4E 202, Ivarstead, War tent
Gerron Ironbreaker
After his sudden promotion to the Jarl of the Rift, the discussions continued.
All the leaders of Skyrim and the Empire now sat grim-faced as they gathered around a war table that bore maps and tokens with the alikeness of all the major factions in Skyrim.
Though they had won a great victory, it was a hollow one. For the World-Eater still lived.
'We cut one head off, only for the serpent to coil back into the shadows', Gerron thought, resting his calloused hands on the table's edge.
Harkon was still out there, along with the Mythic Dawn and who knows how many other Champions of vile Daedric Princes now claimed and crowned. Skyrim's enemies were many, and they were growing bolder by the day.
Rahgot's fall was a boon. The undead blight choking the Rift was shattered, and with it the terror that had claimed whole villages. Reclaiming Riften and rebuilding it would take time, but Shor's Stone already thrived and self-sustaining.
Gerron's town had risen to prominence, and now, with his ascension as Jarl, it would stand as the Rift's new capital.
He would need to go back there and bring the news personally to Filnjar and Grogmar. He wondered how they would take it.
But for now, the council was not finished.
The Peace Summit itself hadn't concluded when it was suddenly interrupted by Alduin's sudden assault. Though they had no qualms in rekindling it here.
After everything that happened, none had the mind for betrayal or civil war, not after what they had faced side by side. They had all seen the threat for themselves and the deaths of the few Jarls even cemented that.
Kiera was the first to speak, her voice carrying both regret and resolve. "The first thing we need to talk about is Paarthurnax. With him losing a wing… we've lost the advantage of a Kruziik fighting beside us."
"He certainly proved his strength," Savos Aren stated with respect. "It was he who challenged Alduin outright, giving the rest of us time to mount a counterattack. Without it, the initial ambush wouldn't have allowed any of us to see the next dawn."
"Indeed," Serana added softly, her crimson eyes flickering with thought. "Though with the loss of his combat capability, we need to even out the odds." She turned to Gerron, Isran, and Savos. "What happened to Odahviing? Has he perished?"
Gerron shook his head. "No, he didn't."
All eyes turned to him.
"After we threw the red bastard off the mountain, I sent my Homunculus Servant to scout." He answered. "The snow by the mountainside was torn with furrows, like something large rolled down the slope. I sent Bronze to the base, to see if there was any impact. But no, there was no crater, no blood, no bones. Which means Kiera's Dragonrend wore off before he landed. Odahviing escaped."
His words had a grim realization that fell onto the war tent. With the power of two Kruziik on his side, Alduin's losses were not as significant as they hoped. Paarthurnax was crippled and Vermithor, for all his might, was not at that level of power.
The Dragon Priests also still remain a threat. Rahgot and Hevnoraak were already defeated, and Savos had stated that Morokei's prison still holds, which means only six others now unaccounted for.
Krosis, Nahkriin, Otar the Mad, Vokun, Volsung, and hundreds more unnamed ones. Those that weren't deemed worthy of a mask.
"The injuries Alduin took were not light," Kiera reminded them, her jaw tight. "He will need to recover, and he could only do so one way. Through death. He'll gorge himself on souls to restore his strength."
"Which means," Emperor Titus Mede said grimly, "that this war is only beginning. He'll send his servants to do the bleeding while he waits in the shadows, quietly regaining his strength."
Gerron straightened, steel in his voice. "Then it's time we stop playing catch-up. No more reacting. We've stood on the back foot long enough." His gaze swept the room. Jarls, generals, mages, vigilants, even the Emperor himself. "The power of a united Skyrim shouldn't be underestimated. If we strike first, we'll break their wings before Alduin regains his might."
Nods passed around the circle. For once, even Ulfric and Tullius shared the same silence of agreement.
All this time, since Alduin first torched Helgen, they were forced to play it defensively, letting the dragons be the aggressors.
But now, with no threat of civil war, with no fear of the opposing faction gaining more ground, they were done playing defensively.
Skyrim had weathered the storm, taking blows and praying to outlast it. Now? Now they would forge the storm themselves.
The war table grew heavier with new resolve. Maps were pushed, markers shifted. Plans for raids against dragon lairs were murmured.
Then the tent's flap tore open, interrupting them.
Irileth entered, bowing quickly to the gathered Jarls. "My Jarls, we have a runner with Whiterun colors. He bears urgent news."
Balgruuf nodded, though his eyes narrowed. "Bring him in."
Rikke appeared, guiding a boy barely past his teens. His form was battered, armor caked with mud as sweat marred his face. He stumbled forward, breathing hard.
"My Jarls!" he cried, voice cracking with exhaustion and fear. "Urgent news, Whiterun was attacked! By dragons… and the undead!"
…
4E 202, Skuldafn
Alduin
A massive figure crashed on the courtyard of a nordic tomb, high and deep within the rocky landscapes of the Velothi Mountains.
The impact caused the entire mountainside to shudder, causing snow to cascade down the jagged cliffs of the mountain.
Every wolf, every crow, every vermin that once crept and hunted here fled in silence, for instinct screamed of a predator greater than death itself.
Skuldafn trembled as Alduin staggered from the crater, his blackened scales cracked, molten ichor bleeding from rents across his chest and wings. His breath steamed like smoke from a dying forge, each exhalation tainted with the stench of burned flesh.
