would you like to see first?”

“I dunno,” Fenora shrugged, “Just take us wherever you feel like.”

Jordis faltered for a moment, but quickly gained a burst of confidence from being given the reigns. “Alright then, follow me!”

“She sure is bubbly.” Stross noted trying to keep pace with their guide.

Lydia smiled as she caught up to them. “Jordis is my favorite cousin. We loved to play together when we were little. She saw me all the way through my training to be a housecarl, even after she dropped out.”

Stross threw a questioning look. “Dropped out?”

Lydia nodded. “Mm-hm. I think she was never comfortable serving someone else.” she watched Jordis walking ahead with a spring in her step. “I believe she’s always longed for something else.”

“What about you Lydia?” Stross asked, wondering what secret aspirations she could be holding on to.

Lydia just gave him a friendly smile in return. “I am your sword and your shield, my thane.”

The first stop was a giant fortress of stone known as Castle Dour, home of the Imperial Legion, and residence of the Emperor… when he was visiting Skyrim at least.

As Jordis led them through, telling them of Castle Dour’s history and purpose, most of her words were drowned out by a series of sharp battlecries and the sound of steel hitting steel.

A large group of fresh-faced recruits, at least twenty men and women dressed in imperial leather, were squaring off in pairs. Wielding swords with purposefully blunted blades, they swung at each other with the ferocity of a storm… and about the same amount of grace.

“Wow, these guys could give the Royal Guards in Equestria a run for their bits.” Stross thought as he observed them from a safe distance.

Meanwhile a man in officer’s platemail walked among those sparring. He was a giant of a man with rippling muscle and broad shoulders, and battlescars covering much of his face. He was a veteran to the ways of combat, and he was sure to pass on his knowledge to every soldier present, chastising the recruits for every flaw in their technique.

“Captain Aldis!” Jordis called over, “Giving the new recruits their ritual hazing I see.”

“New?! These salmonlegs have been here nearly a month, and still don’t know their way around a sword.” Aldis barked so that all the soldiers could hear him. As he approached them though, his face took on a worried look, and he spoke in a much quieter tone. “I don’t know if they’re going to be ready when we need them, not at the rate we’re losing our veteran forces. They’re hardly suitable replacements.”

“They seem to be improving though. I know you can whip them into shape.” Jordis gave him a soft jab to his thickly muscled arm.

Aldis looked back at the soldiers in training. “Aye, but it’ll take some time yet. We need more promising recruits, not farmers and young upstarts that think they can take on the world.” he shook his head, “Ah, but now I’m dragging you into my problems again. Who are these fine people you’ve brought along with you today? ‘Fraid the Keep is off limits as usual while General Tullius holds a war conference.”

“This is Fenora Tandis, the dragonborn that saved Whiterun from that dragon attack, along with her companions Lydia and Stross.” Jordis introduced them all, leaving Aldis wide-eyed.

The Captain brought a hand to his forehead. “Y’mean that actually happened? Gods… I thought that was just a rumor. First Stormcloaks, and now bloody dragons.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Stross cut in, “Fen’s the dragonborn. She’s pretty much a dragon-slaying machine! And I'm here to help. We’re working a plan to get rid of those nasty winged lizards for good. You just worry about fighting the Stormcloaks.”

“Really? Well that’s good to hear. I guess I should leave you to it and get back to training these slackers.” Aldis said, nearly breathing a sigh of relief as he got back to the recruits. “Block with the flat of the blade, else you’ll nick the edge!”

Jordis decided to lead them through the shopping district next, and Stross made to follow, but felt an unmistakable tension behind him as he did.

He looked back to see Fenora lagging. “What’s wrong Fen?”

“You sure have a lot of confidence in me.”

Stross blinked. “Well, yeah. No one else in the world is destined to defeat Alduin and his army. Of course I believe in you!”

Fenora grit her teeth. “Thanks Stross, that’s… reassuring.”

Yet somehow she didn’t sound reassured.

Over the course of the rest of the day, the four of them went through pretty much everything there was to do in the city, guided by Jordis and her friendly relationship with the people of Solitude.

The Temple of the Divines was something they weren’t allowed to skip by any means, and Stross could see why. It was a grand place, with high ceilings and a distinctly serene atmosphere as the gods looked down from stained glass windows. Nine alcoves were set in the walls, each with a shrine for people to pray at… all except from one. The priest told them it had been empty for quite some time, ever since the worship of Talos was banned.

While they were there, they each took the time to pray to each of the Divines that remained.

Stross learned a tiny bit about what each of the gods stood for: modesty, compassion, justice, respect, and many other words that tied into wholesome morality. It felt like everything Equestria was built on, and Stross felt he could use that kind of guidance. So he offered a prayer to the gods of this new world, and to the living goddesses of his old one, the Princesses of night and day. He didn’t pray for anything specific, he wouldn’t know what to ask for, or if he was worthy to. But he hoped the feeling was there, and that they’d hear him.

When he stood, he noticed Fenora lingering at the shrine to Akatosh, the dragon god of time. When he listened closely, he could hear her whispered words.

“Dear Akatosh... please forgive me when I kill your stupid son. And please… give me the strength to kill him before he destroys the world. I know it’s a lot to ask of any parent, but see… I’d really prefer if the world doesn’t get destroyed. Everyone is counting on me, and all my stuff is here…”

On their way back through the market district, Jordis insisted they stop by Evette’s stall and sample her spiced wine, argued to be some of the best in all of Tamriel. Three bottles consumed between them confirmed it as fact.

A bit of lighthearted conversation, some shopping and sightseeing later and they found themselves out of places to visit.

An offhanded comment on what people do for fun in Solitude was all it took to get them where they were.

…

“Steady my thane.” Lydia cautioned Fenora lined up the shot.

“Shut up. I know.” Fenora hissed, doing her best to stay focused. Even all her training with the Greybeards hadn’t prepared her for this. But she couldn’t fail. There was simply too much on the line!

Her eyes flicked once more to the target below her, then to the path she’d have to take to hit it.

Her companions held their collective breath as Fenora finally threw the cabbage.

It flew through the air, hit a treebranch, bounced off the awning of a store, and ricocheted off a wall! But sadly it missed the bucket below by a full two feet.

“Crap.” Fenora muttered and grabbed another cabbage from the cart, lining up the shot again.

“…Crap.”

“…Crap!”

“…Soup and salad in Oblivion, come on!”

“Alright, last shot. Last shot! All or nothing!” Fenora threw her last cabbage, watching as it sailed through the air, making the same path as its brethren. “Yes!”

Fenora cheered and whooped as her shot finally went in.

“This really brings me back.” Jordis said as she and Lydia stretched out against the ramparts above the city gate. “Remember when we used to do this as children?”

“I remember the spankings our parents gave us.” Lydia said with a laugh. “Worth it.”

“Okay, that was impressive Fen. But step aside and watch a pro at work!” Stross swaggered up as he spun a cabbage on his finger. “I’ll bet you a sweetroll I make this first try!”

Peering over the edge, Stross lined up the shot, and threw his ball less than a second later. It sailed and bounced much like Fenora’s had, but took a wild spin when it hit the corner of a rooftop. Still, it swerved back just enough to make it in.

“Woo! First try! Nothing but skill baby!”

Fenora quickly cuffed him upside the head. “More like nothing but magic, you cheater. I saw that.”

“But you never said it was against the rules.” Stross sing-songed. “Sweetroll please!”

Fenora frowned and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him up to her face.

Then she pressed her lips against his and let her tongue mingle inside his mouth.

“I’ll get you one later. Hopefully that’s enough to satisfy ‘till then.” She said as she pulled away, leaving Stross blissfully dumbstruck.

“Aww…” Lydia aww’ed.

“We should probably go soon.” Jordis told them.

“Right, it’s getting late.” Fenora looked skyward at the setting sun. “We wouldn’t want to be late for dinner with the Queen.”

“Also because the guards will be getting off their break any minute now.” Jordis said, peeking fearfully over the edge of the wall.

“What in the world?!” shouted a guard below them when he saw the hundreds of cabbages littering the streets. “It’s finally happening! The hackers have begun their unholy reign!”

Dinner with a mad god

Stross and company were nearly back to the Blue Palace when Fenora pulled him aside. She waited until Lydia and Jordis had walked ahead a ways, out of hearing distance while they reminisced about their childhood years.

“What’s up Fen?” Stross asked.

“I’m not going.”

Stross’s eyes widened in shock. “B-but Fenora…” he tried to say. They’d been invited to dinner with the Queen of Skyrim, who had been ecstatic to meet her and had extended the offer personally! The heck did she mean she wasn’t going!?

“B-but what about Queen Elisif… I think she really wanted to get to know you. You saw how she reacted when she saw you,” Stross pointed out, “you’re like a living legend in her eyes, a regular folk hero!”

“I don’t think I can.” Fenora admitted. “What would we even talk about anyway? I’m the dragonborn, but I’m just the dragonborn. Beyond that, I doubt we have anything in common. I’m not sure there’s anything about me that wouldn’t either horrify her or bore her to death.”

“I know that’s not true. I think you’re a really interesting person, Fen. And anyway, it shouldn’t even matter; we don’t need you and the Queen to be instant besties. Just… talk with her.” Stross told her. “And don’t slurp your soup.”

Fenora shifted in place, nervousness and doubt rolled off her like vapor. “I think you’d do a better job of that than me, Stross. You’re the one that always says things in just the right way, and not…” she trailed off. “Just make some excuse for why I’m not there. Please? Something that doesn’t sound horrible.”

“You’re really not going?” Stross asked, a hint of disappointment creeping into his voice.

Fenora looked off into the distance, back at the market, back towards the inn. “I’m going to hit the shops one last time before they close. I want to be ready for whatever it is Delphine has planned. We meet with her tomorrow, remember.”

“Alright,” Stross relented, “I’ll think of something.”

Fenora hugged him. “Thank you Stross. Meet me back at the Skeever when dinner’s over, kay?”

Stross tried to get a read on her as she walked off, but her emotions were so tightly bundled it was impossible even with his changeling senses. She was like a lasagna of emotional turmoil.

The changeling let out a sigh as red embers shifted over his form. "Wasn’t the whole point of today to relax and unwind?" Either way, he wasn’t going to let Fenora miss this dinner, even if he had to attend it for her.

Stross’s disguise just finished forming when the changeling heard a voice.

“Oh dear.”

The hushed words came out of seemingly nowhere. Then the second Stross turned around, she was greeted by a peculiar sight: a man in a waistcoat wearing white bunny-ears on his head.

“You’ll be tardy… for a very important party!” he told the changeling frantically, and held a pocketwatch towards her. “Our lord requires his entertainment. Take this quickly! Go! Go!”

The second Stross took the watch, the bunny man ran off.

The watch looked like any other, with nothing out of the ordinary. Just a simple metal pocket watch ticking away, only... to Stross’s knowledge, Skyrim didn’t have clocks of any kind.

Stross arrived at the Palace to find Lydia and Jordis waiting for her. The freshly disguised changeling made her excuses, though Lydia could tell by her red tunic who she really was. She kept quiet about it though, and the group was led inside to the dining hall, where they received quite a warm reception.

A long wooden table had been laid out with huge platters of food, meats and stews and sweets of all kinds. It seemed they didn’t know what the dragonborn liked to eat, and so they just made some of everything… or rather, a lot of everything.

Queen Elisif sat at the head of the table, and stood to welcome them. Her advisors were seated to her right, starting with Falk Firebeard, her supportive steward, then her housecarl, and finally her court wizard. The chairs to her left were empty though, and it was clear that she wanted Fenora to sit closest to her. As Stross took the seat across from the steward, the significance wasn’t lost on the changeling; already Queen Elisif allowed her to be as close to her as her most trusted advisors and friends.

