Wergar
I unfurled the letter once again, rereading the contents. General Tullius was many things but a liar was not one of them.
Wergar,
I have some information that may interest you. Though you are not part of the Empire, you helped with quelling the Stormcloak Rebellion, even, surprisingly, sparing the life of Ulfric Stormcloak. True it would have been better had he died a traitor’s death this letter is not about that. I owe you a great debt.
The Thalmor have recently obtained a prisoner, a young man barely old enough to grow his own chin hairs. They believe him to be a werewolf, like yourself, but they have no solid proof. Just speculation.
Be wary, Wolflord, for I hear the Thalmor have procured some new allies.
Northwatch Keep.
I looked up to the snowy path before me, the wind hardly registering to me, billowing across the rocks ahead. The metal wolf head of my armor shone as the sun caught it just right; usually that wouldn’t matter but the black fur of my armor stood out amongst the white surrounding me.
A Wolflord like me, Tullius believes. It had been two years since I arrived in these lands and had many… adventures, to say the least. Skyrim, Tamriel, was not my place of origin. It did take some time but the people have accepted me, both sides of me and I am grateful for that.
A Wolflord. I had both hope and fear in my heart at the thought. It could be my family, a random werewolf, or a white wolf. I shook my head, black hair swaying before my eyes as I continued down the mountain path.
I would find out soon enough.
*~~*
“Halt!” went a commanding voice. A High Elf, or Altmer as they are sometimes called. Golden skinned men with pointed ears with matching eyes. And a sharp tongue, forged in many metals. “This area is restricted! By order of the Thalmor, you will leave or you will die!”
Northwatch Keep. A once crumbling fortress of old now repurposed into something newer, something darker. It was one of many dotted throughout the province of Skyrim, overrun with vermin.
I looked around the old fortress as several elves in golden and glass armor did their patrols. Several corners and wooden barricades for makeshift cover. “I know of this place, elf,” I said in a calm voice. “And I know you know of me. From your masters.”
The man clenched his fist. “Well well, if it isn’t the Wolf himself.” His voice was icy. “Come to join our prisoners in chains, have you?”
Do not let them know.
“I came across an obscure rumor, elf, that you have a prisoner here. One that garners my interest.” Any therianthrope is my business. I am King, afterall.
“A rumor? Impossible. Nothing gets past these walls unless we allow it.”
The door to the main building opened causing the guards to turn and stare. Another elf in dark, embroidered robes stepped out, carrying an aura about him. One of the higher-ups for this place. I had guessed the Interrogator.
“Let him pass,” he commanded. The guard hesitated for a second before giving him a bow. “Somehow they knew the mongrel would come to this place.”
“The only mongrels I see are you.”
“Watch your tongue, Nord. You are in enemy territory and outnumbered. The only reason you’re still alive is because of the audience you have been granted.”
By you or the new allies you have, I wonder.
“Then be a good dog, elf, and take me to your masters.” I took great pleasure in watching the veins in the Altmer’s neck bulge.
“One more insolent remark from you, the shield keeping you alive will be gone. Tread carefully.” The threat was credible. Although outnumbered it would not be too difficult to kill all the goldskins, but numbers overwhelm. Even without silver, Werelords can still be killed by iron and steel. “Follow. Now.”
I let loose a growl, letting the wolf within out a little, as I bared my now dagger sharp teeth. The guard let out a startled gasp, finding the sight appalling or jarring I could not tell but it was probably both.
Begrudgingly the elf in robes began to lead me through the prison.
The outside of the rebuilt but still decrepit stronghold did not appear that large. The overwhelming majority of it was built underground. Several of the Thalmor agents we passed rolled their eyes and jeered amongst themselves before returning to their food and drink; about the ‘dog’ being led deeper into the prison. How my pelt would make a fine decoration for the wall.
Something that irked me about the place was the furniture. The tables, chairs, hell even the barrels, were all new. No scuff marks, perfectly polished and imported. Skyrim’s trees would not be able to produce the same shine and look.
I knew the layout of Northwatch, or at least tried to remember as much of it as possible. The large double doors to the left had a two person bed at the end, for guards that had earned a deserved rest. There were stairs to the right of the doors that led to two hallways: one had several cells to keep their enemies for information, the other led to a torture room.
“I see you’ve been busy,” I stated.
“Excuse me?” went the Altmer, his eyes narrowed warily.
“You’ve prisoners. Some fresh, some old.”
“How could you poss-”
“You are not the only one with exceptional hearing,” I answered smugly, cutting him off. I moved some hair away to reveal my ears, now lupine in structure. “I can only imagine how much grander yours would be if you have lycanthropy.”
The Thalmor scuffed. “And debase myself, muddying my glorious blood to become a flea-ridden mutt? Preposturous. We Altmer are your betters in every way.” There was a sound that would have gone unnoticed by an ordinary man, muffled by the walls and hallway. “It seems they’ve resumed.”
“Torturing a poor soul for nonsensical information?” I folded my arms; something left odd. Off.
“You shall see soon enough, dog.”
As we moved closer to our destination, the louder the abuse became. Sounds of pain, strained grunts and moans almost on the verge of breaking. Yet refusing to speak.
Rounding the corner, there they stood: two figures in black cloaks, obscuring their features like living shadows even the fires of the candles refused to touch them. One was shorter than the other, but if life had taught me anything it was that looks were always deceiving.
As I strode closer I was able to get a good look at their victim. Tullius was right, the boy was young, not even old enough to grow facial hair. Shock of black hair, looked stronger than what was let on, almost like a laborer or farmer. One of his eyes was swollen and black, like a plum on the cusp of bursting; his other was concealed by one of the cloaked figures. His hands were secured above his head with shackles embedded into the stone wall.
