4E 201, Riften, the Ratway, Esbern's Hideout
Esbern
Knock. Knock.
The sound echoed off the stone walls of his cramped, book-strewn hideout beneath Riften.
Esbern closed the aged tome in his hands—"The Songs of the Dragon Cult"—and sighed. His bones ached more in winter, and it had been too long since his last peaceful night of sleep. Cautiously, he walked to the door, his fingers resting on the rusted blade strapped to his hip.
When he opened it, he was met by a familiar face. Two of them in fact.
"Delphine," he greeted, surprised warmth touching his voice. "And... Fultheim?"
The former Blades scout gave him a curt nod, cradling a mead bottle in his arm before taking a swig. He looked terrible, with dark circles around his eyes and a thick unkempt beard, the leather armor he wore barely hid the obvious signs of malnourishment.
Delphine pushed inside before Esbern could say more, already halfway to his study.
"Close the door. We need to talk," she said.
Esbern obliged, already sensing the tension in her posture.
"I got your message. " Deplhine started, referring to the piece of letter he gave Delvin Mallory. "How are you alive?"
"The same as you I assume." Esbern quipped. "I escaped the initial purge and have been in hiding ever since." He then looked her up and down. "Though unlike me, it seems you managed to avoid living like a street rat all these years. My current residence leaves much to be desired."
If anyone told Esbern that the woman before him spent the better part of a decade in hiding, he wouldn't believe it. Delphine still held that commanding presence she was known for back when the Blades were at their prime, clad in the armor of their order as well as the Katana sheathed at her side.
She just nodded in reply before immediately continuing with the briefing. Esbern shook his head as he held back a chuckle. 'Serious as always, though I suppose that's what we need considering everything.'
"When I learned of the Dragonborn's return, I went straight to Whiterun. But she and the Dragonslayer were gone—headed north to the Vigilants. I followed their trail through Windhelm, over the Pale... Eventually, I stopped at Nightgate Inn. That's where I found this one," She jabbed a thumb at Fultheim. "Half dead and sleeping under a table clutching a bottle."
Fultheim only grunted. "Cut me some slack. I thought everyone I knew died."
Delphine scowled. "You knew the tenets of our order. We never stop fighting, even when the world seems bleak. Our patience has been rewarded and the Divines haven't forgotten us yet. Alduin might have returned, but so has the Dragonborn."
"We need to find her and help her." Esbern nodded. "This Dragonslayer too while we're at it."
Delphine gave a curt nod. "He would make a fine recruit to the Blades. For now, we have to–"
Before they could say more, a low rumble shook the room around them. Dust drifted down from the wooden beams above, and Esbern looked up with alarm.
"Did you feel that?" he muttered.
Another rumble. Closer. He grabbed his staff and his most important belongings before gesturing for the others to follow.
They rushed through the tunnels, weaving through the stone-and-filth-stained passages of the Ratway until they reached the Ragged Flagon. The moment they arrived, they were met with chaos.
Delvin Mallory was already barking orders, red-faced and wild-eyed.
"It's chaos up there!" Delvin shouted as he grabbed a sack of septims and strapped his daggers to sheathes. "An army of Draugr was spotted marching down the mountain!"
Esbern's blood turned cold.
"Draugr?" Delphine asked sharply. "Are you sure?"
Brynjolf appeared next, strapping his sword onto his back. "I saw them myself. Thousands, at least. Led by an undead with a green mask."
Esbern's eyes widened at that.
Brynjolf continued. "We're getting everyone out through the Ratway tunnels. Delvin, Vex—take the Guild through the western exit outside the city."
Vex shot past them with a dozen others, blades drawn.
"What about Mercer?" Delvin asked.
"I'll wait for him here. You go on ahead." Brynjolf assured.
"Be careful brother." Delvin patted him on the shoulder before running after Vex.
Delphine turned to Esbern, her face grim. "We need to leave. Now."
Fultheim took a swig of mead. "A bunch of draugr ain't the worst army we've seen. Still... wouldn't want to stay."
They pushed open the Ratway's rusted iron door and emerged into the shadows of Riften's lower district.
What met them was utter chaos.
The city was a storm of movement and screams. Bells tolled violently overhead. The priests from the Temple of Mara were helping usher people to escape. The garrisoned Stormcloak soldiers sprinted to man the battlements, while guards in Riften garb ran around like headless chickens.
Esbern shook his head at that. 'This is what years and years of corruption would lead to. What a shame.'
The Hold Guards of Riften had never been a proper military force. They were merely grunts and thugs in uniform. The result of promotions being given through the exchange of gold instead of competence. Maven Black-Briar's strangled hold on the city had proven folly.
Esbern moved toward a slit in the stone wall and looked beyond the city.