Was it just because she was excited to meet the hero of Skyrim? Or maybe she was new to being a leader and didn’t know to be more cautious. If Stross were an assassin, the Queen had just invited her into stabbing distance, with a complimentary steak knife to boot.

It seemed Stross wasn’t the only one who was aware of this either. Falk, as well as the queen's housecarl, Bolgeir sat tensed like a pair of springs, eyeing the disguised changeling’s every move.

“I’m so pleased you could make it.” Elisif told her and ladled herself some of the soup. As she did, everyone else took her cue to start eating as well.

“I wouldn’t miss it.” Stross gave her a smile, already walking the delicate lines of conversation, feeling everything out. “I was surprised when you offered, to be honest. It's not often we get the chance to dine with royalty.”

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” Elisif admitted. “So many fantastic tales about you get passed around in court, I’ve become quite enraptured by it all.”

“So much that you begin to neglect your duties.” Her court wizard Sybille chimed in, drawing glares from the rest. No one challenged her comment, but they frowned nonetheless.

“So… I was hoping perhaps you could tell us about some of your exploits.” Elisif picked up again, hopeful. "You must have quite a few tales to tell."

“Well truthfully, I’ve only been at this for a bit over a week. But you're right, a lot has happened in that time.” Stross began, not knowing what stories had been told or how many of them were works of fiction. “I guess I could just start from the beginning, if that's alright…”

With no objections, the changeling began.

Over the next hour Stross gave them the highlights of their adventure. Soon enough, the Queen and the members of her counsel were barely touching their meals as Stross told the story of Fenora the Dragonborn in stunning, poetic detail.

Although… she made certain to omit the number of times they nearly died. Additionally, their missteps and blunders were strategically downplayed. For example, their battle against the Hagraven at Orphan Rock, where they were beaten to an inch of their lives became, “Her disciples were no match for us, but that bird-woman was a challenge that took all of our strength to overcome.”
Meanwhile their triumphs like defeating Movarth were embellished to the brink of absurdity: “…and then while Stross and Lydia held back wave after wave of his minions, I ripped his head off with my whip. Only that wasn’t even his final form! Then he turned into a giant bat monster that was like a hundred times stronger!”

Some things were surprisingly easy to embellish.

Scarcely, though it did happen, Stross would tell bits of the story differently if they didn't fit the heroic narrative he was telling. Like instead of abandoning him in Whiterun only to make a nick-of-time return later, Fenora had never left at all, and they boldly marched to face Mirmulnir together with Irileth and her men.

Ironically, it was the things that actually happened that sounded made up, like Fenora mastering her thu’um powers in a matter of days, or healing from crippling injuries in a matter of hours. But Stross made excuses that were just plausible enough to seem real, and followed by saying that even she didn’t understand most of it. It worked in her favor, and in the end Fenora seemed even more like a hero pulled from a storybook, an infallible, noble warrior of justice.

Stross took a break after she finished telling about Jurgen’s tomb, leaving out their meeting with Delphine, and choosing to say that Fenora had been the one gifted with dragon wings. Just by giving a cursory scan of the room, Stross could tell they were all quite impressed.

“Is that true? Do you really have wings?” It was Queen Elisif who’d asked, the first time she’d truly spoken since the story began. She’d been so enthralled by it all until then, never interrupting, just listening with a smile everpresent on her face.

Stross smirked and dissolved the illusion hiding her wings, making them visible in a flash of embers and giving them a tiny flap.

Elisif gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. Reaching out cautiously, she asked, “C-can I touch them?”

Stross held out a wing for her to grasp in the tips of her fingers, chuckling to herself as the Queen ran her hands over the leathery surface, much like someone would touch a fine article of clothing.

“I can’t imagine living a life like yours Fenora.” Elisif said after a while. “It all sounds so… exciting.”

“Really? From what I saw today, your life gets pretty exciting too.” Stross pointed out.

“Though hardly in a pleasant way.” Elisif said, turning away to stare into her soup. “Just after you and your companions left, Viarmo came in requesting for the fifth time this month that I allow the Bard’s College to perform The Burning of King Olaf this year. He came up with this ridiculous rendition of the verse where Olaf was actually the dragon Numinex, and rose to power by sacking Solitude in dragon form! The nerve!”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Stross cocked her head to the side.

“Ah, The Burning of King Olaf.” Jordis piped in, “Long ago when dragons still lived in Skyrim, there was a nord hero by the name of Olaf. As the legend goes, he did battle with a fearsome dragon by the name of Numinex at the peak of Mount Anthor. He defeated the beast and brought it back as his captive. The palace in Whiterun was used to hold Numinex, where the dragon stayed until it eventually perished.”

“That’s where it got the name Dragonsreach.” Lydia added.

“Olaf was crowned king for his heroic deeds, and went on to crush anyone who questioned his right to rule.” Jordis continued, “But there were many who questioned the legitimacy of his tale, mostly due to how all who supposedly witnessed the battle between Olaf and the dragon became ridiculously wealthy and powerful when Olaf was made king. Rumors began to spread about Olaf exaggerating his deeds to gain favor and glory. It all came to a head when one of Olaf’s bards wrote a particularly insulting and defaming poem that we now know as King Olaf’s verse. King Olaf was so offended by it that he ordered every copy destroyed, and the bard who wrote it sentenced to death.

“Whether or not the rumors were true is still debated today, but the harshness King Olaf showed only cemented his image as a traitor and a fraud. And so every year we hold a festival where an effigy of King Olaf is set ablaze!” Jordis finished happily.

“I’m pretty sure no one cares about the history behind it though.” Lydia shrugged. “Everyone attends for the dancing and the spiced wine, usually.”

“Regardless… with things that have happened as of late…” Falk Firebeard said, treading carefully with his words. “You could see how a festival centered around burning a disgraced king would be a bit… distasteful. And with dragons returning to Skyrim, I doubt Viarmo’s newest ‘renditions’ will be well received either.”

Stross could see Elisif curl her fingers, fighting the urge to scream. “I’ve told him once, and I’ll keep telling him.” she said in the most contained tone she could manage, “I’ll not allow that stupid festival to take place so soon after-” her breath hitched. “After my…”

Stross placed a hand over Elisif’s and squeezed it gently. “I’ve… been meaning to tell you I’m sorry for your loss. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Elisif sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Everything has gotten worse since my Torygg was murdered by that monster Ulfric. Lately it seems like everyone is angry about something, and they expect me to be the one to fix it all.”

“I've seen how things are. People are frustrated, and when they don’t know who else to turn to, they look to whoever they think will do what’s best for them." Stross told her. "I can tell they haven’t made a bad choice."

Elisif wiped her eyes and composed herself, though Stross could tell it was mostly for show. "Thank you, Fenora. I... I really needed to hear that."

Fenora really wished she had someone with her, someone to hold her and make her stop shaking, or at the very least tell the bard downstairs to play something else.

‘The Dragonborn comes’ had become her least favorite song the second she heard it. That one string of lyrics embodied everything she’d been coming to dread. It hammered home how much of a legend she was becoming in such a short amount of time, how much people expected of her… and how much she had to deliver on.

‘An end to the evil of all Skyrim’s woes’

Fenora practically tore off the masterfully tailored dress she was wearing and quickly slipped back into her sweatstained traveling clothes, forcing herself to breathe slower before her heart burst out of her chest.

Comfortable but hardly at ease, Fenora then looked over the majority of her gear, all of it spread out on the floor so she could take stock of it all. She spent a good amount of her gold on new gear, prioritizing things that would give them an edge against giant flying lizards. And she didn’t mean Cliff Racers.

Unfortunately, asking for dragon-slaying equipment led to quite a few sarcastic remarks from each of the merchants, especially from the fletcher. When asked if he had any arrows that could pierce dragon hide, he sarcastically asked that perhaps she’d also like the bow that shot rainbows, or the quiver that dispensed beer.

Both of those sounded pretty rad, but sadly, it was not to be.

As it was, she looked over what she did have, starting with a pair of taught-stringed hunting bows and matching quivers of steel-tipped arrows. She gripped the shaft of one, inspecting the tip. It was sharp… but still a slight tremor went through her fingers.

Arrow after arrow she shot, each one missing its mark as the winged beast flew past, faster than she could blink.

Her greatsword of dwarven metal, freshly sharpened and hammered into shape…

She swung it with all her might, yet the blade bounced off the dragon’s hardened scales like a branch against a boulder.

The remainder of her painkiller potions, now fully diluted and ready for use…

They did nothing but numb the pain as the dragon tore her limb from limb with its jaws.

The new shield she’d bought Lydia to replace her old, battered one...

Her housecarl’s screams of agony were drowned out by the torrent of fire as she was reduced to ashes in an instant.

Stross’s old cloak… still covered in the dried remains of his liquefied organs.

Fenora found she was shaking uncontrollably again.

Stross stared in confusion, as they all did, at their newest guest that had spontaneously joined them not thirty seconds ago. He was an elderly gentleman with greying hair, his suit was a mishmash of flamboyant oranges and yellows contrasted by dull and somber purple, and he had the most jubilant attitude set to a backdrop of insanity.

“CHEESE FOR EVERYONE!”

The second he screamed it, wedges of cheese started falling like rain.

“Alright, that’s it!” Bolgeir yelled, unsheathing his sword and stomping over to the man. “This was a private dinner. Who are you and how did you get in here?” he demanded.

The old man just looked quizzically at the blade pointed at him. He raised a finger and gingerly poked the length of sharpened steel.

Then the sword was a live fish.

“I…” the old man began dramatically as he leapt up onto the table, each foot landing in a soupbowl, “Am none other than SHEOGORATH! Daedric Prince of madness himself! Now the writer can stop referring to me as ‘the old man’. As for why I am here…”

Sheogorath started walking down the table, kicking over plates of food as he went. “The last party I was at was getting dreadfully dull. Even a man like Pelagius can get boring after twenty some-odd years.” He informed them before muttering darkly, “With his sour attitude and ramblings and worries that just made me want to throttle him till he was purple.”

The mad god snapped back to the looks he was getting and was instantly back to his blatant, happy-go-lucky self.

“So! I’m starting a new get-together.” He announced, “And better yet, YOU’RE ALL INVITED!”

Everyone looked at each other worriedly. Stross felt especially lost and confused by what was going on. Skyrim had its fair share of odd events, but they were always dark and filled with nefarious plots by evil bandits and mages and necromancers. Sheogorath felt powerful, threatening and uncertain, but also very… quirky.

"Are you related to Discord?" Stross blurted before he could stop himself.

Sheogorath took an an overly ponderous stance, thinking aloud, "Discord? Dis Cord... Ah! A-HAH! Ha ha ha ha HOO!" he laughed boisterously. "Why yes! Yes of course I know him! Or at least one of me did at some point. Though if memory serves we were forbidden from ever seeing each other again after we erased the mysticism school of magic and equipment durability from existence. Anyhoo... who wants to party with uncle Sheo?!"

“We’ll do no such thing!” Falk Firebeard stood up, defiant. “I don’t care who you claim to be. You need to leave immediately, or we’ll make you leave!”

To emphasize his point, a dozen and a half guards surrounded the table, finally called into action from the sidelines. They blocked off all the exits and all possibility of escape.

Again, Sheogorath just looked quizzically at them all. Then casually, he raised his hands and clapped them twice.

Every single one of the eighteen armored guards exploded into bloody giblets!

Elisif screamed in horror. Stross was gaping. The rest nearly fell over in their seats.

The mad god simply wagged a finger at Falk, like he was playfully scolding a child.

“Silly mortal, I very much intend to leave!” Sheo told him with a smile, right before a shadow covered his face. “And you’re all coming with me. TO THE SHIVERING ISLES!”

There was no flashy magic. No dramatic incantation. They were simply there one second, and gone the next.