The poor lad was given no dignity, having been stripped naked. He had slashes, cuts and puncture marks across his arms, chest, and legs.
“Your guest,” went the Altmer, “as requested.”
The two figures turned, lost in their overzealous glee of inflicting pain. The shorter one kept half of his face covered by cloak and shade. Hideous burn scars wrapped and snaked about themselves like an oroboros. Though the skin appeared to be healed through magics and potions, the scars remained. A pity.
The other brought his hood down, revealing his black hair and eyes. Tan skin from years of travel and battle, eyes sharp as a crow’s and nose slightly bent downward.
Instantly my anger flared and my sword, Moonbrand, was in my hand, the steel and enchantment roaring to life and glowed brightly as the moons themselves. “Of course the Thalmor, the enemy of Tamriel, would ally with the likes of you two!” My eyes narrowed as they shifted from green to yellow.
Something still felt off. Like the Wolf within and my dragon blood was trying to tell me something.
“It is good to see you are still alive and well, Wergar,” went Lord Rook; the Altmer backed off, surprisingly being smart for once.
“The feeling isn’t mutual, Crow,” I growled. My eyes flicked to the other man. “Vanmorten, you worthless Rat. Always trying to find ways to expand your meager might, to come out on top. Was fighting amongst the Rat King not sufficient enough?”
The Rat King. A title I bestowed upon the Ratlords of my homeland. Vankaskan, Vanmorten, Vorjavik, Vorhaas, and the newborn Vex, all decreed as Rat King. To fight one another for power or be forced to work together. I did not care which when I gave the decree. I still did not.
“It is vexing to see you doing well, Wolf.” Vanmorten was a conniving wererat, but like before his frail appearance was convincing deception. “Everyone in Westland was much happier with you gone.”
“Why hide your face, little Rat?” I asked, ignoring the bait. “I can see you have been burned. Such a shame whoever cast you alight couldn’t finish the job. Should I meet the individual, I would congratulate them.”
Vanmorten snarled, baring his teeth and pulled down his hood. I lowered Moonbrand a little in shock. The skin on the left side of his face from his cheek to his forehead was gone, the flesh torn clean off. His left eye, left ghastly and bare, was dead and red, the moisture it lacked for who knows how long destroying it.
The skull beneath was visible in certain parts between specks of skin and muscle like a butchered checkerboard. Even the elf had gasped in horror at the atrocity of the wound.
“I stand corrected, that I have to thank them for.”
The Ratlord pointed a clawed finger to the young man in the shackles, the hatred pouring, radiating from him. “That boy did this to me!” His lips curled into a vicious smile. “I am merely repaying him in kind.” Instead of using one of his claws, Vanmorten drew a dagger from his belt and slowly, deeply, dragged the steel from the boy’s left shoulder to his right, purposefully bringing the blade to his chest to avoid the neck.
The boy twitched and spasmed as the dagger glided across his skin like chipped wood. He let out a strained breath, doing his best to keep the pain from getting to him. His left eye winced, allowing me to finally see it. It was green, like my own.
I smiled, gripping my sword tighter. “Then that makes him my ally. So be a smart Rat and Crow and back the hell away from that boy!”
“That I will not allow!” came the voice of the Altmer as he stepped forward. All three of us turned to face the elf. “This prisoner is in the custody of the Thalmor, given to us from Lord Vanmorten and Lord Rook. We will not allow our property to be stolen so easily.”
Rook stepped forward, unsheathing a silver scimitar. “Our partnership with this… Thalmor group is one of mutual benefits. They have already agreed that for our aid, they would gain the aid of our forces.”
I couldn’t help not look away from the weapon in his hand. Silver? In the hands of a Werelord? “That metal is outlawed, Rook!” I roared as my nails turned to claws, eyes shining with malicious intent, enough to match Moonbrand.
Both men looked at one another before laughing. It threw me off guard. The possession of silver was a serious offense, even having the metal for decoration and jewelry was prohibited. As it had been for generations.
The Wolf and dragon blood were almost yelling at me now.
“Not anymore.” Vanmorten took delight as my expression shifted and blood ran cold. “You see, Wergar… your disappearance from the palace caused quite the uproar with Leopold. He was so looking forward to taking your head and burning your corpse.” The Rat started to pace around, slowly walking in a circle around Rook and myself.
“He and all his allies. But here you are, in a new land and very much alive. I wonder, who could have smuggled you out, hmm? And at whom’s request was it done: was it yours, or someone else?”
“Sure as hell was not mine!” I growled. It was getting harder and harder to quell the beast. It was raging against the cage that was my control, rattling my bones like tree trunks. “Use that rat brain of yours and think of who could have. Who was sly enough, coy and disarming, charming enough to disobey MY orders to keep me in that cell!?”
The Crow and Vanmorten put it together almost immediately.
“Count Vega, the Shark. Captain of the Maelstrom. Of course.”
“Given that it was two years ago,” I began, “I’ll make sure that damn shark is…” I trailed off and both Werelord’s started to laugh once again. “What’s so funny, dammit?”
“Two years?” Rook said incredulously. “My old enemy, it hasn’t been two years since you were gone. It’s been sixteen.”
I almost dropped Moonbrand only to feel a blade slip into my back. I fell to a knee.
Vanmorten waved the dagger back and forth in his claws, my blood dripping from the gnarled tip. “You should pay more attention, Wergar.” I could feel the poison from it working through my system. It wasn’t meant to kill or paralyze the victim. It was simply to cause as much pain as possible. Already it felt like my nerves were on fire. “Sixteen years have passed back home. Can you believe it, Wolf? Over a decade.”
No… no, that… “You lie,” I spat through gritted teeth. The effects of the poison seemed to get stronger. It was a poison to make transforming agonizing.
