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p-artsypants · 1 year

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Edge of the Sky (1) - In Which Hiccup Meets his Fate

Ao3

The Miraculous - Gems created to tether the soul of a human to that of a god. Some may consider this a curse, and others a blessing.

Hiccup Haddock, son of the Jarl of Whiterun, found the Circlet of Night and was connected to the king of Dragons, staking his claim as Dragonborn. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of the newly appointed High King of Skyrim, found the Earrings of Creation. Astrid Hofferson, a Viking from a frozen world, found the Necklace of Flight and walked into a world not so different from her own. And Adrien Agreste, an intern from Paris, found the Ring of Destruction and was flung through time and space to a land that made no sense to him at all. These four souls, separated by time and distance, are brought together by the gods to fight a war on many fronts.

A Miraculous Ladybug and How to Train Your Dragon crossover, in the setting of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

Hi! I may be a familiar face to many, and new to many more. I had been working on a Skyrim AU idea for both HTTYD and Miraculous for a few years now. I had art and chunks of both versions plotted out, but never could decide which one I wanted to do more, since they were both hefty but had similar plots. So I decided to combine them. I rarely do crossovers, and never with three fandoms. I apologize if it’s a little jarring, but I hope you still enjoy it. My goal is to create a story that requires no deep knowledge of any one of the three fandoms I’m exploring. I will hold your hand as we go, and hopefully everything will make sense. Feel free to ask questions, as that will help me develop the story more!

“Dovahkiin.”

Hiccup’s eyes shot open, startled awake by an ancient, booming voice for the fourth time this week. Just like every time, it was at the break of dawn.

“Even on my day off?” He lamented.

Well, if there ever was a day to investigate, it was today.

Hiccup dressed and descended from his room in Dragonsreach, the palace of the Jarl of Whiterun. His father, Stoick, was the Jarl of the whole Hold of Whiterun. And so what was the 16-year-old son of the Jarl to do?

Be an apprentice to the Blacksmith, apparently.

Yes, since the day Hiccup could work, he was busy helping his mentor at the Skyforge. It was fulfilling work, if not monotonous, and he relished his days off.

Days like today.

“Son! You’re awake early!” Said Stoick with a boom. “I thought you’d sleep until midday!”

“Yeah…uh, I have an errand to run, so I thought I’d get an early start.”

“An errand? What would you possibly need? Where to?”

“Uh…Riverwood. And nothing special, just…something that got waylaid there.”

“At least come eat breakfast with me, lad.”

Hiccup was not one to argue with his father, especially when the man was able to pick him up with one hand and throw him across the Cloud District. He had a feeling there was more to come. His father often preferred to handle news over meals.

Hiccup obediently took his seat as the bread, fruits, and porridge were served.

“I’ve received news from Solitude.”

Hiccup sat up straight. “About the successor to High King Torygg?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was settled on his wife, Elisif? At least until his son is old enough.”

“I thought so too. His son Oleg was sent to Cyrodiil for his own safety in the wake of the attack. Apparently, Torygg had another son before he was married. Elisif mentioned him to the Moot, as a precaution, and they voted to elect him to the throne until Oleg is old enough.”

Hiccup blinked. “They elected an illegitimate heir over Elisif?”

“That’s what I wondered as well. According to Spitelout, it was the Thalmor that preferred the man over Elisif. After all, she’s quite distraught over Torygg.”

“I’m not surprised. Any idea what this new king is like?”

“Rumor is that he is a baker from Helgen. What’s more, he’s married to an albino dark elf and has a young daughter.”

“Oh. Good for him,” Hiccup shrugged as he drank his canis root tea.

“I can’t imagine people respecting his authority. So, at the end of this week, we will be going to Solitude to meet him and show our support. I will need you on your utmost behavior, understand?”

“Yes dad.”

“Good good. So, what’s this errand you have to run?”

Hiccup internally groaned. He had hoped his father wouldn’t ask.

Stoick the Vast. He didn’t get his name without reason. The man was mountainous, and a good foot or two taller than most Nords. Hiccup, on the other hand, was the runt of the entire Hold. Maybe even all of Tamriel. Stoick wanted a proud warrior son, but instead was gifted with a toothpick. As such, Stoick was wary of his son going out and doing anything reckless. But Hiccup wanted to do whatever he could to make his father proud.