Among the bloody mess of a ruined dinner, a single paper note fluttered down.

‘Off to party with Lord Sheogorath. Back whenever.’

Stross staggered as she ‘landed’ in Sheogorath’s realm. The changeling was half expecting to be knocked out for some time only to awaken in some deadly or compromising position, but the transition was instant, faster than teleporting even.

The first thing to catch Stross’s eye was a large stone banquet table with a chair for each of them. Indeed it seemed to be the only normal thing present in this place.

The ground she was standing on at the moment seemed to have been ripped out of the ground and suspended high above the rest of Shivering Isles at a dizzying height. From this vantage point the changeling could see a great distance all around.

The land seemed torn between a light and fantastic realm of dreamlike qualities, and a dark world of nightmarish hallucinations, with the borders of each in a constant flux.

The ground seemed to be a sherbet mix of earthy greens and brown swirled in with sickly yellows and dark purple. Plants ranged from mundane with a twist, to outlandishly impossible; trees with faces and flowers that bloomed into cupcakes with eyeballs, mushrooms the size of towers with tentacles growing out of their caps. All manner of grand and curious structures and statues stood scattered about.

Even the sky was a mess of stars and light, like day and night were put in a blender and spilt onto a canvas. Where the sun or moon would have been, there was instead an enormous tarot card that flipped over randomly, sometimes showing the joyous rays of the sun, other times the mysterious uncertainty of the moon.

“HELLOOOOOO!”

Stross nearly jumped out of her skin when the lord of madness suddenly appeared next to her.

“Welcome to my home! Please, allow me to take your coat.” Sheogorath said and pulled off Stross’s disguise.

“Gah! What the-?!” Stross yelped, seeing his illusion hanging limply from Sheo’s hands like a piece of cloth before it simply dissolved into a flush of embers.

“Now then, won’t you please join me? I’ve had my cooks prepare a wondrous meal!” Sheogorath said and began marching towards the table.

Possibly a thousand different things were racing through Stross’s head at the moment, all of them questions beginning with ‘who’ ‘what’ ‘when’ ‘where’ ‘why’ and especially ‘HOW’, but Stross shoved them all aside for now.

“Hold it!” Stross jabbed a finger at the mad god, “Where are the others? What did you do with them?”

Sheogorath looked around in exaggerated fashion, as if just now noticing the rest of his ‘guests’ were missing.

“Hmm…” he tugged his chin and shrugged. “I dunno. They’re probably dead.”

Stross’s eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to yell.

“Or maybe they just got lost on the way here!” Sheo laughed heartily, clutching his chest. “Let’s see here…”

Slowly, ripples began to form in the air around them, three in fact. They began to shape into pools that suddenly ripped open in a crystal clear display. What they showed horrified Stross: everyone was in danger!

In the first portal the changeling saw Lydia and Jordis being crushed under massive piles of junk while shadowy warriors closed in on all sides, wielding jagged blades.

In the next was Elisif, sobbing to herself as she stumbled through an pitch-dark landscape littered with pitfalls and spikes. A furious wind was blowing her to and fro as she tried to find her way, knocking her into obstacles that gouged her flesh.

Finally were Elisif’s counsel, her friends and advisors. Bolgeir, Sybille and Falk were trapped in a burning house with timbers raining down on all sides. Desperately they pressed their own bodies against the burning wood of the walls, doing everything in their power to stop it from collapsing on top of them.

While Stross frantically flicked between each scene, wondering who to save first, if he could even save any of them, Sheogorath spoke with a calm indifference. “Well this isn’t good. I can’t very well have a party with no guests.”

Stross rounded on him, furious. “This is all your fault! Fix this!” he demanded.

Sheo laughed like he was told a bad joke. “Me? My boy, you’d need more than the help of a god to help those basket cases.” He hiked a thumb at the portals.

Stross grit his teeth as he shoved away from the lord of madness. He looked at each of the people in danger, his friends, trying to logically deduce which one to save first. Elisif was obviously a priority, being the Queen of Skyrim. But she was also just one person, and an inexperienced ruler at that. Her advisors might do more good for Skyrim if he chose them. He could save three people, but that meant letting three others die, among them was Lydia, who trusted him even knowing what he was.

Stross let out a guttural, frustrated growl through his clenched teeth. “I can’t save them all. There’s just not enough time!”

Sheogorath harrumphed behind him. “Is that what all the fuss is about? Oh fine… here.”

Sheo reached his hand into Stross’s pocket and pulled out the pocketwatch, still ticking away, and smashed it on the table with an oversized wooden mallet.

“There,” he said, sweeping up the shattered pieces, “now you have all the time in the world.”

Stross jerked his head between Sheogorath and the portals, and, true to his word, time had completely frozen within them.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. It was clear any ignorance or incompetence from Sheogorath was just an act. “What’s your game?”

The mad god chortled out his nose. “I’m Sheogorath, master of the uncanny, ruler of the dreams and madness! Do I need a reason?”

“I…” Stross tried to say something. He felt conflicted; people he cared about were in danger because of the being before him, and he wasn’t even given an answer as for why. Yet he also had a chance to save them now. Perhaps this was all just a sick game to Sheo, a god’s entertainment.

He wanted to vent his anger at the unfairness of it all, demand answers. But all that came out was a sigh.

“Well, thanks I guess.”

And then Stross was off through the first portal. He had a chance now, and that felt like enough.

Sheogorath pulled out a lawnchair and opened a paper bag full of creamed corn.

“No, little changeling. Thank you.” he said, and started munching noisily. “Mmm, good.”

The land was dark and desolate, a landscape of greyscale shadows and silhouettes. The ground was like taffy and sagged under his feet. As Stross walked through the howling gale, struggling to stand against the strength of the wind, there was only one thing he could clearly see, something that seemed so out of place in this place.

“Elisif!” he called out to the stumbling figure so far away from him. “Elisif!”

She must not have been able to hear him over the wind, and kept traveling, directionless and limping. Shadowy spikes kept jutting from the ground in her path to block her way, and thorny vines appeared from nowhere to grab at her ankles and trip her up.

Continuing to call out to her and sprinting for all he was worth, the changeling finally reached the queen right as she was about to take a tumble off a perilously tall cliff.

“Elisif!”

Finally hearing his voice, the young queen turned around, and her eyes widened in shock. “T-Torygg?”

Confused, Stross checked himself. Much to his surprise, he had assumed a form unknown to him, and trying to shift back yielded no results.

“Elisif, I’m not-“ Stross tried to say as Elisif reached out to him, but her hand simply passed through him, like his body were no different than the wind whipping around them.

Elisif began to panic, and she tried again. “No… no please, no!” tears flowed more and more freely every time her arms failed to wrap around him. “Torygg, I need you!”

“Elisif please, calm down.” Stross begged her, trying to take hold of her himself, but meeting the same result. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No it won’t.” Elisif hugged herself, unable to hold onto him. “Everything has been horrible since you died. I tried to take your place and lead the people, but I’m not cut out for life in court, I can’t rule a nation or fight a war, I can’t respond to a crisis… I can barely keep everyone happy. Everyone is suffering and I can’t do a thing about any of it. All I can do is sit on that throne and tell everyone it’ll be alright, when even I don’t know that for sure.” she looked up at him and tried to brush her hand against his cheek, “You were always the king we needed, the king we deserved. I wish you were back. I… I really wish you were back with me.”

"And you could be."

The single thought came unbidden to Stross’s mind.

It was true though. He had Torygg’s form now.

Thoughts flashed through Stross’s mind of him stepping up as Torygg, Skyrim’s true king returned from the dead. He thought of ending the Ulfric’s rebellion, of uniting Skyrim against Alduin and his dragons, and saving everyone! Then when all was said and done he could live his life as royalty, with Elisif at his side sustaining him with her love, and-

And the more he thought about it the more horrible he felt.

Stross was a changeling, and this was what they did.

But it wasn’t what he wanted. It never was.

Skyrim wasn’t his to rule, and he wasn’t the man Elisif loved. Stross could easily make it all his, but it wouldn’t feel right. The truth would always be eating away at him if he did, every time someone addressed him by the name he’d stolen, every time Elisif looked at him like he were Torygg.

“I can’t Elisif. I’m sorry.” He told her.

Skyrim was full of rebellion and dragons. It needed someone to take charge, and Elisif seemed so inexperienced and overwhelmed.
But Stross knew he could help.

“I know it’s hard for you, my love.” He told her, Torygg’s gentle voice reaching her ears. “But you need to be strong for your people, our people. And you are strong.”

“But the choices I make are never the right ones. I nearly sent an entire battalion to clear Wolf Skull Cave because someone’d been hearing loud noises in the night.” Elisif recalled, chiding herself in the process.

Stross remembered defeating a small army of necromancers at that cave using Dawnbreaker just a night ago. A battalion might not have been so excessive. But he could see her point.

Elisif went on to tell him things he’d already heard about at dinner, or that were obvious to any onlooker attending her court during the day. She told Stross about her plans, like stockpiling food and water in case the city came under siege, sending more soldiers to patrol the roads for dangers around the hold, or even throwing a parade to raise the spirits of her people. All of these things were made virtually impossible because of the war, and the war effort.

At some point while she was telling him this, Stross saw Elisif in a different way, and the shadowy realm they were in now took a new meaning. She wasn’t some inexperienced child stumbling blindly through the dark; Elisif was a woman that cared very deeply and passionately about her people, but was stuck in a place where she was left with no options, no clear way forward and being deterred at every turn. Quite simply, she was hurting and getting nowhere for it.

“Elisif,” Stross said, bringing himself close, “Does supporting the war mean more to you than supporting your people?”

Elisif’s eyes hardened with determination. “Ulfric took you away from me. Bringing that traitorous filth to justice means more to me than anything.” She told him.

Stross suddenly felt like an idiot. Of course it did. Winning the war likely meant killing Ulfric Stormcloak in the most horrible way possible. Why wouldn’t she want that after everything he’d done?

“That doesn’t sound like you Elisif.” Stross quickly switched tactics. “Where’s that girl that cared about her friends and her home more than anything? What happened to the girl I fell in love with?”

Elisif sniffled, “Maybe she died with you.”

"Wow. Dark much?"

“Now don’t say that. I think my heart would break to think Ulfric killed us both that day.” Stross tried to reassure her, “He’ll get what’s coming to him, I’m sure of it. But until then, don’t let what he’s done break you down more than it already has. The next time you’re forced to choose between fighting his rebels, and doing what you feel is right for your people- for our people, and our city… choose what you truly think is best.”

Elisif nodded, but still looked unsure. “But what if this is a mistake? What if we lose the war and the city falls to Ulfric and his army? What if it’s all for nothing?”

“It won’t come to that, not if you follow your heart and do everything you can.” Stross told her. “You’re a wonderful woman Elisif, I’ve always believed this. I know you’ll be a great queen, especially once this war finally comes to an end.”

Elisif smiled, the darkness slowly fading away as her confidence grew, the once insurmountable obstacles within looking almost insignificant now.

Stross hated giving non-answers, but it seemed to do the trick, or was at least what the queen of Skyrim needed to hear.

Soon the light was growing brighter, and the last thing Stross saw before it flared and took everything away was Elisif grasping his hands.

Stross blinked several times as the dreamlike world came back into view. He looked down to notice Elisif was still holding his hands.
His scaly, crumbly hands.

‘Uh oh.’

Before he could redisguise himself, Elisif had already come around.

“AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

“Wait! This isn’t what it looks like- It’s okay- I’m not gonna- Can you stop screaming please?!”

“AAAAAAAAA-mmmmmmmphh!”

“Okay, Elisif… your majesty, please. I need you to listen to me, okay?” Stross said while firmly holding Elisif’s mouth shut with his magic.