“It is the truth, Wolf,” Lord Rook chimed in, clearly enjoying my shock. “After your disappearance, with Westland already in Leopold’s grasp he was made king.”
“No! That would have fallen to my oldest boy!”
“And you think Leopold didn’t know that?” the Crow scoffed. “He knew all too well. So the Lion corrected that ‘bump’ in the road. He put all your children to the sword.”
My eyes softened as tears threatened to break free, Moonbrand all but slipping from my fingers. My little ones were my pride and joy. Amelie and I looked forward to raising them, to being parents, a family.
“Unfortunately,” he continued with annoyance clear in his voice, “one of the queen’s handmaidens had stolen a child away. The youngest still lives.”
“My son…”
“Indeed.” Vanmorten strode in front of me, his footsteps suddenly sounding as loud as thunder, kicking my sword away from me. “That handmaiden tried to raise him as her own. Succeeded too, for those sixteen years, until finally we found them.” He turned to the boy in shackles. “Isn’t that right, little Wolf?”
I looked at the young one at long last, finally truly seeing him. He had my eyes and hair, the same nose. The jawline he inherited from his mother, Queen Amelie.
My son… a stranger.
“Willem…”
“F-father…” the boy replied, at long last.
I reached a hand out to him, to cradle his cheek, to make him feel safe, to be there at long last for my boy. A black gloved hand clasp around my wrist.
“I want this damned dog clapped in irons with the rest of the filth in this dungeon!” The Thalmor Interrogator barked down the hallway for any passing guard to respond to. “Now!”
In an instant I was on my feet, my other hand grabbed him by the chest and slammed him into the wall. There was a loud crash and then a sickening crunch as my hand disappeared into his cavity. The elf tried to scream but there was just too much pain and adrenaline racing into his body. His hands shook like leaves in the wind as his body could not respond to his commands.
“Begone.” My clawed hand squeezed his heart. The light left his eyes and his body slumped against my arm only to be callously tossed aside. I blinked once and rage all but consumed me. “You shouldn’t have told me that! Because now you die!”
Vanmorten shifted. His arms grew longer, his nails grew into wicked claws while his jaw dislocated and grinded upwards into a muzzle. A tail snaked behind him, thrashing wildly as if it had a mind of its own. He was still hardly taller than myself transformed but that did not take away how bloodthirsty his beady red eyes made him.
Lord Rook had grown feathers upon the entire upper part of his body as his bones likewise snapped and broke themselves to find new homes. His mouth and nose fused together to form a great, black beak while his legs and feet turned into terrible talons. Large, black wings sprouted from his back blocking my view of Willem and Moonbrand.
“Two against one, eh?” went the Crow as he brandished his scimitar. “I say we like those odds.”
Rook made the first move, using his powerful wings to push himself forwards. Down and down he brought his blade in savage arcs, all aimed for my neck and chest. My time in Tamriel had given me much time to fight, to train against all manner of creatures and enemies, even mighty dragons.
I dodged and blocked each strike with my plated gauntlets as I struck out with my claws managing only grazing blows.
Vanmorten joined the fray bringing about his own claws and teeth, his tail whipping at my face. I growled at the flurry of attacks from my enemies, the allies of Leopold, and grew even angrier. The Rat’s claws found marks as silver bit into my flesh sending the familiar burning sensation through my body.
The sight of first blood spurred on my foes, striking with renewed vigor. Rook aimed a downward slash for my left shoulder while Vanmorten went for my chest only for them both to feel my fist against their face and kick to the stomach.
“Impressive,” grunted the Crow, wiping the blood from his beak. “It has been too long since I’ve faced someone of your caliber, Wergar, and in human form. Truly a delight.”
“I haven’t been idle in my two years.” My hair bristled as if electricity suddenly filled the air, standing on end. All I could think about was the anger and rage welling within, how the Wolf and dragonblood yearned to be free! But still I held them back. Those two were not worth the effort. “I will kill you for letting Leopold have his way for so long!”
“That’s the funny thing, Wolf. Until recently your allies had been all but defeated when the throne was claimed. Vermire thrived and Riven was the jewel of the mountains!”
I narrowed my eyes. The Hawks and Crows of the Barebones Mountains had a very strained relationship, the Crows despised the Stags most of all, which all but was severed when I gave the Hawks my blessing. They were one of my greatest troops in the army. “What happened to the Hawks?”
Vanmorten snickered wickedly as Rook continued. “After taking the throne, Leopold knew an example had to be made. A warning to any and all would be rebels the price of revolting against him.” He made several gestures with his blade. “Baron Griffyn, the Lord of the Hawks, was chosen. I’m sure you remember him well, what with being a dear friend and all.
“Leopold carved out his wings and kept them as a trophy in the throneroom. He forbade any Hawk from transforming again under the penalty of death. And Windfell? Control was given to Baron Skeer.”
No more! My mind raced as my bones cracked and fur erupted all across my skin. My lungs expanded, ribs bubbled and popped to grow with the organs, my very armor growing and expanding along with me. My teeth grew into razor sharp daggers as my gums ripped to accommodate. Every crack of my bones felt like an earthquake which only served to shock the Rat and Crow. The fire of transforming all but muted beneath my fury.
My lupine eyes burned with a murderous frenzy to terrify even Paarthurnax.
“I WILL DEVOUR YOUR HEARTS!!”
Everything within the prison was able to hear the fighting when it began. My roar shook the very area around us all. I lunged for the Crow because he was the closest target. He may have been a warrior, but the Crows, every last one, were opportunists, only joining a battle that had a guaranteed victor.
Lord Rook stabbed with his silver scimitar but it found only air as I twisted out of the way and brought him to the cold floor. He yelled in pain as my claw tore into his flesh, tearing ribbons from his arms and chest, blood pouring from the furrows like an overflowing river. His wings tried to flap, to get him away from the monster.