It was a vicious cycle.

“It’s…you know how you’re always telling me those little tasks you give me will help build character? It’s like that.”

Stoick frowned. “This better not be a troll hunting errand. I thought we discussed that those beasts are too strong for you!”

“No trolls! No fighting at all…if I can help it. I’m just…looking for something.”

“What kind of something?”

How to explain? ‘Dad, I’ve been seeing a Nordic burial mound in my dreams and keep hearing this booming voice calling to me.’ That certainly wouldn’t go over as well as he’d hope. “I’m looking for information. Does the word ‘Dovahkiin’ mean anything to you?”

“Dovahkiin.” The same voice that always pulled him from his dreams echoed in his mind, clear as day in his waking life. He’d never heard it while awake, though he had never said the word aloud either. No one else seemed to hear it.

Stoick gave a little chuckle. “Now I know you’ve been spending too much time in the forge. Gobber loves the Tale of the Dragonborn. I don’t know all that much about it, though.”

“It’s a folktale,” said Spitelout, the Steward to Stoick. “‘Dovahkiin’ is the ancient word for Dragonborn. Dating back to the age when Dragons roamed Skyrim. The Dragonborn can speak the language of the dragons, the Thu’um.”

“I’ve heard that word before. Thu’um.”

“You’ve probably heard it in regards to the death of High King Torygg. It’s also called a shout. It’s how Drago Bludvist killed Torygg. He used his voice, like a dragon would, and killed him.”

Hiccup frowned. Killing someone by shouting at them? That made little to no sense. “So if the Dragonborn can do this…is Drago a Dragonborn?”

Stoick chuckled with a shake of his head. “Don’t think about it too much, lad. The Dragonborn is a legend.”

“But the shout—“

“No one knows how Drago learned to shout. He never explained. And now, since escaping the empire’s imprisonment, he stays holed up in Windhelm.”

“The best place for him!” Spitelout shouted. “Let he and his lot rot in that frozen wasteland!”

“If you want to hear the legend of the Dragonborn, I’d ask Gobber. He’s the best orator in town.” Stoick wiped his beard. “What does the Dragonborn have to do with your errand?”

Now he had to lie. He had hoped being vague would be enough, but now he had to lie to his father’s face. “Just…taking the initiative to learn more about our history. The word ‘Dovahkiin’ was mentioned in some text, and I was unfamiliar with it. I was going to see if the trader in Riverwood had any books on it…since I already asked Belathor.”

“Dovahkiin!” The ethereal voice echoed in his mind again.

“Ah, good lad. Always wise to learn our traditions. Do you want your cousin to go with you?”

“Oh, no no, I’m fine. I’ll take a shield and knife from Gobber’s.”

“You’ll take your horse?”

“Of course! Of course!”

“Very well. I can’t say I’m fond of you leaving the city in the wake of current events, but Riverwood isn’t far. As long as you stay on the main road and return as soon as possible, I will permit your leave.”

“Thank you, dad.”

After breakfast, Hiccup went out to the stairs outside of Dragonsreach. From there, he could see all the fields that surrounded the city, out to where the mountains began. Whiterun stood like a beacon in the middle of it all, with nothing but high walls to protect it. It was nothing like the mountainside Windhelm, or Solitude that was built upon a natural arch. But it was home.

He closed his eyes and listened, doing his best to block out the chatter from the people below.

“Dovahkiin,” he said softly.

“Dovahkiin!” His summoner responded.

He felt it then. He felt the call from a direction, south. Actually towards Riverwood. The city name had been a ruse to his father, but it might turn out to be where he went after all.

Now with a direction in mind, Hiccup headed over to the Skyforge, the official forge of the Companions.

“Morning lad!”

“Good morning Severio!”

“Morning Hiccup! Is Gobber done with my ax yet?”

“He should finish today, Olfrid!”

“Where are you going so early, boy?”

“Morning Fralia! Just out and about!”

The trip to Jorrvaskr was familiar and could be carved out of the stone by now. When Gobber spotted him, he laughed.

“Did you forget you had the day off, lad?”

“No, I just came to borrow a shield and a dagger.”

Gobber gave a little nod and went to his inventory. “Off on some adventure, I bet.”

“Something like that. My father said you're a fan of the Tale of the Dragonborn?”

Gobber immediately stopped rooting around and broke into song, swinging the ax that was in his hand.

“Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart!

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes!”

Hiccup backed away from the scene in an effort to avoid getting hit.

“With a voice wielding power of the ancient nord arts!

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes!

It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes!

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes!

For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows!

You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn’s come!”

Several townsfolk and members of the Companions gathered around the Skyforge when they heard the ruckus Gobber was making. He was so loud, even Heimskr stopped his preaching and stared across the district.

Hiccup regretted bringing the topic up.

“Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin!

With a bindle of cheese!

For the wine, for the food,

May the guard’s horses be drunk!”

This new verse brought many protests from the townsfolk.

“That’s not how it goes!”

“Are you trying to bring the wrath of the divines on the town?!”

He yelled right back at them. “Alright, then you sing it!”

There were some nonsensical mutters before people wandered away.

“Yeah! That’s what I thought!”

Hiccup slowly peeled his hand off his face. “What was that?”

“You wanted the Tale of the Dragonborn, so I sang it. Though you should get Luka to perform it next time he’s in town. He’s got the voice of an angel.”

“So…it’s a song.”

“Aye. Though, based on a true story. Legend tells of a great warrior called the Dragonborn—“

“I got that.”

“—who had the gift to speak with the dragons. Anyone can learn how to shout, as you heard about with Drago.”

“Right.”

“But it’s not easy. There’s a reason why no one but the Greybeards know how to do it.”

“Wait, Greybeards? Who are they?” Hiccup asked. “Are they how Drago learned to shout?”

“That’s the theory! Though no one can get confirmation. The Greybeards live up on High Hrothgar, on the Throat of the World. They’re completely removed from this world. So no one can talk to them.”

“Okay, so…the Greybeards figured out a way to learn how to shout like a dragon?”

“Exactly! Through centuries of study, and long days of practice, they are able to use a shout. But the Dragonborn, he can learn it immediately.”

“So…he’s just smart?”

“You’re missing the point, lad.”

“It’s all so confusing! What is a shout anyway? How did Drago kill a man with his voice? That’s the thing I keep getting caught up on.”

“Aye, that would be confusing if you think it’s a normal holler. But it’s not. The Thu’um, the voice of a dragon, is said to carry absolute authority. So much so, the very nature around the dragon bends to its will. The dragon yells ‘fire’ and fire comes from his mouth. He yells ‘stop’ and time itself comes to a standstill around him.”

“Oh…that makes more sense then. So Drago yelled ‘death’ at Torygg?”

“Not according to witnesses. The shout that Drago used threw Torygg across the room and he slammed him into a wall. It’s said that every bone in his body was shattered.”

“That’s…that’s scary to think someone alive right now can do that.”

Gobber went back to rummaging in the equipment trunk. “My favorite tale of the Dragonborn is when the city of Winterhold, before it fell into the sea, was attacked by a giant frost troll. The Dragonborn said, ‘you like ice? I’ll show you ice!’ and he turned the troll into solid ice. A single iron arrow hit it and it fell to pieces.”

“I think you made that up.”

“I embellished it, but it’s true!”

“So what happened to the Dragonborn? Was it just one guy?”

“I don’t know how many there were, but I would guess there was more than one. The stories span thousands of years. As for what happened? The last one died, and so did the dragons. So the divines didn’t pick a new one.”

Hiccup couldn’t ask the question he wanted. ‘If the voice in my dreams is calling for the Dragonborn, does that mean the dragons are coming back?’

If he did ask, he might get a few more days off, but strict supervision on top of it.

He held up a banded iron shield and a steel dagger. “Why do you ask, lad?”

Hiccup blanched. “Don’t you have a shield that isn’t so heavy?”

Gobber rifled again and pulled out a hide shield.

“How about one that doesn’t suck?”

Gobber practically frisbeed the steel shield at him and pointed. “Now be on your way!”

“Thanks Gobber! See you later!”

Finally, he was free. He wasn’t the kind to leave the city very often. Occasionally, he’d go see the Khajit caravan outside the gates. But outside the walls of Whiterun, Skyrim was a dangerous place.

There was a giant camp not too far from the gate and he’d heard tales from the guards about travelers getting too close and being punted into Sovngarde.

He merrily went to the stables and obtained his horse, a black stallion named Thump.

The joke here is when horses and cows get hiccups, it’s called thumps instead.