Elisif nodded fearfully.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Stross told her sincerely, “Or eat you. Or lay eggs in you. Or anything else that doesn’t feel good. …I will give you hugs if you like. But first I need to rescue the others so we can all have a nice dinner with Sheo-oooooooh what the buck?” Stross trailed off when he turned back to the banquet table.

Daedric Prince of Madness sat at the head of the table with his feet up while more than half a dozen voluptuous, scantily clad women (and a frost troll in a thong) were poledancing for his amusement.

“Oh fantabulous, you’ve returned!” Sheogorath called to them as they hesitantly approached. “You’re just in time to help sample some mods. I believe this one was called Bijin NPCs, along with a wonderful little poledance mod I forget the name of. Care to join me, your highness?”

Elisif turned away from the dancers in disgust and stomped her foot down. “No! I don’t know what’s going on here, but I demand that you release us all immediately.”

“Hmm, this one’s just labeled ‘expansion pack’.” Sheo said absently as he looked over a mod scroll, ignoring Elisif’s demand. “I wonder what it does.”

Suddenly the scroll fizzled in his fingers and Elisif’s milk jugs went from pints, to gallon size.

Stross’s wings sprang straight up with a leathery *fwap*.

Then the High Queen of passed out and faceplanted into her newly supersized chest-pillows.

Author's Note

Whew! This took way longer to come out than I thought it would.

'A Mind of Madness' had to be one of my favorite quests in Skyrim, just because the whole thing was so different to the rest of the game, and also because Sheogorath is flipping awesome.

Full disclosure though, I've never played The Shivering Isles DLC, nor did I play Oblivion for that matter. So I had to do delve through a lot of let's plays and wiki pages to get a feel for old Sheogorath and what his home turf is like. Still don't think I'm doing his character justice, but hey... I tried my best.

I also tried my best to hold back on cringe humor. Emphasis on 'tried'.

Of Queens and Doubts

Author's Note

Holy Hiatus, Batman! What the heck have I been doing for the last 2/3's of a year?

While I genuinely want to answer that question, because going that long without any kind of update or anything just seems unforgivable, and I want to at least give some kind of explanation, I'm also afraid it would be boring and ultimately no one would care.
I might make a blog post later and link back to it here, but at the moment it's too soon to tell.

Meanwhile, for those of you still around, I want to say thank you so much for your patience. Here's a nice big chapter to dig into, and I'll hopefully get the next one out in... a week..? Maybe within two hopefully?

Don't make a girl a promise, if you know you can't keep it.
-Cortana

*Sobs quietly in the corner*

Of Queens and Doubts

Fenora had her feet up on a table to keep her precarious balance as she lazily rocked back and forth on the hind legs of her chair. She had gotten sick of worrying about everything and decided to get drunk instead, as one does.

She was in the process of draining her fifth bottle of alto wine, when something caused the whole building to shake underneath her. Decorative plates to fell off the walls and shattered, dressers overturned spilling their contents, and the floorboards shook so much that Fenora found her chair tipping backwards just slightly too much.

“Woah woah woah! Stendarr take the wheel!” she yelled, grasping in vain for anything to stop her backward descent. But it was too late.

*Thud.*

“…Owww…” the elf moaned, rubbing the spot where her head hit the floor. “The 'Blivion was that..?”

It took a second for her to get up and shake herself sober, but by then she realized there were screams coming from outside. Grabbing her greatsword, she threw open the window to see what all the fuss was.

The city was already dark, the streets only lit by oil lamps set up near doors and windows. She couldn’t see anything clearly, and the dim lights blurred together in her vision. But whatever caused that giant rumble from before seemed to have come from somewhere past the market district.

The screams weren’t stopping.

With her mind currently disregarding the concept of stairs, Fenora jumped from the window and landed on the street below, staggering slightly as she tried to focus her vision.

“Damn,” She cursed as she sprinted towards the action. “I picked a heck of a time to get drunk.”

As she ran, Fenora strained her ears to pick up any telltale sounds of what she was up against. Her amber eyes flicked skyward every alternate step, trying to pick out the silhouette of a dragon against the light of the moon and stars.

The thought of having to fight one of those monsters here, in a city full of innocent people, and LOTS of flammable material…

Fenora quickened her pace, trying her best not to trip and fall. Stross and Lydia would have surely heard the noise too. They’d all meet up and figure something out together.

They always did.

As soon as she rounded the corner to the market, Fenora was cut off by a scuffle. In front of her, an imperial soldier was thrown flat on his back. The man barely had time to hit the ground before a draugr pounced on top of him, grappling with his arms and hungrily clawing at his face.

Looking just beyond him, Fenora saw the rest of the havoc unfold. Legions of dead warriors were flooding into the city, swarming everywhere from the Market square to Castle Dour. The Legion recruits she had seen earlier that day were desperately trying to hack them down, but they were frightened, inexperienced and greatly outnumbered.

Scattered like they were, the defenders would soon be overwhelmed and the whole city would be slaughtered!

Fenora let out a drunken chortle as she swayed side to side. “Oh... it’s just zombies. Heh-heh.”

“Help! Sweet Divines above, someone help me!” The soldier screamed as he fought with all his might to not get his face clawed off.

Suddenly a boot met the draugr’s rotten face as Fenora punted it clean off him, letting out a cheer as she messily cleaved it in two.

It might seem mad to be happy at a time like this, but Fenora couldn’t have been more relieved. She expected an impossible battle that would end with the city being reduced to embers. But this? She’d have them all mopped up in a snap.

As the young soldier she saved shakily got to his feet behind her, Fenora freed her blade from the rotting husk and looked at the rest of the battle taking place. Feeling perhaps more confident than she should have, she dove into the fray with a grin stretched across her face.

“Undead Marti Gras!”

She quickly killed one with a wide swing, then another, letting the momentum do most of the work and carry her forward. The dead were numerous, but very few of them were focused on her. Thus she had ample time to get inside their blind-spots and systematically lay waste to them with her sword.

Duck.

Swing.

Cleave through.

Parry into pommel strike. Follow up with an overhead cleave.

Large group attacking soldiers. Draw some off.

No good… too many.

Unrelenting force!

…That worked well.

Move on.

Whirlwind sprint. Slice as you go.

There wasn’t much strategy to Fenora’s movements. She was powerful, and surprisingly graceful considering her blood-alcohol content, but lacked any kind of planning beyond what was in front of her.

If it’s undead, re-kill it.

If they’re alive, keep them that way.

If something’s coming at your face, don’t let it hit your face.

If there’s nothing left to kill where you are, move somewhere else.

Rinse and repeat until victory.

Pretty soon everything devolved into a blur of ducking, weaving, striking, and thu’um-ing.

Fenora lost track of how many enemies she’d killed in her haze. She was getting tired, breathing harder, but knew there were still more draugr to fight, and she just had to keep hacking and slashing until it was over.

It would be over soon, right? Right?

*Srit!*

“AH!” Fenora shouted in alarm. Her comfortable routine of combat slipped away as she felt the trickle of warm blood start seeping into her clothes.

Whirling to face whatever just sliced her back, she found it was an Imperial soldier, one she was sure she’d saved just seconds ago. Now he was missing a large chunk of his forehead, and the glow of necromantic energy pulsed in his eyes.

Fenora quickly brought her sword down as he lurched forward. He was armored and she couldn’t cut through, but the weight of her strike brought him to his knees. Her next hit crushed the undead soldier under her blade, leaving her wondering how he got that way.

“What the..?” Fenora breathed as she looked at her former ally, the pain of her wound bringing the world into focus.

There were stories where bites from the undead could turn living people into ghouls. But those were all works of fiction! There had to be another reason, in fact she was praying for one.

For the first time since the fight had started, she began to question how the dead got into the city in the first place. Now she knew there was a necromancer hiding out somewhere, resurrecting their fallen to fight on his side. That made slightly more sense, right?

Backpeddling from the horde, Fenora climbed to a vantage point on a nearby balcony, hoping her theory was right and she could find whoever was controlling these undead monsters. But once she got up there, she was able to see just how bad things were getting.

The number of undead hadn’t declined at all, even with all the ones she’d killed. If anything their numbers were only growing as more and more rookie soldiers fell to their relentless assault. Terrified screams and sounds of panic filled the air as civilians who had wandered out onto the streets found they’d walked into a nightmare. Those who couldn’t get back to the safety of their homes were fleeing to Castle Dour along with the surviving guards. She saw Captain Aldis beckoning them to regroup, rallying them for a last stand.

Fenora realized too late that this wasn’t the cakewalk she thought it would be, and her tactic of ‘kill all the bad things really fast’ wasn’t working. She needed a new plan.

Dropping down from the narrow ledge she was perched on, Fenora dashed through the undead mob towards the castle courtyard where the soldiers were.

She sliced, kicked, shoved, and Fus-Ro-Dah’ed her way through the bulk of the horde, but something caught Fenora’s foot and made her fall flat on her face. Half an undead soldier, barely more than a torso dragging guts behind it, had grabbed onto her leg.

As Fenora struggled to get it off via repeated kicks to the face, she realized just why there were still so many undead around: they didn’t die.

She hadn’t noticed in the dark, but now, this close up… Every undead she saw was mangled and maimed, but they kept on shambling around on their broken limbs… or even lack thereof.

She finally managed to get free by hacking off the zombie’s hand, and just in time to scramble away from another half-dozen mutilated corpses slithering towards her.

Using Whirlwind Sprint, Fenora made it to the entrance of Castle Dour, where a makeshift barricade of overturned wagons and crates had been hastily shoved into place. Fenora had to scramble over it to escape the mob approaching from behind.

She made it over the top and dropped to the other side, letting out a sigh of relief.

Then she got shot with an arrow.

“Ow! Fuck-mothering Akatosh! Damn it!” she swore, clutching the shaft lodged in her gut.

“O-one got through over here! Someone h-h-help!” a nearby soldier yelled, and Fenora could tell by the longbow that he was the one who shot her. His voice was even shakier than his hands, and it was a wonder he managed to hit her in the first place.

“Stand down soldier, that’s not one of them!” Captain Aldis boomed as he rushed over. “By the Gods, that’s the Dragonborn! Are you alright?”

“I’ve had worse.” Fenora told him, snapping off the end of the shaft and wishing Stross was there to fix her up.

“Your leg!” Aldis yelled.

Fenora looked down, and to her horror she found that severed hand was still alive! With no small amount of alarm, Fenora ripped it off herself, losing a chunk of her trousers in the process.

Throwing it to the ground, she was revolted to see that it was still moving! Without a brain or even a body, the hand was still pulling its way towards her inch by inch with its fingers.

She quickly skewered it on the edge of her sword and tossed it into one of the massive burning braziers nearby, watching with satisfaction as it blackened to a crisp in the flame.

Collapsing to a knee, Fenora finally got a second to rest; all the fighting and consecutive thu’um-ing had started taking its toll. It was clear to her now why the guards had been losing so hard, and she wondered who in the world could be using necromancy strong enough to create this relentless horde.

Suddenly the barricade of junk behind her shook violently and many of the loose pieces fell off. The dead had started clawing their way through.

“Get everyone inside the keep! Bar the doors!” Aldis ordered. Anyone wounded or unable to fight was hurried inside the fortress of Castle Dour. He then turned back to Fenora. “Dragonborn, we’re not going to last long out here once those barricades fall. I hope you have a plan.”

Fenora kept herself from groaning. The changeling that made all her so-called plans work was nowhere to be seen.

Everything Stross could see was ablaze. Timbers were creaking and crackling as embers filled the air. The ornate mansion he found himself in was falling apart as the whole thing burned away!

But the air the changeling took in was devoid of strangling smoke, and the flames licking his feet felt pleasantly cool. Looking down at his form once again, he found himself shadowy and transparent, barely more than a ghost walking amid the blaze.

A series of pain-filled groans quickly reminded Stross of his purpose in this place, and he hurried down the burning hallways, heedless of the flames.