My jaw snapped onto his beak, biting straight through the strong cartilage with ease.
An unholy scream of agony escaped the now mangled maw of Rook as he attacked wildly with his weapon, only to find that being so close to a target with a longer weapon had barely an effect.
I grabbed him sword-arm, attempting to break it only for Vanmorten to finally join in as he bit my arm just barely missing the protective plate. I snarled at the cowardly rat, his visage a horrid amalgamation of burned and unhealed flesh and jammed a claw into his dead eye.
I felt the little organ pop like a balloon.
Vanmortan squealed as he backed away, covering his now eyeless socket. I smiled as I waved my claw to him, the eye and its nerves still attached. My other hand was around Rook’s arm once again and swiftly gave it a savage twist, bending it to an impossible angle and further.
The cries of pain were so loud that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me.
“By the Isles..!”
I turned my head to see a simple five guards now standing in the room with weapons and magic at the ready. Thalmor were highly trained participants in combat and in politics, but they were not ready for the carnage in that room.
“What are you waiting for?” Vanmorten shouted, his hand now shaking to try and control his pain. “Attack! Kill the Wolf!”
“Fus… Ro Dah!!”
A great force of energy cascaded from my maw, my dragon blood finally having a release, and slammed each High Elf into the wall with such power that I heard every skull break, neck snap back due to the whiplash. All five slumped into an unglorified heap of bodies as their blood spatters slowly swept towards them.
Vanmorten took a step back, fear carved all over the right side of his face. Rook could only stammer through the terror and pain, unable to crawl away, scared for his life.
“Wh… what are you?! You shou-ouldn’t have this kind of power! You’re just a Wolf.”
I devilishly grinned. Oh how I missed seeing the sheer and groveling terror in my old enemies. They had no idea what I had been through in two years in Skyrim. A dragon-god that would devour the world and the very kelpa itself, a mad vampire king who would blot out the sun with the blood of his own daughter; even the very first Dragonborn.
“I am Wolf. I am also Dragonborn. The very blood and soul of a dragon flow within me.”
“A.. Dragonlord..?” both Rook and Vanmorten rasped incredulously.
“Worse.”
Dragonlords and their blood were extinct. I, too, had believed the dragons of Skyrim were Dragonlords. It was not until I spoke with Paarthurnax, the leader of the Greybeards, that he and his kind were not the same species. The dragons were not therians, they just were beings created by Akatosh.
Rook swung with his left arm, getting lucky and catching me off-guard, dazing me long enough for him to turn and attempt to crawl away. The room was far too small for the Crowlord to fly, something he didn’t care about when the fight began. Now it was working against him.
I stomped the center of his back knocking the wind from his lungs. Rook’s claws and talons scraped against the stone, creating furrows in the rock as he failed again and again to get away. Vanmorten was too paralyzed with terror to lend aid, much to me delight; the fear carved along his face as such a welcome sight.
“You said,” I sneered, leaning downward, “that Leopold took Baron Griffyn’s wings.” Rook instantly began to panic as both his arms feebly failed to carry him to safety. I pressed down harder on his back, feeling my claws pierce his skin. “I shall take yours!”
“No, nonono, please!” pleaded the Crowlord from his bloody beak. “Vanmorten, stop him!” The Rat shook his head to break free of the fear only to stop in his tracks when I snarled at him.
Willem had been silent this whole encounter, drinking in the scene as it had all played out. His body was too weak to help in any way, even with his therian healing. He could not transform or risk having his hands pop from their homes due to the shackles confining him to the wall.
As I gripped the ebony wings I could already feel the bones and blood pump through the veins, could feel the body groan from the alien body that was me. There was a strain as the appendages resisted at first, holding fast but soon there was the low, but audible, pops as bone and joints separated.
Lord Rook wailed at the agony racing throughout his body as he tried in desperation to turn back to his human form. All it took was a swift slam into the ground for him to halt the process, blood now getting in his black eyes. “I want you to feel it all, as he did!” I barked, resuming the ‘operation.’
The skin and sinew could not resist my strength as I continued to pull and pull, hearing the bones in the wings break under my hands. I was smiling ear to ear, like a man possessed, to take some sort of semblance of his old life back. To take it back, in flesh and blood.
It began as small tears along the back, rising like torturous hills along a valley. More popping as bones could not withstand the pressure, more pain as Rook’s screams rose in pitch with every passing second. Finally the skin gave way, ripping and splitting itself apart like freshly tilled earth.
Blood ran freely, unabated, spraying in every direction from the wounds on Rook’s back and from his wings, their majestic black quickly losing their shine. The nerves at the stubby ends still weakly pulsed, trying to get a signal from the body, not dissimilar from roots.
Rook laid in a puddle of his blood as he took to shaking from the shock of it all. He could not transform back to his human form, for he could not control even the simplest of bodily functions.
I stepped over the Crow, not a care in the world for his well being, dropping the wings, my rear claws pressing into his shoulder. Now it was just the Rat and me.
So taken in and blinded by bloodlust, I never noticed he had a second dagger in his paw. Silver and layered in a poison that I knew not what it could do. He held the tip of it at Willem’s throat.
“S-stay back, monster!” Vanmorten squeaked. His hand was trembling so terribly he could not keep my son’s head straight with the other.
Between the Rat King, Vanmorten was the strongest of the brothers, even more so than the warmonger, Vorjavik who lived for the fight. It brought me great pleasure to see the creature quaking before me like a newborn.
“The only monster here is you, Rat.” There was no fluctuation in my voice, no quivering, no unsteadiness. But I did stand still. “Get you disgusting paws off my son!”