Now, the courageous adventurer was off to Riverwood to face his destiny…or at least attempt to learn more about it.

The safest route was the stone road. It wasn’t perfect, as many of Skyrim's most hostile would wait at the edges for the richest or tastiest. But taking the road kept you from wandering over a Spriggan clearing or Falmer cave.

It was a pleasant summer day. Summer in Whiterun meant it was warm enough to not have to bundle in furs, and farmers could actually get a decent harvest of wheat, leeks, and potatoes. The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the elk frolicked through the tall grass.

The road to Riverwood was sandwiched between two mountains, along the edge of a fast flowing river. Hiccup kept Thump at a steady pace until the village was in sight.

Riverwood had all the essentials in a Skyrim town. A logging mill on the river, a blacksmith, the tavern, and of course the trader.

Hiccup hitched his horse outside of the Sleeping Giant Inn, waved greetings to the quiet townsfolk before going in.

A young woman with black hair swept around the hearth in the middle of the inn. She glanced at him briefly. “Welcome,” she said rather tersely. “What can I do for you, Stranger?”

Hiccup tilted his head slightly at the girl. She must have been two or three years younger than him and she was working the tavern? “Uh, not to bother you, Miss. But I was just looking for information.”

“I’ll tell you what I know. Or direct you to someone who can help.”

“Does there happen to be a Nordic Burial mound nearby?”

“You must mean Bleak Falls Barrow? It’s a little ways North from here, across the river. There’s a path that leads right up to it. But watch out for wolves on the road…and also bandits. The Barrow is mostly a bandit haven these days. Same bandits that robbed the trader I suppose.”

“What did they take?”

“Something about a Golden Dragon Claw. A trophy of his that he always had on display. Why do you ask?”

“I…was just…” he cleared his throat. “My business is my own.”

“Fine. So if anyone comes looking when you’ve been missing for a week, I don’t know anything.”

“I mean…hopefully that won’t be a problem? Thank you for the information, Miss…?”

“Kagami.”

“Kagami. If it’s not too much…do you own this inn?”

She scowled at him. “Does it look like I’m old enough to own an inn?”

“Sorry, right right…I just…there’s no one else in here.”

“I run the inn for my mother. She’s gone blind. But we don’t often have visitors, so it isn’t very hard work.”

“Oh! Well, good for you. Um…” he started rummaging around in his pockets for money.

“Please don’t bother. If you wish to buy some food or a room, I will accept your gold. Else, keep it.”

Hiccup ended up buying some food for the road and leaving a generous tip before heading in the direction Kagami gave.

The path winded up the mountain, becoming snowier and windier the higher he climbed.

He came around the bend of the mountainside and saw it. The stacking layers of stairs, the towering, crumbling arches, the huge black door. All the things he had seen in his dreams. This was it, for sure.

What he wasn’t prepared for, however, were the two bandits standing outside, guarding the place. How was he supposed to get in now?

If there was one thing he knew about bandits, it’s that they weren’t exactly smart. He led his horse back down around the bend and opted not to tether it.

“If you get in trouble, run back to Riverwood. I’ll find you.”

Thump, being a horse, merely mosied over to a snowberry bush and began to eat.

“Good enough.”

He slowly crept up the path, staying close to the mountain wall to stay out of sight of the bandits. The front of the barrow faced the mountain, and so the bandits weren’t looking there, only off to the two sides.

He took up a small rock and waited patiently. When the bandits had their backs to each other, he threw the rock at the smaller of the two.

It hit him in the head, and made him yelp. “Hey! Who threw that?”

Hiccup stayed out of sight behind a pile of rubble, where there was a tiny space through which he could see.

“You threw that, didn’t you, you oaf?!”

“I didn’t throw nothin! I bet it fell from up there!” He pointed at the ancient arches above.

“Fell my ass! It hit me square on me head, it did! I betcha threw it!”

“You callin’ me a liar?”

“I ain’t callin’ ya for dinner!”

And just like Hiccup had hoped, the two started brawling.

Quickly, he stole from his hiding spot and darted to the nearest column. When he wasn’t spotted, he went to the next, and the next, until he reached the door, unnoticed.

Thankfully, the bandits had the door propped open ever so slightly, and Hiccup, in his small frame, was able to squeeze inside.