He passed hallway after hallway of paintings and statues of regal figures, each seemingly looking on in dismay as their house fell apart.

Finally he found them in the burning foyer, the Queen’s Counsel: Falk Firebeard, Bolgeir and Sybille Stentor. They were pressing their bodies against the burning walls, trying in vain to keep the structure from collapsing in on their heads regardless of how they were suffering.

Even more curious was the open door, right in plain sight. Featureless dark lay beyond, but it was far better than in here. Why did they stay?

Stross ran to the steward first. “What are you doing?! You have to get out of here!” he urged Falk, trying to pull him away from the burning wall, but his ghostly hands passed through him with no effect.

He tried the others as well, but it was the same. Worse, no one seemed to even hear him.

“I don’t understand!” Stross said, hearing them cry out in pain. “Why aren’t you saving yourselves?! The exit’s right there!”

Then the sound of laughter cut through their moans of agony and the crackling of the flames; it was the laugh of a child. Stross turned around, and what he saw astounded him, not only at how out of place it was, but the sheer fact that he missed it to begin with.

There, sitting in the center of the room on a quilted blanket, playing with miniature houses and toy soldiers, oblivious to the all destruction and turmoil around her… was a little girl.

“I’m Queen Elisif, and I want to throw a big parade and wear a pretty dress and make everyone happy!” the girl sang while she walked a group of dolls between rows of tiny buildings. “I’m going to invite the Dragonborn to dinner and have her tell me amazing stories about her adventures, and if I’m lucky, I can have her punch that rotten Ulfric Stormcloak in the mouth! Then the war will be over and I can be the best Queen of Skyrim ever!”

Stross felt himself cringe at the display. He was about to ask ‘why’, but then looked to Falk, Sybille and Bolgeir, and the pieces clicked in place. It only made him cringe harder.

“Are you kidding me?!” Stross yelled at Falk and the others, though his ghostly voice hardly carried over the roar of the fire, “That isn’t what Elisif is like! She’s a kind and compassionate ruler that just wants what’s best for her people. She just can’t do anything with everyone telling her ‘no’ all the time!”

The changeling remembered when he first lay eyes on Elisif not even a full day ago, and how he compared her to a small child on a throne; he saw her as inexperienced, timid, and prone to making decisions thoughtlessly.

He had since learned better.

But now, sitting before him was that false perception given form, with every negative aspect taken to an extreme that bordered on mockery.

These three were her inner circle, the people she trusted and depended on most. If an outsider like him came to know what the real Elisif was like, shouldn’t they know her just as well if not better? Wouldn’t they of all people think highly of her?

“There are lots of scary noises coming from Wolfskull Cave!” Child Elisif said behind them, grabbing a handful of toy soldiers and lining them up in marching formation, “We must send in the Legion to clear it out and make sure it’s safe to sleep at night!”

“Wolfskull Cave?” Stross mouthed wordlessly, “Isn’t that..?”

“That’s hardly a suitable course of action, your majesty! We can’t send our soldiers off on rumors when they’re needed elsewhere.” Falk Firebeard called back.

On that que, the changeling recognized this conversation; it happened in court earlier that day. When Elisif heard the fear in that farmer’s voice as he told her about the noises he’d been hearing, she was fully prepared to send an army to wipe out whatever might be threatening her people, only for Falk to step in and hastily remand her order and set the matter aside for later. Or, by the way he dismissed the framer who told them of it… perhaps never.

It was hard watching them both as they utterly floundered at their jobs.

Now, Falk’s words were the same as they had been at the time, but Elisif’s were warped into the paranoid phrases of a child, akin to asking someone to check under their bed for monsters. Was this all Falk heard when he listened to her concerns?

If so it was no wonder she felt frustrated.

“It’s always like this.” Falk muttered to himself, “No matter what issue arises, there’s no such thing as a measured response. It’s like she doesn’t even think about the consequences before she starts ordering her people about willy nilly. This city would fall apart if I weren’t here to stop her!”

“Will you listen to yourself?!” Stross shouted, unwittingly taking on a new form in his anger.

Falk’s eyes widened, and he turned his head to find that indeed, he was listening to himself.

“Wha- how?” he sputtered as his doppelganger stared him down.

“Elisif might be inexperienced as a ruler, but she’s not stupid. She cares about her people like any good ruler should. It’s natural she would act excessively if she thought they were in danger.” Stross ranted at the steward for all he was worth, “She relies on you to know what the right course of action is, but your job isn’t to shut her down when she makes a mistake!”

“You’re right- I’m right, but…” Falk looked to his double, “Elisif is Queen of Skyrim. Any wrong decision she makes could end in disaster! I can’t just stand by and let that happen!”

“But if you decide everything for her, she’ll never learn how to rule on her own.” Stross told him.

“So I’m to do nothing, and sit idly by as she makes her own decisions as Queen, for better or ill?” Falk asked.

“Now who lacks a measured response?” Stross snorted and locked eyes with him. “Supporting someone means showing them the way and catching them when they fall, not telling them they’re not allowed to walk. And Elisif will still need your support for some time. Just… have some faith in her for goodness sake.”

“I…” Falk hesitated as he spoke to himself, “You’re right. I can’t believe I had to hear it from my own mouth, but you’re right. I’ve always been loyal to the throne, and gratefully served whoever sits upon it. I guess... I just forgot what it means to be the Steward of Solitude, and aide to the throne.”

As he said it, Falk let go of the burning wood that was charring his flesh, and as soon as he did, the wounds began to heal, slowly. He then walked past his double and knelt down to the little girl as she played with her dolls.

“I believe in you, my Queen. If you ever need advice, you only need to ask. I’ll be here for you.”

Child Elisif beamed up at him, seeming to grow in stature as she did. “I know, Steward. That’s why I trust you. Tea?”

Falk stared blankly for a moment before sitting cross-legged and accepting the elegant cup.

Meanwhile Stross smiled to himself. “Alrighty then. One down, two to go.”

As he talked to each of them in this burning, ghostly dream world, Stross got to know a bit more about each of Elisif’s counsel, and how much Torygg death had upset their lives.

Bolgeir’s issue was more sensitive than Stross would have given him credit for. He was a large and imposing Nord, with a stoic attitude and the voice of a growling bear. Even at a glance, he was a natural choice to be Elisif’s personal bodyguard, her housecarl.

What Stross didn’t know however, was that he had once been Torygg’s protector as well.

Bolgeir recounted the day Ulfric stormed into the palace and challenged Torygg to the duel that would end his life. By their tradition… their sacred, blasted tradition… there was nothing he could do but watch the man he swore his life to, die.

The memory haunted him constantly, and left a mark that he would never be rid of. Perhaps this was why he watched over Elisif with such fervor.

He scarcely let her out of his sight, waking up early every morning and standing by her side all day as her court commenced. Every time someone stepped to close or said a foul word to her, it didn’t matter if they were noble, commoner or military, he’d be in their face demanding they watch themselves. He was so devoted that he barely took the time to eat a proper meal.

But his protectiveness brought with it a downside, one that left Elisif feeling smothered. Bolgeir had turned into a hovering mother bear around the Queen, and he actively advised against the kind of luxuries that would put her at undue risk... such as being left alone for more than a few minutes. Elisif thankfully put her foot down when it came to watching her while she slept, but something as simple as a trip into town for a casual shopping trip was something that now warranted an escort of five soldiers! It had been days since she had even left the palace.

It took some doing, but Stross managed to convince the paranoid housecarl that his overprotectiveness was doing more harm than good. Much like Falk, it was a lesson in easing up.

The last problem case Stross had to deal with was Sybille Stentor, the Court Wizard. And he was shocked to learn that she was a vampire, a fact she hid well, save for a few stray rumors that tended to float around court.

Sybille was close to two centuries old, but had only been in Solitude for a quarter of that time. It was Torygg’s father Istlod that took her into his service for her deep knowledge of magic. Being given a position of such importance suited her, and being allowed to feed on criminals in the dungeons felt better than drinking blood from wild animals and travelers on the road, so she stayed.

In time, Sybille grew quite close to Istlod, even helping him raise his son. For the first time since becoming a vampire and an outcast, she felt like she had a place she belonged. More than that, she felt she had something like a family.

She mourned Istlod when he passed away from old age. And she beamed with pride upon seeing Torygg sit in his father’s throne… only to mourn him as well, too soon.

This was where the problem arose.

Sybille had never been the most cheerful person in the room, but after Torygg’s death she became even colder and withdrawn. Whenever she was forced to interact with another person, she held no shortage of biting truths and snide remarks in her words, never caring who she offended or whose feelings she hurt. Why should she care if everyone regarded her with distain? Sybille knew her expertise was invaluable and irreplaceable, and would only continue to grow, whereas her dissenters would all eventually die.

Istlod was the last person to even know about her vampirism. She’d never told Torygg. She’d certainly never told Elisif, and attempting anything more than an arm’s length relationship with anyone risked exposure, and losing everything she’d worked for.

She considered it better this way, but still… the life she built for herself felt hollow, and she was ignoring the reason why.

Her story really struck a chord with Stross. Vampires and Changelings weren’t so very different in his eyes, and like her, all he had ever wanted was a place that felt like home, with people he could call family. The thought of feeding on criminals in a dungeon made him queasy, but knowing Sybille had achieved his dream gave Stross hope for his own future.

So he couldn’t let Sybille suffer through hers.

“Let those horrid mortals come and go. All that matters is my place here. I will not go back to drinking skeever blood after all these years I’ve spent making this city what it is!” Sybille said bitterly, “Why should I bother with pointless sentimentality? They will die whether I care for them or not!”

“But you want to care about them.” Stross said as Sybille’s double, knowing he would want to care as well.

“I grew attached, and all I got for it was heartache!”

“Is that really all?” Stross asked her. “What about the joy you felt, that warmth that swells up in your chest and presses on the inside of your cheeks every moment you’re with them? That feeling of knowing why you belong here. It will hurt to lose them, but that’s because they meant so much to you. Without that, what’s the point of staying here besides surviving? What’s the point of surviving if you’re never feeling joy?

“Besides… even if it doesn’t last forever, they deserve your kindness, just like you deserve to be happy for giving it to them.”

At the same time he said it, Stross felt like he had no right to. He’d once known a pony for two years before their relationship fell through and he was left wandering again, a personal record of his.

Meanwhile, Sybille had watched children grow old and die, said goodbye to those she spent a lifetime with. They felt the same sense of happiness and loss, but the difference in scale between them was oceanic.

His words seemed to have some impact on Sybille though. Her bitter expression softened, and for the first time ever, Stross thought he saw her shed tears before she turned from the burning wreckage to sit with the others.

While the trio of advisors sat at the quaint little tea party with the child version of Elisif, they looked awkwardly more at ease than Stross had seen them before, the raging fire around them died down to trailing cinders, and that child that was supposed to be their Queen didn’t seem so much like a child anymore.

Then they suddenly disappeared, and Sheogorath’s boisterous laughter and a round of applause cut through the air.

“Well done Stross, my lad. Well done indeed!” the lord of madness applauded him, “Who knew politics could be so complicated, am I right?”

“I still can’t believe they actually saw her like that.” Stross said, “Are you sure that wasn’t just something you made up for me to deal with? ‘Cuz I can totally see you making someone’s tiny inner worries huge to drive them insane.”

“My my, my little changeling. You give this Daedric Prince too much credit. Everyone has problems that fester like leeches in the pits of their minds. When they say someone's 'mature', all that means is that they're better at shoving those thoughts deep down into their subconscious where no one else can see them.” Sheogorath said in a deeply sinister tone, before leaping right back to his cheery self in the span of a hand clap. “But now that you’ve exposed their issues, perhaps they can stop smothering dear Elisif’s potential, and let her become the almighty tyrant she was always meant to be! Ha Ha!