“N-Not a chance if he’s the only thing keeping me alive!”
Using my son as a shield? The Wolf wished for nothing more than to rip his throat apart, to feel the warm blood on my fur and reduce the Rat King by one member. I needed to think rationally, not screw up and get Willem killed. I took a step back, towards where Moonbrand lay.
Vanmorten watched my slow movements like a hawk, unblinking as he pressed the dagger harder against Willem’s neck. “That blade won’t help you, Wolf.” I knelt down to pick up and sheath my sword as he went on. “You have no way of getting to me before I-”
“I have two ways of closing the distance in the blink of an eye,” I growled, fur bristling. “But only one to get that silver dagger away from my son’s neck.” Whirlwind Sprint and Slow Time. Both Shouts of tremendous power and speed, but the latter gives me full control of my body during it.
I could see specks of blood as the dagger cut into the surface layer of flesh, making Willem squirm uncomfortably. The wounds along his arms, legs and chest appeared to refuse to heal, instead reopened, weeping fresh blood.
“You either take that silver dagger off my son, or I make you blind,” I threatened, lips curling back ready to rip and tear.
The Rat smiled, having finally felt the proverbial coin flip in his favor. “You’re bluffing, Wergar. You may have Dragonlord blood in you, but you’re still too weak, too slow, to reach me before I carve this wretched child’s throat out!!” The grip on the hilt tightened as his confidence returned in force.
“Father..!” Willem called out, his eyes wide with worry. He feebly tried to break from his shackles but the restraints would not yield.
“I’ll free you, son, I just need a moment.” The parental urge to protect returned, willing me to surge forwards.
“You’ll free a corpse, Wolf!” Vanmorten spat. “And when I am done, I’ll report to King Leopold about this loose end!”
“Tiid… Klo Ul!”
There was a great waft of a sensation that was nigh impossible to explain. Thanks to my dragon blood, I was able to master many of the Shouts that the Dovah instinctively knew because of their connection with their father, the leader of the divines, Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. I could create gouts of fire, ice, frost, force…
Even command time itself to bend the knee, to slow down.
The effect would not last long, only around twenty seconds for me. When the slow would end everything would happen in a blur for everyone else. With each step I took I could feel the rage swell inside me once more.
I could see the reaction slowly, agonizingly slowly, begin to work on what features remained on the burned wererat. With the ease of picking up sticks I stole the dagger from his grip. It already was mired with Willem’s blood, the tip stained dark. I gave it a quick sniff and, to my now growing horror, found that it had poison on it.
My eyes narrowed at the rat, his head just now starting to turn to me. The closest that I could possibly describe how someone must feel during this time is like walking through heavy water, movements so stifled that time itself worked against you.
Quickly I pried, and broke, the fingers holding Willem still and plunged the dagger into Vanmorten’s left shoulder.
I moved between them as time returned to normal.
There was a sudden wail as the Rat stumbled over his own feet from the pain in his arm. If he was scared before, he was soiling himself in fear now.
“You will be reporting nothing to Leopold!” I growled. I was about to strike when Willem started to cough. Violently. “Willem!” I instantly knelt beside him. His face was turning pale as the small puncture wound morphed black. It was now making a snail’s pace from there, the appearance of black veins had started to pulse with his heart beat.
“Father… I can’t f-feel my legs.” His voice was soft, full of aching and sluggishness.
I didn’t even hear Vanmorten run away as I forced the shackles to break. Willem’s hands tried to reach for me but didn’t have the strength to catch himself; I caught him before he reached the floor.
I lifted him up, cradling him in my arms like he was a babe. My lupine eyes, the anger and rage melted away, replaced by worry. He was starting to shiver. Willem looked… so small.
“Hang on, son,” I said as I hurried for the hallway. “I’m getting you out of this place.”
“There… there’s still people here,” he said through the pain.
“Willem, you need-”
“They need to be free!” he snapped. His good eye looked up, filled with determination, the will to see it to the end.
I wanted to protest, needed to, to save his life as quickly as possible but there was just something in his voice. The demand, the weight it carried despite his fragility. It was as if he was trained for a role that he didn’t wish for but had to bear. Hardened for life’s hardships.
What did you go through for someone so young? I gave him a nod and took to my left, heading through the hallway.
It did not take long to come across the holding cells. Each was barely large enough to hold three people yet five were crammed into all four. The lock on each door was likely extremely sophisticated, needing a master thief to pick the things.
The lone guard, having heard the entire previous battle, shakily drew her sword. So much for the Thalmor’s vaunted sense of superiority. I had no doubt she’d seen much battle in her long life, but never heard so much screaming.
My fur stood on end as I bared my teeth. “Iiz… Slen Nus!” A great, bitter chill of ice and wind collided with the elf, slamming and freezing her solid to a nearby wall.
“Please!” the people in the cells clamored together, reaching their hands through the metal bars. They didn’t care what I appeared as for they knew who I was. Many in Skyrim did. “Dragonborn, let us out!”
There was a lever to my side, begging to be pulled. With a yank, the cell doors creaked open, desperate for a drink of oil. The prisoners all began to thank me for freeing them from hell until they turned around to the guard.
I didn’t have time to waste.
“After you’re done with your pound of flesh, follow the shoreline until you reach the lighthouse to the east. Further south from there you will find the Solitude docks.”
They didn’t react as I continued on my way; the guard, however, begged to not be left alone with them. Her pleas fell on deaf ears.
Rounding the corner and up the stairs I stopped before the wooden door, a foreboding feeling washing over me. Like someone was waiting for us on the other side.
“Father?” Willem said in confusion. His shivering started to get worse. It would only get worse soon enough.
“Laas… Yah Nir.”
There, on the other side of the door, a red aura of life appeared, waiting to strike. There was only one outside the prison walls. Whatever happened to the others along the walls?