Inside, a large part of the ceiling had collapsed, making more rubble to hide behind. The room was bigger than the grand hall in Dragonsreach, all carved out of mossy stone and illuminated by candles and filtered sunlight. Besides arches for support, there wasn’t much other cover. On the other side of the hall, he saw a campfire, with three more bandits around. And beyond them was the door to the next part of the barrow.

“Great,” he thought to himself.

Being quick to hide behind the rubble, he watched and planned his next move.

As he adjusted his stance, he stepped on something squishy. The corpse of a skeever, a rat easily the size of a dog.

“Ew.”

Looking around the room, he could see a couple more. Where had they come from?

There. A hole in the wall up on a ledge. If he could find a way there…

He had a gross idea, but there was no other way. He couldn’t take these three bandits on. He couldn’t even take one!

As quietly as possible, he skinned the skeever and made a grotesque cape from its hide. Luckily, he was the size of a large skeever, or this wouldn’t work. He donned the cape and scuttled over the far side of the room. There was a stone pillar he had to clamor up, but if he did it quickly and quietly enough—

“What in the name of Talos is that?!” A female bandit shrieked.

He didn’t stop. He kept going. He just had to reach the hole!

“Another damned skeever! They just keep coming!”

An arrow whizzed by, plinking against the wall.

“Don’t waste your arrows if it’s not attacking!” Someone else shouted.

That gave Hiccup enough time to leap into the hole and out of sight.

So far, so good. He only hoped this place had a back door to leave or he was in trouble when he left.

The hole was formed by tree roots, which gave him extra cover. It led to a hallway alight with huge braziers. Again, there were skeever carcasses, and even a dead bandit. The path was quiet for now, so he climbed down and walked quickly, staying close to the wall. The hall snaked around, descending further and further into the earth.

When he found another guard, there was another partially collapsed arch that he could squeeze through and avoid them.

Then, he found a new type of obstacle.

A lever and a portcullis. A series of podiums on dais. A puzzle.

And three dead bandits covered in little darts, no doubt, poisoned.

Above the portcullis, the same images on the podiums were visible. The middle one had fallen, and laid on the floor, still visible at least.

From left to right, the pictures were of a snake, another snake, and a whale.

The podiums were turned to three eagles.

Hiccup had to stop and contemplate the sheer stupidity of these bandits.

He turned the podiums to match the images on the door, and then, with heightened blood pressure, he pulled the lever.

When the portcullis opened and he was not impaled with darts, he had to let out a relieved chuckle.

On the other side of the door, there was a beautiful table with three vials of healing potions, a lesser soul gem, and an ancient Nordic bow and a dozen arrows on it.

He hadn’t come here looking for treasure, but he wasn’t about to pass it up! Next to the table was also a chest with a handful of gold coins.

Not bad!

Once his treasure was secured in his bag, he spotted a spiral staircase going down further into the dungeon.

“Dovahkiin,” he said quietly.

“Dovahkiin!” The voice was now unbearable, rattling him to the core and nearly knocking him off his feet.

No going back now.

At the bottom of the stairs, the room was dark and dank, with lots of cobwebs in the corners. The webs got worse and more thick as the hall went on.

“Not a frostbite spider, not a frostbite spider…” Hiccup chanted as he carried on.

At the end of the hall, a door led to a large open room. He peered inside and his heart got caught in his throat. The biggest frostbite spider he had ever seen was hanging from the ceiling. It was easily the size of the dining room table in the great hall.

“Shit.”

This was going to be harder to solve. He almost wished the bandits were here instead.

But! He had just acquired a new bow!

Taking a vantage point from the doorway, Hiccup took aim and shot the spider in the thorax, making it writhe and spit its poison everywhere.

He didn’t stop. He shot arrow after arrow, missing half the time, at the foul creature until it stopped squirming and laid on its back, its legs curled up.

“I am never dungeon delving again. Not if there’s more spiders!” He shivered.

Moving into the room, he saw a few human sized egg sacs, one guess at what they held.

By the door, a partially desiccated dark elf laid with an arm outstretched. In it was a golden statue, made to look like the hand of a dragon with three claws, likely the one stolen from the Riverwood trader. Hiccup pried it out of the bandit’s hand, with the intention of returning it, and moved on, hoping that his adventure was coming to an end.

It didn’t get any more pleasant. The next leg of the journey held the crypt; walls lined with skeletons and mummified remains of his ancestors.