The mountain trail was filled with lines and lines of undead. Esbern recognized the telltale signs of Necromancy well enough. Skeletal warriors as well as Draugr, all with eyes of blue flame, surged like a tide. He could not see the end of the army.
Mjoll the Lioness raced across the open plaza towards the gates, her axe already in hand. Maven Black-Briar stood near the market, flanked by her mercenaries, barking orders as she retreated deeper into the city.
"We don't have long," Delphine said. "We need to get out before the walls fall. This city wouldn't last with an invasion force of that size."
Esbern turned and saw it. A squat building built on the edge of the city. Honorhall Orphanage.
He froze.
"Wait." He pointed. "The orphanage."
Delphine furrowed her brow. "We don't have time for—"
"Those are children, Delphine," he interrupted, voice firm.
She stared at him for a moment, then exhaled. "Fine. Come on then."
They rushed across the street toward the squat brick building. Smoke already curled in the distance.
Inside, a shrill voice echoed.
"NO ONE is leaving this house!" barked Grelod the Kind.
She stood at the center of the main room, hands on hips, towering over trembling children. "You will stay here, where it's safe! Anyone who tries to leave will answer to me!"
The children's faces were pale. One girl clutched a younger boy, shielding him behind her back.
Delphine's eyes narrowed. "She's stopping them."
Fultheim stood by the doorway, a hand on his sword.
Esbern's brow furrowed as he noticed the bruises on the children. Their arms were bone thin and faces slightly gaunt.
Esbern pointed them out, "They're malnourished... and bruised."
Delphine nodded. "I noticed."
Without another word, she unsheathed her Akaviri katana. With a smooth, practiced motion, she stepped forward and beheaded Grelod in a single stroke.
Esbern sighed. "Must you do that in front of the children?"
But instead of screams, there was silence.
Then...
"She's dead!" one of the orphans whispered. "Grelod is dead!"
The rest followed.
"Grelod is dead! She's really dead!"
The room erupted with joyful cries.
Delphine shrugged. "They seem to have enjoyed it."
Fultheim howled with laughter.
"B-By the Divines! You killed her!" a young woman gasped, rushing in from the side chamber. She seems to be a caretaker of the orphanage.
She looked horrified, but not surprised. Esbern gently approached her.
"Be calm, my lady. What's your name?"
"C-Constance Michel," she stammered, still staring at Grelod's corpse.
"We need to get the children out of the city. It's not safe here," Esbern said gently. "Please—gather what you can and follow us."
"R-Right." Constance replied with a gulp. "Children, get your things and let's go!"
The orphans scattered to gather bags, dolls, and worn-out blankets. Fultheim slung two sacks of supplies over his back while Constance packed what little food they had into a knapsack. Delphine stood at the door, katana now clean and sheathed.
"Finally done?" she asked.
Esbern nodded. "We're ready."
"Tell them to move quickly," Delphine gestured to the gaggle of children following behind them. "We need to get out before this whole city turns into a tomb."
And with that, the last surviving Blades, a terrified caretaker, and a dozen hopeful children slipped into the shadows beneath Riften—just as the Draugr tide began to swallow the city above.
…
4E 201, College of Winterhold
Serana Volkihar
"You have an Elder Scroll?" Dexion's voice rose an octave, surprise breaking through his otherwise calm demeanor as he held the scroll in his hands, Gerron having taken it out of his storage to show the now revealed Moth Priest.
"We do." Gerron explained, glancing briefly at Serana. "It relates to a prophecy that the Volkihar Vampires are attempting to fulfill, one that involves blotting out the sun."
Serana folded her arms and leaned against the bookshelf, watching Dexion carefully. She didn't quite trust him as of yet. Everything felt too much of a coincidence. The moment they realize they need a Moth Priest to read the Elder Scroll, one just happens to be in the same College that Gerron and Serana was in?
It might be her paranoia talking, but coincidences like that rarely happens.
Gerron and Isran had given Dexion a quick summary of the recent conflicts in Skyrim. Especially regarding the ones they need his help from. Dealing with Alduin and Harkon would undoubtedly require the help of an Elder Scroll.
The Mythic Dawn may be a cause for concern, but they had some breathing room in that front since they just suffered a massive defeat.
"Hmm, intriguing," Dexion murmured, his fingers sweeping slowly across the Elder Scroll's arcane runes, careful not to look too deeply. "A prophecy tied to both solar divinity and vampiric immortality... It fits the tone of many older Moth Priest scriptures. Dangerous territory."
"Can you read it?" Isran questioned impatiently.
"Oh, yes," Dexion replied with calm assurance. "Though such reading must be approached with the utmost caution. Even those trained to interpret the Elder Scrolls can suffer blindness... or worse, if not properly prepared."