“Fus… Ro Dah!!”
The concussive blast of force erupted from my maw once more, blasting the door from its hinges with such vigor it smashed into the one outside it. The energy did not slow as the door had twisted slightly, crushing the front of the Altmer’s face as his body hit the ground. Dead.
The frigid cold wind blew past the threshold as Willem clung to me as best he could.
“I know,” I said, the worry evident in my voice as I made my way past the walls. The area was large enough for what I- we- needed. I gazed down at him, trying to find more fur of my armor or me to shield himself from the cold. “And it’s only going to get colder. But I need you to endure it for a little while longer, okay?”
The sun was starting to dip low in the sky, the clouds turning blue and mild shades of pink. It would have been beautiful to stay and watch for a little while.
Willem nodded. “I will.”
I offered him a gentle smile before Shouting once more. “Dur… Neh Viir!”
A large purple portal suddenly sprang to life, like a great hungry maw of the damned come to feast. A shape took form as it materialized from the corner of Oblivion known as the Soul Cairn. A nightmarish place ruled by those called the Ideal Masters, where souls were currency for secrets.
Sickly green scales spread across the being like ink dropped on impressed paper. Nigh hollow eyes stared at me as a grin creased its reptilian lips. Patchy wings, tough and leathery, beat against the Skyrim air.
The dragon Durnehviir had arrived in Tamriel once more.
“Ahh, Qahnaarin, Dovahkiin, it is good to see you again,” the dragon started.
“I’m afraid the pleasantries will have to wait,” I interjected as my son looked in amazement. “We need to get to Solitude as fast as possible!”
Durnehviir cocked his head at the sound of my voice. He hadn’t heard it filled with trepidation. His monstrous gaze fell to the boy in my large, furred arms, naked and shivering. The dragon took in the scent of him and I. His demeanor shifted.
“Climb aboard, Dovahkiin, and we shall arrive at this ‘Solitude,’” Durnehviir said as he offered his wing for me to climb upon.
“It is to the south-east of here,” I said while climbing his wing to his back. It was the only area of the dragon I could think of that would allow me to hold Willem comfortably and keep him out of the wind. “It has a large castle with a blue top sitting on a stone archway for visual reference. I need the large black building on the opposite side.”
Durnehviir let out a puff of air before his great leathery wings flapped, creating large swaths of snow and dust. It took almost no time for him to scale the massive mountain side we were on, immediately flying towards our destination.
Castle Dour is where I hoped we would be getting to. The Temple of the Eight Divines was close to it which meant priests. Healing magic and potions, warm clothes. Food.
“It appears there is something running,” went Durnehviir suddenly, breaking me from my trance. I glanced downwards and, thanks to my lupine eyes, saw someone running on all fours. Or at least trying to. Vanmorten. “Shall I call forth some of my minions, Qahnaarin?”
“No.” I surprised even myself for a moment. “My son is more important than killing a rat.”
The dragon gave a low grunt and pushed his wings, spurring himself to go faster. The trees below us rustled heavily and the snow pushed away in a great wave from the force.
Time and anxiety were battling me before the flight, now it was all-out war. No matter how swiftly Durnehviir flew it did not feel like we were getting closer to Solitude. It further was no aid every time I gazed at Willem's neck. The poison, that terrible black patch, was spreading. It was clawing up towards his cheek and down his neck.
I had never seen a poison have such an effect on a body before. It was like it was tailor-made to slowly kill the victim, to make them feel their body shut down bit by bit.
We sailed over the mountains of Haafingar, over the statue of Meridia, the Daedric Prince of Light and Life, signaling to me that Solitude was close. I had heard of Meridia only fleetingly but thanks to my time here in Skyrim, I know more than I should. The Prince was fairer than the majority of the other princes, but even merciful devils are still devils.
The sight of the stone fortifications around the grand city had never given me such relief as it did then. Each one was like a layer of black stone gates ascending up the paved road like a bulwark protecting the people and the city itself.
The giant windmill, still turning in the wind far into the city, the faint color of blue just barely in view. The Blue Palace, made who knew when, reflected just enough remaining sunlight to shine as a beacon, making and refracting shades of pink and blue.
What should have followed was my utter relief that everything would be well.
My blood ran cold.
“Dovahkiin,” Durnehviir strained suddenly. His flight pattern was starting to become choppy. “I am afraid my time in this realm is waning. Krosis. I do not know how much longer I can muster.”
Despite it all we still had not even flown over the first gate to the city. So close to saving Willem, so close to see yet so far to touch, reach. All I could think at that moment was the poison over taking him, killing the only child I had left, his body limp in my arms…
No, not yet! “Push yourself Durnehviir!” I commanded, pleaded, the words nigh catching in my throat. “We just need to aim for that black castle! If you can get us as close as possible I will take care of the rest!”
The great undead dragon gave a huff, signalling his understanding. He was just as old as the rest of his kind, beings born of Akatosh at the dawn of time. He knew when there was the shaping and refining of a plan in motion.
“Of course.” Durnehviir let off a mighty roar, a way to personally motivate himself, and beat his wings harder, faster. We gained speed as the wind whipped us all with renewed vigor.
We passed the first gate, shaking the trees, stones and people below. And then the second. Then I heard hissing, even in the high whistling of wind. I peered behind us to see the dragon’s tail was beginning to fizzle out of existence in a purple fire. It crept up slowly like a lit fuse.
“I see the castle, Qahnaarin!” the dragon said in a ragged voice. “But the pull to return gnaws at my very flesh… I cannot remain much longer!”
I started to run situations in my head, trying to predict the unpredictable fallout that was about to occur. Did we have enough speed, enough height, to do what was needed? We had the height down, very easily, but speed?