“…or maybe she’ll just be another boring, do-gooder Queen. Only time will tell I suppose.”

Stross started to question Sheo, but just ended up stuttering lamely as he chose whether or not to take him seriously. In the end, he decided it wasn’t worth asking anyway.

“Whatever. Let’s just get back so I can finish this.”

“Leaving so soon?” Sheo asked, “You don’t want to see the possible future you’ve prevented with your wise, worldly words of wisdom?”

As he spoke, there was a sound like thunder beyond the blackness outside the open door, and Stross hesitantly stepped through, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Once he did, Stross found himself standing on a hillside looking out at Solitude on a dark, stormy day. Smoke rose from within the city as hundreds of invading soldiers stormed in through the gate, and the Stormcloak banner was raised above the Blue Palace.

“Wh- This…” Stross said breathlessly.

Suddenly the world zoomed in, and Stross got to see what fate befell the people.

Shops and businesses were being ransacked. Anyone who wasn’t a Nord or firmly aligning themselves with Ulfric were dragged out of their homes and thrown into the streets. Any Nord that defended them was labeled a traitor and beaten alongside them.

Imperial Soldiers were forced to surrender at swordpoint and convert to Ulfric’s army. The bodies of those that refused were piled onto wagons and carried out of the city in droves.

“Yup!” Sheogorath said, suddenly beside Stross as they watched Elisif being loaded onto a ship and exiled from her own city in disgrace. “This is what very well could have happened if those three had kept letting their burning issues get in the way of supporting their Queen, or if they decided to walk away and abandon it all. Get it? It’s SYMBOLISM!”

Then Sheo smashed a pair of cymbals together with a loud *TISSSSSHHH*, and the horrific cityscape vanished, returning them instantly to the floating banquet rock with the strippers, big boobies, and even more outrageous crap.

Stross rubbed his eyes to rid himself of the afterimages, and get over the shock of what he just saw. "Subtlety isn't really your thing, is it?" he asked.

"Deadric Prince of Madness!" Sheogorath sang taking it in his usual stride. "And besides, sometimes you just need to be bold and throw things out there. But we've some to the last hurdle, my little changeling. Only two more friends to rescue! I should have guessed you’d save the followers last; no one out there seems to care what they go through.” he said, shaking his head in mock sympathy.

“What- I- I care about them!” Stross said indignantly. Feeling bad for leaving Lydia and Jordis buried under those mountains of junk, even though time had stopped.

“Oooooooh reeeeeeeaaally?” the mad god said in the most exaggerated way he could, “Then you’d better get down there. They seem a bit over-encumbered at the moment. Too bad they’re sworn to carry your burdens.”

“Man, I know you’re the Daedric Prince of madness or whatever, but you’re still kind of a dick!” Stross got in a quick jab before jumping through the final portal.

“What’s that?” Sheo asked. “I can’t hear you over the screams of my Macho-Man Randy Dragon!”

“OOOOOOOHHH YEAH! Because I’m wild, YEAH!”

A box of kitchen knives collided with the wall before falling to the already cluttered floor.

The Guardhouse door shook violently as the mob of undead battered it outside. The hinges looked like they were going to break at any second.

With frustration and imminent danger rising, Fenora continued her search.

“Where the ‘Blivion did they put it?” she asked no one as she sifted through piles of confiscated items. She thought something legendary as Dawnbreaker wouldn’t just get tossed in some storage chest like random trash.

That sword would be so perfect right now, Fen felt stupid for not thinking of it sooner.

Captain Aldis agreed with her plan to retrieve it, and one of his men even remembered stashing it in the Guardhouse the night Stross came back from hunting necromancers. He said it was inside a wooden chest.

It seemed so simple at the time.

“Inside a wooden chest, huh? …Yeah, that’s real frickin’ helpful.” Fenora grumbled as she opened the fifteenth identical brown wooden chest to find it contained nothing but leeks and dusty bones.

The door shook again, this time with the sound of breaking wood.

Pressed for time, Fenora started flinging open containers left and right, often dumping their contents on the floor rather than searching through them by hand. “Come to Fenora, Dawnbreaker. Momma needs you now!”

Bottles of mead.

Pile of scrolls.

Spell books with porno mags inside.

Fenora panted as she tried to catch her breath, fingers resting on the last unopened chest. She opened it to find… a single gold piece.

She let out a shallow breath and took a step back, hearing the rasping groans outside even more clearly. Fenora dropped to the floor and started searching through the clutter. “I must have dropped it without realizing. It’s gotta be here somewhere!”

But it wasn’t.

Fenora suddenly felt very stupid.

“Great. This is just great.” she thought, “I was banking on it being here! I barely managed to outrun those undying bastards just to get this far and now I’m cornered! Great job, me. What the ‘Blivion am I supposed to do now?”

Once again she wished her changeling were with her. Whenever a problem arose he always seemed to deal with it so… fluidly, like he didn’t even have to think about what to do next. And it never seemed to matter how bad things got, when Stross had her back, everything seemed to turn out okay.

“Well he isn’t here now.” Fenora told herself, “This times it’s up to me.

“…I could always just run, I mean the gate to the city’s right outside.”

Fenora physically slapped herself.

“NO! I already promised not to run anymore! How many times do I have to tell myself this?! I’m not a Fluttershy dang it!”

The door continued to rattle as the mere incessant pounding caused the bolts to wiggle loose.

“That’s it then… I’ll fight my way back to Castle Dour and come up with something else. Maybe that old priest will have some good news.”

With that, Fenora picked up her regular, non-sparkly-magical sword of undead slaying, and got ready for the return trip. As she did though, she knocked over a set of armor on a stand, and a blinding golden light hit her eyes.

Looking closer, she saw that the stand was like a mannequin made of solid wood, with a sword slot in which Dawnbreaker was sheathed.

“Wooden chest.” Fenora mouthed in realization, before scowling.

She ripped the golden sword free from the stand, and swore to beat the stuffing out of whatever guard thought that now was the time for a play on words.

Not a moment too soon either, as just that second, the horde outside finally managed to hack a hole through the door. As soon as the axe was pulled out of the way, one of the draugr shoved its face through the gap in the beams, gnashing its teeth hungrily.

“Here’s Johnny!” it wretched.

Fenora responded by stabbing Dawnbreaker into its eye socket.

The corpse shrieked and thrashed as the holy blade unleashed an explosion of cleansing fire. Seconds later it was nothing but dust, and Fenora let out an almost giddy laugh upon witnessing the sword’s power.

Through the now vacant hole she could see just how many draugr had her cornered. There had to be at least twenty of them clamoring for their turn to hack down the door.

“Alright,” Fenora said with a determined grin as she faced the door with Dawnbreaker in hand, “Here we go.

“Fus… RO DAH!”

The sound of splintering wood and Unrelenting Force echoed through the city, followed by the inhuman shrieks of the dead as they were set ablaze.

…

Fighting through the undead was like cutting down a tree with a herring. With Dawnbreaker it was like cutting through butter with a laserbeam!

…Only its reach left something to be desired.

With Dawnbreaker being a onehanded short sword, Fenora quickly chose to wield it in her off-hand while using her greatsword in her right, downing her opponents with her larger, heavier weapon before finishing them with the lighter holy blade. It was clumsy at first, but she had lot of opportunities to practice her new dual wielding.

The streets she passed through were filled with the undead, enough to make up a small army. But here and there she spotted soldiers from Castle Dour trying to rescue citizens still trapped inside their homes. Even more frequently she saw the draugr hacking at front doors with their blades and maces, busting in windows and clawing at walls trying to get at those inside, like they could sense the living, and wanted nothing more than to snuff them out.

“Get back! Back foul creatures!” the yell of a soldier caught Fenora’s ears. He and two others stood between the dead and a family of six, with the soldier in question thrusting some kind of amulet before the draugr, causing them to recoil with each jab. “That’s right! Back all of you! The power of Arkay compels- AAAHH!”

He screamed as the amulet was slashed from his hand along with a few of his fingers.

His more practical companions turned to ramming the dead with their shields and shoving them away, but the walking corpses quickly piled on and were about to overpower them.

Then suddenly the draugr lost their strength and burst into flames, slumping to the ground in smoldering piles. When the flames too died down, the Dragonborn was standing before them.

“Hey.” She said. “Come with me if you want to live.”

This pattern repeated itself many times as they made their way through the city. Fenora would fight her way through the horde until a scream or call for help grabbed her attention, and she would dart away with Whirlwind Sprint to rescue whoever needed it: a shopkeeper, the blacksmith that sharpened her sword, a pair of children hiding in one of the back alleys, Taarie and Endarie the dressmakers, a lone soldier that got separated from his group.

But as many as she saved, there were too many that she couldn’t. This became abundantly clear when a little girl came running at her, with the glow of necromancy in her eyes and her intestines hanging out of her belly.

“Dammit!” Fenora swore as she cut the undead child down.

She wished she were still drunk.

All she could do was keep fighting and hope it would be enough.

…

“We’re here!” she announced as she and her group ascended the steps to Castle Dour, relieved to see that it wasn’t overrun.

She spotted the likely reason wandering outside the barricades.

Before she left to get Dawnbreaker, an old man named Styrr came to them out of nowhere dressed in orange robes. The people of Solitude knew him as a Priest of Arkay, the one that tended to the Hall of the Dead in the city. As soon as he arrived, he began casting wards and muttering prayers, diligently continuing his work even now.

They got to witness the payoff as a stray draugr wandered within range, and was engulfed a blinding pale light. Whatever Styrr’s magic did to the undead, they clearly didn’t like it one bit, turning to flee almost instantly.

Seeing this, the people following Fenora quickly rushed to the safety of the keep, uttering words of thanks as they passed her by.

Meanwhile, Fenora stood in surprise at how many there were - a few dozen at least. She hadn’t taken any time to count the people she rescued, only focusing on saving the next ones… and putting down the ones she failed to save.

Seeing so many still alive gave Fenora a twinge of pride knowing she was the one that saved them, however pyrrhic that victory was. And she wasn’t the only one.

“Dragonborn!” came Aldis’s booming voice. He finished ushering the crowd inside the keep and made his way over to her. “You’re living up to your fame tonight. At this rate everyone in the city’ll owe you their lives.”

“Not everyone.” She told him sadly, looking back out at the chaos still ensuing. “And I’m afraid I already collected that debt from those I didn’t earn it from.”

Aldis raised a brow before the meaning set in, upon which he gave her a reassuring gesture and said, “It’d be nothin’ short of a miracle if every man, woman and child made it out of this alive. We’re glad to have you here, doing what you’re doing. Truly.”

Fenora heard his words, but couldn’t take them in. Because she knew someone who could have delivered that miracle if they’d had him in her place.

Which begged the question… why the actual fuck wasn’t Stross here saving the day?

“They’re dead, man! They’re all fucking dead! Game over man, game over!”

The shout drew the attention of everyone around as a soldier sprinted inside the training grounds of Castle Dour, panicked and out of breath. Captain Aldis rushed over to him, grabbed the young recruit by the shoulders and trying to calm him down.

“Get yourself together soldier! Who’s dead?” he demanded.

“Th-the palace guards, Captain. I-I went to tell them what was happening and… and…” the man trembled as he spoke, “Oh Gods, there was blood all over the walls… It was everywhere!”

“What about Queen Elisif?” Aldis asked urgently.

“I… I-I didn’t see anyone.” The soldier stammered. “I didn’t see anyone in there.”

Aldis released the soldier from his grip and signaled to four others guarding the keep. “You men, with me! We going to the palace, and we’re going to find our Queen if it’s the last thing we do! Dragonborn-!”

Fenora nodded and made to take the lead. “Already with you. Let’s go.”