"What kind of preparation are we talking about?" Serana asked.
"Meditation, mainly." Dexion replied. "A full week's time, uninterrupted. I must clear my mind, purge my thoughts. Only then can I attune myself to the Scroll's vision."
"A week," Isran repeated with a sigh. "That's more than enough time for Harkon to mobilize."
"It'll have to do," Gerron said, then looked to Serana. "I sent word to Kiera. She should be arriving in the College soon. Hopefully, she brings new information on how to deal with the Dragons after learning with the Greybeards."
"We also can't forget about Meridia's request." Serana folded her arms. "Mount Kilkreath is on the other side of Skyrim."
"Meridia?" Isran raised an eyebrow, "What in Oblivion does she have to do with any of this?"
"She's taken an interest in Kiera." Gerron said, smiling faintly. "It's not often you get the chance to have a Daedric Prince fighting with us instead of against."
Before any of them could respond, muffled shouts and the patter of running boots echoed through the halls of the College.
Gerron was the first out the door. "What the—"
They all rushed into the main corridor, following the noise until they reached the central courtyard. Chaos. Students darted in all directions, some clutching spellbooks, others readying staves. Professors shouted instructions to each other, while Atronachs and summoned familiars materialized in bursts.
"What's going on?" Serana asked aloud.
Mirabelle Ervine pushed her way toward them. "Gerron, Serana, we have a problem. A dragon's been spotted flying directly toward Winterhold. Your presence is requested by the Archmage."
Serana and Gerron exchanged sharp glances. Dexion followed, and Isran cursed beneath his breath.
They descended the bridge that led from the College to the town proper. The wind howled around them as they passed through the arch and emerged onto the snowy streets below.
Winterhold was already bracing for war.
Jarl Korir, flanked by guards in full mail, was barking orders near the gate. "Man the battlements! I want archers on every roof! Steel your nerves, men! This won't be the last of these beasts! We'll prove all of Skyrim that Whiterun aren't the only ones capable of pushing back a Dragon!"
"The College mages will assist," said Savos Aren calmly, his face impassive as he stood beside Tolfdir and Faralda. Ancano was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best. None of the Nords around would tolerate being in the presence of the Thalmor.
Just as Gerron and Serana arrived, earning the attention of the Jarl and Archmage, a deep, thunderous roar rolled down from the mountains.
Serana's vampiric vision sharpened instinctively. She gazed up into the swirling snow narrowing her eyes against the biting wind.
And then she saw it.
A shape in the sky. Massive wings with bronze scales that caught the sunlight, and on its back...
A figure.
"That's Kiera," she said, perplexed.
Gerron blinked. "What?"
"It's her," Serana confirmed, pointing. "She's riding that dragon."
"Kiera?" Savos Aren's eyes widened slightly. "You mean the Dragonborn?"
Jarl Korir spun on her, skeptical. "Are you telling me she's riding that beast? You're not lying are you, girl? How can you even see that far?"
"Of course not." Serana replied coolly. "Tell your men to stand down, Jarl Korir."
He scowled. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah she is." Gerron chimed in.
The Jarl looked to Savos Aren. The Archmage gave a slow shrug. "I trust their word," he said.
Mirabelle nodded. "If it truly is the Dragonborn, then perhaps provoking her might not be the best idea."
The other professors quickly chimed in and supported her as well. An odd feeling crept up from inside Serana.
"Fine!" Korir growled. "But if this goes wrong and all of us die, the blame is yours!"
With that, the guards began hesitantly lowering their bows. The College mages relaxed their stances. A tense silence fell over the entire city.
Serana exhaled slowly, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Despite the trust he publicly showed, she noticed the slight buildup of magicka coming from the Archmage. She also prepared herself just in case.
The dragon drew closer, the rush of wind from its wings like a hurricane. People ducked or stumbled back as the massive beast descended, landing in the heart of Winterhold's square with a crash of snow and displaced air.
Everyone around gasped at the sight. This was the closest most people ever got to seeing such a beast.
Atop its back, draped in the colors of the Vigilants and Greybeards mixed together, bearing the unmistakable poise of a warrior, sat Kiera Fendalyn.
Serana couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.
"Well, I'll be damned," Isran muttered with a low whistle.
Gerron just grinned. "Welcome to Winterhold, Kiera."
…
AN: The gang is finally back together. Kiera comes into Winterhold with style.
The Blades are also finally starting to make their move. I'll probably be mixing the POV's of everything on their side of the table between Esbern and Delphine.
Oh yeah, Riften also got attacked by Rahgot's army. His army itself isn't that large with only around three thousand , but Riften's lacklustre military due to years and years of bribes and corruption means they have no chance in setting up a proper defense.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 51 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!