“Get us above the city square, aiming for the black castle; can you at least do that?!”
The fuse was halfway up his tail.
“I can!”
With a mighty push the undead dragon rose even higher into the air, now well above the stone walls and city skyline. I could almost hear the panic of the people below, but the wind drowned them out like a rushing river.
I glanced down, barely seeing the inn, the Winking Skeever, pass us by, but Willem’s condition had worsened. The opened wounds refused to close, even with his enhanced healing and the black mark was half way up his face.
Please, gods above, don’t take my son from me! I silently begged.
We were above the position I generally needed when Durnehviir gave his final warning. The claws of the Soul Cairn, the fire on the fuse that was his tail would not be slowed any longer.
“I must leave, Dovahkiin!” went the dragon before disappearing into nothingness.
For the briefest of moments Willem and I were still flying as if nothing had changed. Then gravity gave us its regards. I clutched him tightly against me, not once this whole time caring that his blood now stained my armor and fur.
“Feim… Zii Gron!”
Our very bodies became like the spirits themselves, transparent as water and wispy as mist. For lack of a better word we were spirits, temporarily. I felt my son’s nails dig into my flesh in fear as the buildings rushed towards us.
I forced myself to turn, to put myself between them and Willem, as we crashed into the roof of a shop. If it hadn't been for the Shout, the tiles and beam would have splintered and my body would have broken. No doubt the people were scared of what was happening, seeing my body just flying and crashing into buildings.
I kept a hand on the back of Willem’s head to keep any potential whiplash from killing him, despite his intangibility. We slammed into one of the great stone pillars of Castle Dour, the black castle opposite of the Blue Palace. As we fell the Shout had run its course, turning us back to normal.
“Fuck!” I shouted as I tried to dig my claws into the stone to slow us down. All I was managing to do was make long furrows, unable to decelerate our descent. Before I could utter another word the ground was all but upon us and all I could do was brace us.
I had wasted my breath on the wrong word.
There was a sickening crack as I landed and I toppled over unable to keep my footing. Many of the nearby soldiers and civilians began to rush over, the sight of the Dragonborn falling from the sky, not something they’ve ever seen. There was one man ahead of everyone.
“By the gods, Wolf!” went the voice of General Tullius. I had curled into a ball, still using my body as a shield to protect the boy. I opened my eyes and they met with the Imperial’s. “What in Oblivion were you think…!” He cut himself off.
My left leg was broken at the shin, protruding through skin and armor both, bent to an awkward angle. I growled as I forced myself to sit up. I unfurled a little to reveal Willem to him, still very much alive and thankfully unharmed from the ordeal.
Tullius immediately turned around. “I need a medical mage and apothecary out here, now!” Instantly one of the guards, who I recognized as Captain Aldis, took off into the castle. “What did you do, Wolf?” he asked me incredulously.
“I need the Temple of the Eight.” I held out my son, wounds still oozing blood. The black mark had clawed further up his body.
Just as Tullius was about to take him, Aldis returned with what was ordered. The mage instantly began to use his healing arts to thwart whatever the poison was doing to Willem’s body. The light pouring from the man’s hands tickled my soul making me feel as if a small mercy acted by one of the eight divines themselves.
“You heard the Wolf. Temple of the Eight. Now,” Tullius ordered as Aldis gently took my son from me. “Now,” he said, kneeling down to me, trying to talk to me face to face, “what did you do?”
“I acted on what was given to me.” Ignoring the pain I reached for the letter I had read so many times. “It was of great interest to me. The Thalmor have made allies with my enemies from…” I stopped due to the civilians. Many were believers in my ability to lead and that I could even be High King of Skyrim. “Privately.”
General Tullius offered me his hand but the man overestimated his own strength. He couldn’t hoist me up to my feet. With bated breath I slowly rose on my own, taking great care to not disturb my broken leg. Though I was used to my bones breaking and reshaping every single time I transformed, having one stick out from the skin was something new.
“You need to get that set before your healing takes effect.”
“On that, I agree.”
Tullius gave me a shoulder to help me walk towards the temple.
~**~
“How is he?” I asked, the worry very evident in my human voice.
Several hours had passed since the crash landing in the city. The moons, Masser and Secunda, shone in the sky bathing the land in their light. From what little I was told, the priests cleaned his wounds and halted the poison entirely.
Rorlund, a balding Nord and the head priest of the temple, gave me a reassuring smile. “The young lad is doing better, Wergar, so you don’t have to worry about that. Freir is still with him now, making him as comfortable as possible.”
Freir was his wife, a fellow Nord priest to the divines. I could only assume they have been that way for many years. They were no strangers to tending to the sick and treating injuries, so I trusted them. I had to.
I gave a breath of relief, not realizing I had even held it. “Thank you.” I looked the man in the eye and I knew he could see every emotion playing through mine. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
“He’s your child, Wergar. I have seen many an expression of varying degrees. You don’t need to say more than necessary.” Rorlund’s manner changed from caring to worry, the gears in his head turning to alternate scenarios. “I will say though that you were extremely lucky. We all were. The poison was eating his muscle,” he grimaced. “Had he not gotten to us-”
“Please stop,” I interrupted, holding up a hand to silence him. “I don’t want to hear it, I don’t want to think about it.” There was a small catch in my throat. “I can’t lose another cub…”
The priest’s eyes widened in surprise before softening into sorrow. I could practically see the grief growing within him, like a swelling that refused to heal.
Rorlund cleared his throat and shook his head, changing the subject. “How’s your leg doing? It was quite the nasty fall you took.”
We both looked down as I did a few test steps. It took Rorlund and Captain Aldis to set my leg while I was transformed before I could revert back to my human self. Werelords could change regardless of their injuries but I simply wished to not potentially confuse those with shifting bones.