Nahkriin, guardian of Skuldafn, descended in haste, his dark ebony mask bowing low, voice edged with alarm. "Dii in hi los sosaal." (My lord, you are injured).
Alduin did not answer at once. His gaze was fixed on the crown of Skuldafn, where the portal shimmered like a wound in the air. An eternal door to Sovngarde. It pulsed with ghostlight, a lure and a curse both.
The World-Eater's mind seethed.
He couldn't believe that that mortal… the Dragonborn…who had only awakened less than a year ago, was capable of injuring him as such.
It wasn't by destiny, no. That chain had been severed long ago. But by sheer force of will.
And she had not stood alone.
He had no idea what the Divines and the Princes were thinking. Since when was Meridia tolerant enough with the dead to bless a spawn of Molag Bal, and what in Oblivion drove Zenithar to gift a mortal the Forge Eternal of all things?
A vampire blessed with Meridia's light and a smith bearing Zenithar's hand, no longer were they ordinary mortals who would tremble at the sight of him.
"Mockery…" Alduin's growl rumbled like distant thunder. Once he got back to his full strength, travelling beyond the veil of the cosmos and hunting down the Divines should suffice.
He spat a clot of burning blood upon the snow. It hissed as it ate through ice and stone alike.
It should've healed a long time ago. But the near perfect synchronicity of the power the Dragonborn wielded; the flames of Paarthurnax, the light of Meridia, and the Thu'um of the Dovahkiin. It was a force that not even he could take lightly.
It was only the second time he had been humiliated as such.
Once, long ago, he had been bound and cast out by the accursed Elder Scroll. A false defeat.
Yet even then, he had stolen something from that fate. He had devoured the space between the seconds, swallowed the seams of time itself. Akatosh, his father, could no longer wield the chains of prophecy against him. No more was Alduin bound by the skein of destiny.
He became an anomaly, an existence outside the natural state of the world.
The fated prophecy of his defeat had turned null. While this meant that Alduin's ability to see the future had halted, he no longer succumbed to the strings of fate.
It was a defeat…turned into a fortunate blessing.
Yet now… this second loss stung deeper. It was no trick nor trap of the Elder Scrolls, but the strength of mortals, now intertwined with Divines and Daedra alike.
The World-Eater gnashed his teeth, swearing vengeance within his mind.
But to do that, he needed to regain his might. And to gain it back, he needed to slaughter.
He gazed at Nahkriin, who had remained quiet in respect. "Rahgot ahrk Hevnoraak los dilon. Zu'u lassdilok dinok." (Rahgot and Hevnoraak have perished. I require sustenance in death.)
Nahkriin lowered his head further, wordless in submission. His silence was obedience.
A roar echoed across the peaks as Odahviing returned. Crimson scales shone like burning banners against the snowstorm sky. He landed with force that rattled the ice underfoot, his crimson eyes locking onto Alduin's.
"Odahviing, hi lost meyz sahlo." (Odahviing, you have grown weak.)
The red dragon snarled, teeth bared. "Dreh ni zu'u, Alduin. Hi los ko faal fiik viik ol zu'u." (Do not test me, Alduin. You suffered the same defeat as I.)
Alduin's own fangs ground together. The challenging tone ignited his fury. To rebuke him was tempting. Yet in the end, Odahviing was a fellow Kruziik with his own pride.
At last he inclined his head, steam curling from his nostrils. "Nii truk ni. Haas ahrk faas. Rul mu los back wa un suleyk mul, mu fent drun daar gol voth kren ahrk dinok." (It matters not. Heal and recover. When we regain our strength, we will drown this land with ruin and death.)
Still, his eyes strayed back to the shimmering portal to Sovngarde. If he crossed, he could glut himself upon uncounted souls, regaining his full might in a tide of stolen eternity.
Yet there lay risk. Within the realm of the dead, Alduin's own immortality was no certainty. He could not gamble himself, not yet.
Patience. Slaughter would suffice.
After a second, he decided not to do it, but rather take his chance here in Nirn for now.
His gaze swept to the ridges of Skuldafn, where lumbering shapes started to rise from the deep snow.
Dragons, countless, stirred from slumber, their wings shivering with power. Their roars split the mountain air, shaking loose avalanches and echoing down the valleys.
"Wundun ahrk ko faal name do Alduin!" (Go forth in the name of Alduin!). His roar rolled across the mountainside, a command that brooked no refusal. "Drun dinok wa pah do Taazokaan!" (Bring death to all of Tamriel!)
The sky darkened with wings. Dragons poured from Skuldafn like fire from a riven mountain, their cries thundering across the Velothi peaks. The age of despair spread its wings once more.
And Alduin, broken but unbowed, watched as Nirn trembled before his children.
…
AN: Plans are churned as the next stage of the war is set.
Alduin's POV was quite hard to make since getting inside the mindset of an immortal, god-like dragon was difficult. But I'm happy with how it turned out.
The dragon army descends onto Skyrim proper. This was what Alduin had left in reserve when he attacked both High Hrothgar and Whiterun at the same time.
Of course, I claim unreliable narrator here. Alduin's forces are not as mighty or as countless as it actually is. You'll see for yourself in the next few chapters.
On another note, the news of Whiterun finally reaches the Summit. Expect another POV to see what happens there next.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 74 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Cheers guys and see you next time!