There was no hesitation in her mind. If something happened at the Palace, then that was the reason Stross and Lydia hadn’t joined the fight in town, and that meant it couldn’t be anything good.

But then the captain’s strong hand clapped onto her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

“No Dragonborn, we need you to do something else.” Aldis told her. “These monsters have been pouring out of the Temple of the Divines since this all started. That priest, Styrr, thinks they’re coming from the ancient catacombs beneath the city, but none of us have been able to get anywhere close. But you have Dawnbreaker!” he exclaimed, pointing to the sword, “You could get inside and find some way to seal it off! I know this is a lot to ask, but I believe you’re the only one capable of this.”

Fenora couldn’t help but hesitate. Her changeling was in danger, and they were telling her to go somewhere else.

Her first instinct was to tell Aldis to stuff it up his nose, and rush to the Blue Palace regardless of what he or anyone else needed. Whatever was happening there must have been unfathomable to keep Stross away from an undead invasion like this. For all she knew he was already de-

Fenora shook herself.

She reminded herself who she was thinking about, how strong and clever Stross was despite his downright clownish attitude. He had saved her life more times than she cared to remember, so he could handle himself. Right?

Besides, the people of Solitude still needed her to protect them. They were safe in Castle Dour for the moment, but how long would that last? And then there were those who were still trapped in their homes, or fighting for their lives in the streets. Their lives were more important. Weren’t they?

She knew what Stross would want from her, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.

“I-“

*RMMMMBBKKKKK!*

Fenora didn’t get another word as the ground shook again and a deathly chill washed through the air.

All eyes were drawn upwards as a figure shot up into the sky. She was barely more than dusty bones dressed in ancient faded cloth. But chilling blue waves of magic spilled from her body, capturing the moonlight and highlighting her silhouette against the darkness. Of particular note, was the wolf-pelt cowl draped over her skull.

Slowly she descended into the courtyard, and Styrr’s holy wards sparked and fizzled out of existence in her presence. She stopped just above them, her dress and cape billowing in an unseen wind as she stayed just high enough to be seen in all her eminence, while keeping all others below her.

Everyone shuddered, feeling her hollow sockets glancing their way. Most tried to hide from her gaze, soldiers were too terrified to even raise their bows, and few dared to breathe.

After a moment of quietly regarding them, she finally spoke. Her voice was like a whisper, but somehow echoed like thunder in their heads.

“Mortals of Solitude, look upon me now. Your true Queen has returned! I, Potema, shall rule this world forever. And you, my people, shall serve me…” Her arms opened in what seemed a gesture of welcoming, “In death.”

With those last words to seal their fate, a legion of death assembled before the survivors of Solitude. Corpses fresh and centuries old alike grouped together, encircling the courtyard. Severed limbs found mismatched owners and knitted themselves into place. To Fenora’s shock, even the piles of ash consecrated by Dawnbreaker rose to form wraith-like monsters, pulsing with Potema’s necrotic energy.

Now even more monstrous and grotesque than before, Potema’s army marched towards the survivors, the people Fenora did so much to save.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Fenora sneered as she put herself between the nearest group of living people and the oncoming horde, using Dawnbreaker to hack the undead warriors down.

She ducked under the halberd of a draugr with two left arms and thrust Dawnbreaker into its gut, quickly blocking a swing from a turned Imperial soldier lacking the top half of his head, sweeping its legs clean off with her greatsword, and finishing with a downward stab from Dawnbreaker.

She lit a draugr of fire with her thu’um and kicked it into the one directly behind, then quickly slashed them both while they were staggered.

Several more such motions followed until Fenora realized in dismay that she was back to square one. The undead she defeated weren’t being finished off by Dawnbreaker anymore; one second they were gone, and the next their eyes would flash and they’d be right back up, the sign of their master continuously reaerating her control over them. Even the wounds she inflicted were practically undone as Potema’s magic warped and melted their flesh back into place.

Around her the sound of steel hitting steel punctuated the screams of the living and guttural yells of the undead. Aldis and his men were just as hopelessly outmatched as she was, if not more so.

Above it all, Fenora could hear the Wolf Queen cackle in victory from above.

Gritting her teeth, Fenora picked up a battleaxe still being gripped by a severed hand. “You think this is funny?!” she yelled and threw it with all her might at the ghostly bag of bones.

Seeing this, Potema casually cocked her head to the side causing the axe to miss. Then with a lazy hand gesture, she sent a clear command to her minions. “Kill that one first.”

All at once, the dead turned from the rest of the survivors and began converging on Fenora.

Fenora hesitated for just a moment, but in a moment inspired by her dear little changeling, she decided to roll with it.

Suicidal Master Plan - step one: make all the bad things focus on me, and not the people I’m trying to save.

Fenora slipped back into her normal combat routine, ducking and weaving away from the horde and trying to outmaneuver them, though it was noticeably harder this time around. Instead of mindlessly and relentlessly closing in on her, the dead began forming ranks; while draugr with axes and swords and multiple extra arms closed in to harass her up close, shield-bearers and heavily armored units moved around the sides to box her in.

Seeing a trio of shields close the gap behind her, Fenora took her greatsword and swung it into the line of berserkers pushing her back. It didn’t go nearly as well as she hoped.

The first two took the full brunt of her blade and it immediately got stuck. They even grabbed her weapon once it was lodged in their torsos, fighting her efforts to pull it free.

While she was busy with those two, one of the newly risen Ash Wraiths wove around its allies, its form flowing past them like a river around rocks to get right in Fenora’s face.

Fenora jumped back, abandoning her weapon. But not before the ghostly cloud of ash pellets latched onto her, digging into her skin like tiny thorns.

“Fus Ro Dah!”

Fenora’s shout of Unrelenting Force blew away the wraith like a cloud of smoke, likely saving her life in the process.

As she turned on her heel and took a running leap at the shield-bearers, managing to use their shields as platforms as she scrambled over, Potema watched with slightly piqued interest.

“What is this now… was that Dovahzul? Interesting.” Potema mused aloud, “But where are you running to, little elf? Do you think you can possibly escape my army?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Fenora thought as she dipped in between her pursuers and dodged weapons flung at her Resident Evil 4 style. “Just keep thinking you’re out of reach.”

Finally she reached the edge of the courtyard, where a stone staircase led to the battlements higher up.

Quickly scrambling up while a pair of ash wraiths swiped at her heels, Fenora climbed to the edge of the wall, setting her sights set on the Wolf Queen.

She jumped off… and a Whirlwind Sprint carried her the rest of the way.

Fenora could almost imagine Potema’s eye sockets widen the moment she soared through the air and plunged Dawnbreaker into her chest.

Suicidal Master Plan - step two: kill the ghost lady.

“AAAAAUUUAAGGGGHHH!” Potema’s distorted howl shook the earth as Dawnbreaker’s holy flames battled with the necromancy sustaining her. “No. NO!”

“Yeah! Now you’re gonna… die and… stay dead this time? I swear I had a snappier one-liner for this.” Fenora said as she pushed the sword deeper into her ribcage. “Just die, okay?!”

“Insolent mortal scum!” Potema roared. Digging her bony fingers into Fenora’s neck, she sent death magic coursing through her body. The second she was too weak to hold on, Potema threw her off like an old coat.

“Suicidal master plan – step three: fail to think about how to land.” Fenora thought to herself in the two seconds of floating bliss before she hit the ground.

Pain lanced through her right ankle in time with a sickening crack, but Fenora didn’t have the strength in her to scream. The feeling of weakness and lethargy soaking into her muscles like ice-cold water reminded her of when Stross nearly killed her in his feral state.

Above, Potema finally pulled Dawnbreaker free, letting it fall to the ground below with a metallic clang. She was still among the unliving, but barely.

“N-not yet. Not like th-this!” she said defiantly, even as her voice faded in and out.

Rolling her head to the side, Fenora could see a half dozen or more corpses and wraiths closing in on her. But before they could attack, their bodies shuddered and they collapsed. The blue glow left their eyes through wisplike channels in the air, all of it being recalled back to Potema as she fought to maintain her undeath.

It seemed it was all for naught thought. As the fires of Dawnbreaker died out, her own energy was withering. With one last scream of defiance, Potema’s bones shattered into dust and her spectral form vanished completely.

There was a moment of stark silence as the battle concluded. Soldiers and citizens, still in whatever corners they’d been backed into, hesitantly ventured out, wondering if it was really over.

“She did it!” someone shouted, “The Dragonborn defeated Potema the Wolf Queen!”

Word was spreading quickly, and those who made it inside the keep were quickly reemerging to see for themselves.

Fenora couldn’t help feeling awkward; all of these people were cheering for her, and here she was flat on her back, barely able to move. She felt like laughing at it all, but her lungs could barely work well enough for her to breathe.

Captain Aldis appeared in her field of view, blood trickling down the side of his face, but still very much alive. He gave her a victorious smile and offered a hand up.

Simply reaching up to take it seemed like more than she could manage, but Fenora somehow did it. Not falling over once Aldis yanked her to her feet was even harder, but somehow she did that too.

“That…” he began, “was really something else. Sometimes I can hardly believe what happens these days. Potema returned to the living…” the Captain shuddered. “At least all this is over now. I can’t begin to tell you the service you’ve done Solitude this night, Dragonborn. No doubt Falk Firebeard will want to commend you for your heroics… if he and the others are still alive.”

“Yeah…” Fenora said breathlessly. “You guys should get on that. And… call me Fen, kay?”

Aldis nodded and quickly shouted orders to his men to form up before turning back to Fenora.

“I must leave and investigate the palace. You’re free to come with us if you like, but you’ve certainly earned a rest.”

“You go on ahead.” Fenora told them, steadying herself and trying not to lean on her broken leg. “I’ll catch up when I can. Try and look out for my friends while you’re there; if something screams ‘don’t hit me’, you might want to listen.”

Aldis gave her a questioning look, but continued on anyways.

She hoped Stross would be okay until she arrived, wherever he was.

Looking around she saw most everyone she had rescued were leaving the safety of the courtyard, likely to check on their homes and loved ones. Others remained cautious and stayed behind, but everyone gave Fenora their highest regards.

Styrr left almost immediately for the old catacombs beneath the city, stating that he needed to make sure Potema was really gone for good by preforming a Rite of Arkay on the last of her remains, or something like that. Fenora wished him luck.

After giving those she saved a parting smile, Fenora let out an exhausted sigh and limped over to where Dawnbreaker fell. When she picked it up, it seemed the sword had lost much of its glow, and its gold metal now looked more akin to rust, as though dealing with the Wolf Queen’s power had left it damaged just like her.

Once she’d picked up her dwarven greatsword as well, slinging it onto her back like a ton of bricks, she began the long trek to the Blue Palace.

“Isn’t it ironic how you never miss something 'till it’s not there?” Fenora asked herself, thinking of Stross and his healing magic, and how Lydia always carried a stock of healing potions for them. Either of those sounded fantastic at the moment.

Every step took effort to make, and more to keep her legs from collapsing under her. Every alternate step was like crushing her ankle all over again if she placed her foot wrong. With the adrenaline gone from her system, the arrow wound in her side was starting to feel unbelievably sore.

She wondered for a moment if this was what changelings felt like when they were starving. From what Stross described to her, she guessed it wasn’t too far off.

Either way, she was going to need a lot of fixing once she finally found him. Hopefully he would scold her too much for it.

Heck… she’d let him rant her pointy ears off just to have him back right now.

It was an agonizingly long walk. Seeing families returning to their homes the whole way didn’t help either.

How many of them had lost someone important to them tonight? How many of them could she have saved if she had just been a bit faster, a bit stronger, a bit quicker to realize what was happening?

Fenora couldn’t keep asking herself these questions. Right now she just wanted to find her changeling and housecarl, get healed, get blackout drunk, and snuggle in bed with both of them until the sun came up.