The splint clapped against the floor with each tap I did. “I’m able to put nearly my whole weight on it.” I slightly grinned. A therian’s healing factor allowed us to survive many wounds that would kill a normal human, so long as there was no silver in the weapon.
“I will never not be amazed at your blood’s strength, Wergar. I had thought it would be at least a day or two before you could do this.”
“Add in a healing potion and I’ll be roaming Skyrim again in the morning,” I chuckled, thankful for the light hearted topic.
We continued to talk about off-topic things for a little while longer, from travel to sights across the province. We laughed, we joked… we had a good time.
“Can,” I started, my demeanor changing, a desire taking hold that needed to be followed through. “Can… I be with my son?”
“Of course,” Rorlund nodded before leading me towards the ward area. Each shrine to the Eight Divines we passed had a stained glass window, each of them correlating with their patron. We rounded a corner, away from prying eyes of the public, of late night prayers. “Here we are,” he gave a gentle wave of his hand.
The priest led me to a moderate room filled with the basics of what a patient, and visitors, would require. Willem looked so peaceful under the furs. I stepped closer taking in his injuries: his black eye had gone down but still persisted, the cuts along his face were almost gone. I gently lifted the blanket to see that his arms and chest were wrapped in bandages.
I didn’t know how to express how I felt at that moment. I wanted rage, to roar to the sky for any deity to hear my pain but I also wanted to just stay quiet, to let my cub sleep. “Thank you,” I said, turning around and clearing the catch in my throat. My fingers twitched, my emotions bubbling as I looked from Willem to Rorlund. “I cannot begin to tell you how thankful I am.”
Rorlund held up a hand and shook his head. “There’s no need, Wergar. I’m glad we were able to save him. Oh!” He motioned to the table and chair near the bed; a pair of simple clothes and a note lay undisturbed. “I took the liberty of getting you something more comfortable than your bloodied armor. I just hope they’re your size.”
I couldn’t help but to lightly chuckle. This man, this priest of the divines, was going above and beyond for a fool like me. I don’t even believe I have spoken with this man more than a couple of times. And here he was, making my life as easy as he possibly can.
“You’re far too kind, Rorlund.”
The priest gave a smile and began to leave the room, to give me all the time with my son, only to suddenly stop. “Oh, I almost forgot!” I looked at him in confusion as he fished through his pockets only to pull out a pendant. “I had this made for you a while back.”
It was a simple necklace made from steel. I gave it a closer look and my eyes widened. It was a moon with a wolf’s paw in the center of it. It was the holy sign of a god from my homeland. The Father of Therianthropy. Home… “H-how did you…?” I asked, flabbergasted.
“A while ago I overheard you with Beirand. About how you commissioned a custom mold for an idol to have in your home. So I asked him if he would be able to make one for a pendant.”
I took the necklace into my trembling hand, running my thumb over the paw print. I couldn’t believe that someone would hand me such a wonderful gift. For so long the only things of home were my armor, Moonbrand, my sword, and the bust in Solitude. Now I had another.
A piece of home, of my god: Brenn.
“You are just full of surprises, Rorlund.”
“It’s nothing, Wergar. Truly.” As the priest turned to leave me alone with my son he stopped. I could hear his heart starting to beat irregularly, a little bit faster. He was nervous about something. “A-actually, before I leave, I feel there is something I should say.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Rorlund answered, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m not even sure it’s important and I don’t want to sour your mood, but…”
It was starting to feel like Northwatch Keep again. Something was wrong.
“Go on.”
The priest took a breath. “When treating your boy, before he fell asleep, I asked him his name as Captain Aldis didn’t reveal it to me.” He wore a dower expression, almost like he knew it as not what was correct. “He said his name was Drew Farren.”
“Oh.” I almost dropped the necklace.
“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even-”
“No,no,no,” I interrupted, clearing my throat. “You were just telling me something you thought was needed.” My breathing was starting to elevate. “May… may I be with my son?”
Rorlund didn’t say anything, only giving a nod before leaving.
I gently stepped towards my child, eyes scanning all over him. He was simply sleeping, no tossing and turning, no groaning. Just stillness save for the rise and fall of his chest. I dared to caress his cheek, the paternal instinct within taking hold.
He stirred for but a moment, almost seeming to press against my fingers.
My lower lip trembled as I sat on the chair, bringing it closer to him. I hadn’t felt like that in years.
Now it was all coming to the surface at once along with the recollection of earlier that day.
It was only two years to me, but sixteen for everyone else back home. Were my old allies even still alive? Were they forced to bend the knee to Leopold? Bergan wanted me to surrender, to keep my family safe per the Lion’s terms.
Then all I could think of was my children.
Their little screams as they were killed, an event I wasn’t even there for, echoing in my mind like a virus. Scared for their lives, not knowing nor understanding what was happening only to be silenced.
Tears stung at my eyes as I looked at my last living child. How close was I to losing him as well? My hands squeezed the holy pendent, trying to find the comfort in that he was alive at the very least. But everyone thinks alike in situations such as these.
The light is comforting, but the dark may be the only thing one sees.
What had he suffered through, without my being there to protect him? Did Leopold get ahold of him? Did any other Catlords get their hands on him? Did the Ratlords?
How many memories were stolen from me? From us? The only ones were mine alone and that realization pierced my heart. Willem’s little hands clasping my fingers as a baby, his big brother, no older than three, stood at my side. All gone.
Only Willem remained.
No… His name was Drew… not Willem. He was even more of a stranger than before.
“My baby boy…” I silently wept to myself, tears staining the furs and floor.
I didn’t notice as the clouds parted, allowing for the moons, Masser and Secunda, to shine on us through the window above.
Replies
Awesome work Ben