It was striking how different the palace courtyard seemed from that morning. In place of the three dozen guards from before, there was now only one of Aldis’s men watching the main entrance. He recognized her immediately, and politely opened the door for her.

“Have they found anyone?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “Not that I’ve heard ma’am, still waiting for them to come back out. But brace yourself in there. It’s bad.”

He wasn’t wrong. The coppery stench of blood hit Fenora’s nose as soon as she entered. It wasn’t hard to find the source.

The dining hall looked… well, it was a mess to say the least. And to say the most, it looked like it had been subjugated to an unrestrained fury of an unlidded meat blender loaded with the bodies of a thousand condemned souls. Yes.

Fenora had to cover her mouth to keep the contents of her stomach down.

The remains of the royal banquet were covered in gore, just like the floors and the walls and the ceilings and the priceless carpets. Every bit of everything was so ludicrously pulverized that it was impossible to tell what used to be an entrée and what used to be a person. The only thing even hinting at a casualty count was the bloody pile of guard helmets stacked in the corner.

“Stross! Lydia!” Fenora called, only for silence to answer her.

Sighing, but unwilling to give up, Fenora turned and wandered out of the room, not noticing the puddles of blood ominously ripple just as she left.

She continued to call out for her friends, for anybody. But she was still only met with silence.

It was then that she remembered Aldis and his men. They arrived before her, but she hadn’t seen a sign of them.

“S-save… Sa-ave…”

Fenora’s ears perked up. The voice sounded strangled and weak, but it had to be nearby. As fast as her broken ankle would allow, Fenora hopped her way in the direction she heard it.

Her journey took her to a room on the second floor, down a hallway shooting off from the throne room where Elisif held her court.

The fact that such a weak sound shouldn’t have carried that far was lost on Fenora as she pushed open the door to Elisif’s personal chambers, and straight into hell.

It was worse than the banquet hall. Aldis and all his men had been reduced to withered husks, drained of all their blood, hung by their arms and necks from the ceiling by fleshy tendrils peeled from their own-

*Hrk*

Fenora couldn’t hold her supper any longer at the sight and hurled onto the floor.

“S-save… yourself.” The desiccated Captain managed to speak his last before succumbing to the life-draining energies keeping him and his men in their torment.

“Hello again, Dragonborn.” the voice of Potema echoed throughout the room. Then a skeletal form rose from the pool of blood, gaining sinew and skin from the guards’ dead bodies. “Your Queen requires your service.”

“Shit.” Fenora grit her teeth and drew Dawnbreaker.

“Did you think that I would be defeated so easily?” Potema asked. “Naïve! That silly priest won't find a thing to purify with his little ritual until it's too late. I was the greatest Septim to ever rule, the greatest ruler to ever sit upon the throne of Tamriel, and I shall be again.”

As the Wolf Queen approached, Fenora lunged forward and stabbed Dawnbreaker into her newly formed body.

Potema feigned concern.

Muscly tendons shot out from her arms and snared the elf. In response Fenora attempted Unrelenting Force, then Fire Breath, then Ice Form.

Each time she tried, her thu’um died in her throat. She was well and truly past her limit.

However, rather than finish Fenora off in that moment, Potema’s fleshy head tilted in curiosity as she looked over bosmer.

“You are something special, aren’t you? Dragonborn warriors were a rare thing, even when I walked the earth as a mortal woman. More than that, you were nearly my end, albeit with my own… overconfidence. For that, you have my grudging respect.” Potema appraised her like some well-trained, well bred horse. But what she said next shocked Fenora more than anything. “Let me inside you.”

“Hey... even if you weren’t a gross flesh monster, I don’t swing that way.” Fenora quipped weakly.

Potema ignored her and continued on. “I am not blind to the happenings in this world since my initial demise. I see the turmoil in the land: the Nords spilling their own blood while the Aldmeri Dominion tightens its grip on the Empire. With the way the world is now, a ruler like me could do quite well for herself. And once I have truly returned to the living, I, Potema Septim shall inherit the throne as the immortal, and last living heir of the Spetim Dynasty! So… Fenora Tandis. Will thou join me?”

Fenora gave her a blank stare. “No. And besides, that’s crazy. Even if they come back to life, you can’t have a dead person take the throne again after hundreds of years. Are you nuts?”

Potema was silent for a moment.

“Disappointing.” She said, “But legitimate or not, my subjects will accept my rule when I force it upon them. Just as you shall accept THIS!”

Suddenly Potema’s eyes began to glow, and Fenora screamed as her wounds flared with pain. The arrow wound in her side, her shattered ankle, the cut on her back and even tiny nicks and scrapes she didn’t even realize she had became festering cesspits of agony!

“I am master of death.” Potema gloated as Fenora continued to writhe. “Your wounds, your dying flesh… all of it is mine to influence. I shall return. If you will not live for my cause, then you shall die for it!”

The muscles forming Potema’s fingertips unraveled and snaked their way into Fenora’s open wound. Fenora gave a pained gasp as the possessed tendrils of Potema’s flesh fused with her own body, slowly but surely falling into the Wolf Queen’s control.

She tried to think of something, anything to save herself. But there was nothing Fenora could do except scream in pain until it was over.

Once every fiber of flesh and drop of blood had been assimilated into her, Fenora’s body dropped to the floor, and slowly rose.

She lifted a hand, and flexed her fingers, clenching them into a fist. Then she gave a tiny chuckle of triumph.

“Hm ha ha ha. Ah, it feels so good to be flesh and blood again. This is quite a comfortable body, if a tad small.” Potema said, only to feel a slight tug at the edge of her mind. “Hmm? Still lingering about, Fenora? I should have known. And what interesting memories you have.”

At the sense of shock, Potema laughed again. “That’s right, our souls are one now, until you fade into Oblivion that is. Then it will all be mine. In the meanwhile, enjoy the show as I crush this world under my heel.”

The struggling sensation intensified.

“It’s pointless to fight back. But still, I must thank you for your dragon speech.” Potema said just to rub it in a bit more. “I’ll be sure to make good use of it. As for that shapeshifter you have so infatuated with you…”

The feeling went still.

“That creature will be particularly valuable to me. That is, if I can trick it into believing I’m you.”

With one last victorious laugh, Potema took her first step towards ruling the world with an iron fist.

…But she didn’t get another.

“Wh-what? Impossi-!”

The voice that responded came screaming at her from the depths of her mind and soul, more furious than words can describe.

“FUCK YOU POTATO SACK, THE BITCH QUEEN!!!”

Potema fell backwards on her rump, stunned and unable to move as the feeling in her fingers slowly slipped away. The Wolf Queen watched in horror and disbelief as they clenched into fists and Fenora began punching herself in the face.

“What? Stop! You fool, you’ll kill us both!”

Somehow, Potema felt Fenora smirk. “Worth it.”

“Dovah(Dragon)… Sil(Soul)… YOLOS(FLAME)!”

As she spoke those words, Fenora’s body burst into flames imbued with the gold light of her soul. What Potema felt in that moment was not the burning sensation of one soul setting another ablaze in pure unfiltered rage, but the slow fade into absolute nothingness as her very being was erased from the world.

"Long un-live the Queen." Fenora said, right as Potema the Wolf Queen became no more.

When at last the fires died down, Fenora found she was still there, staring up at a fleshy ceiling, unable to move.

The last thought that went through her mind before she lost herself was of Stross, and how much she wished she could see him again.

Meanwhile in Sheogorath’s realm, Stross had just finished freeing Lydia and Jordis from their nightmares.

As it turned out, what both of them feared most had nothing to do with Queen Elisif or her counsel, but simply what it meant to serve as Housecarls.

Both of them feared the abuse they would suffer at the hands of uncaring and malicious masters, being forced to haul cripplingly heavy burdens for miles during adventures, act as meat shields against enemies, and even being forced to walk into deadly traps at the whims of those they swore to serve and protect.

Once he got over his shock at the very idea of hurting your own companions for fun, it was simply a matter of convincing them that not everyone is a heartless monster, and if they are, then they don’t deserve to have such wonderful protectors in the first place.

“You really think so?” Lydia sniffled as Stross helped her and Jordis to their feet.

“I know so.” Stross said sincerely.

“But what about our honor? Loyalty?” Jordis asked, “We can’t just forsake those things.”

“Well…” Stoss thought on it for a second. “I don’t think there’s any honor in hurting your friends. And if we’re talking about loyalty, part of being loyal is keeping each other from becoming massive dicks. Am I right?”

Lydia and Jordis looked at each other, confused by his choice of words.

“Okay look, let’s just say that if I ever do anything to break your trust in me, I give your express permission to straight up leave if you want to. No strings attached. Deal?”

“Deal, my thane.” Lydia said, hugging him. “Although… in all my years as a housecarl, the days I’ve spent with you was the most enjoyable. Even the times we almost died.”

Stross smiled and nuzzled into her chestplate. “Thanks. Now how ‘bout we go beat up that guy?” he said, pointing to a naked man in an iron helmet with curved horns.

“Lydia! Jordis! Put on these skimpy dresses and let me shove you off this really tall mountain! Hey wait… what are you- AH! AHH! No, I haven’t saved my game in like ten hours!”

As the dream faded back to the Shivering Isles, Stross could barely recognize the place with all the insane things Sheogorath was spawning in. From tanooki suits to living tank engines, oversized swords to handheld cannons, to melons of every size, shape and variety, to melons of every size shape and variety.

Meanwhile Elisif, her counsel, and even the housecarls were just caught in the middle of it all, trying… and failing, not to go mad.

“Conflagrations!” Sheo said as he descended from on high, meanwhile a swath of land below their floating island burst into a raging fire. “You saved all the thingy-whatsits! Now we can finally have our dinner party. Although… I must admit I’m quite full after all that sumptuous entertainment you’ve provided. I don’t think I could eat another sight. And if we’re being honest, the rest of the guests don’t seem too hungry either.”

Sheo and Stross looked over to where all the others were entranced by a dwemer lava lamp the size of a large tree.

“Yeesh.”

Stross couldn’t help but frown. “Well as long as your satisfied, can we all go home now please?”

“Hmm, you’re right. It is getting rather late.” The lord of madness said, looking at the Moon tarot card in the sky, only for it to flip over to the Sun side. “Or early. Late. Early. Late. Purple. Oh it’s all perspective anyway. I shall return you to your own world as you wish, and everyone will wake up tomorrow as though it were all just a big silly dream.

“But don’t look so sad, my dear changeling. Your efforts weren’t for nothing. They may not remember their time here, but rest assured, they will remember your lessons… for better or worse. And of course I’ll revive anyone who was killed between now and the time we left. After all, I am nothing if not a gracious host/guest, and you boring mortals don’t seem to like your guards exploded.

“That said, it has been a pleasure. Ta ta!”

With that, Sheogorath waved a final farewell, and before Stross could get in another word, he found himself falling into the blissful darkness of sleep.

Stross’s eyes slowly fluttered open as consciousness returned to him, and the first thing his brain processed was the warm, soft, squishy things all around him.

“Nngg.” He mumbled and let out a yawn. It felt like a long time since he last slept, and it felt pretty refreshing. He sat up and had a nice long stretch… and then he opened his eyes.

And then he realized what all the squishy things were. He had been sleeping on top of Fenora the whole time, and she was naked!

As he jumped back in shock, Stross found she wasn’t the only one.

Sheogorath had brought them back to the palace all right. He even unexploded all the guards like he said he would, but now everyone was completely naked!

While he sat there frozen in shock, realizing for perhaps the first time why these humans wore clothes, he saw the others start to stir.

Thinking quickly, Stross did what any sensible changeling would do. He turned invisible and got the eff out of there.

Mere seconds later the shrill, embarrassed screaming began, and somewhere in an alternate realm, Sheogorath was having a good hearty laugh at it all.