“They’re all dead, Hiccup.” He whispered as his heart thundered in his chest.

One footstep he took gave way underneath him, and he heard the sound of a hinge creaking. He couldn’t even consider what it meant before he was smacked fully with a spiked grate. The spikes tore into his skin and ripped painfully back out, puncturing his arm, side, and leg.

He was thrown several feet backwards, skittering on his ass before he came to a stop, limbs akimbo and stunned. All the air had been knocked out of him, and he struggled to breathe, making sounds like a dying animal. His vision blurred from the impact as he laid on the ground, unable to do anything else.

Then the pain set in. A burning, throbbing pain all down his left side.

He peeled his eye open, watching his clothing rapidly turning red. This was not good. He had to do something, but what? He had gotten some healing potions earlier in the dungeon, right? He fumbled around in his bag as his pulse thundered in his ears. He was growing tired very quickly. He then grabbed a muted red vial, the color for healing he had grown accustomed to seeing at the healer's hut from all the blacksmith accidents over the years. He downed it and felt the liquid trickle down his throat and into his stomach. Within seconds, his vision flashed yellow and his strength returned. His puncture wounds healed for the most part. Now they were simply scratches. He considered taking another potion, but opted against it in case he got hurt again. He’d have to have Gothi look at his wounds when he returned. And he was going to return, damnit!

Getting back up on his feet, Hiccup could now clearly see the round stone on the ground that had triggered the trap.

“Note to self, watch out for pressure plates.”

The next trap he encountered was easier. A set of three swinging pendulum blades. This was just a test of timing.

More mummified remains, and more feelings of uneasiness. Some of these remains were standing upright, with swords in hand, almost seemingly ready to spring to life and protect the barrow.

Hiccup elected to stay quiet and move quickly.

As he wandered over a waterfall and even a full cave, he wondered if the barrow filled out the entirety of the mountain. How long had it taken his ancestors to build this place? Why had no one gone in? Certainly if someone like him could make it this far with only a few scratches, then surely some stronger adventurers could clean it out. What a much more defensible fortress than Dragonsreach! There was so much space here too! They could have a whole city!

The hundreds of dead bodies might pose a problem though.

In the inner sanctum, Hiccup found the barrow in better repair, less ruins and more ancient architecture. And more stone coffins. After a while, he stopped appreciating the work that went into building such a mausoleum, and instead wondered where all these corpses came from. It was easily a city’s worth, but most were buried in armor and weapons. Were these all warriors killed in battle? Or just buried to look like it?

Maybe he really should read those books he told his father he read.

Finally, he came to a dead end. A wide, arched hallway, with murals carved into the walls. Each mural depicted what looked like a burial. At the end of it all was a circular carving.

It had three ebony rings, each inlaid with an ivory pendant. And like the podium at the beginning of the dungeon, these pendants featured animals.

In the center was another circle, with three holes in it.

Was this what he came for? Surely not. A door perhaps? But how to open it?

The three holes were not aligned. The middle was higher than the others.

“The claw!” He nearly shouted.

Indeed, when he took the dragon claw out and inserted it, the claws inserted perfectly in the holes. But as he tried to turn it, nothing happened.

“Another puzzle,” he lamented.

Though he needn’t have fretted. Turning the claw over in his hands to study it, he found matching images engraved in the palm.

Moth. Eagle. Dragon.

He turned the rings on the door, excited that he could see the matching images.

Now when he inserted the claw, it turned and clicked into place!

The whole door shuttered, and the circular apparatus slid away and revealed a staircase beyond.

The air was surprisingly fresh compared to where he had been, and he could hear running water.

He was in another cave. A waterfall broke through the rock on the left and carved out a trench along the floor, but a bridge crossed it and led up to a looming feature. It looked like a curved wall, with old words on it. In front of it was another stone coffin, and an ancient chest.

This felt like the place he needed to be. This was where the voice had been leading him.

Cautiously, he approached the wall, and watched as it reacted to his presence. Three words in a language he did not recognize glowed, and beckoned him closer. Though he could not read it, he understood.

Fus.

What did it mean?

The chest, now behind him, flung open, its lid banging loudly on the floor and disturbing the bats above.

Hiccup looked inside, and saw a pile of ancient golden coins, jewels, and on top of it all, a golden circlet with a black stone.

“Dovahkiin,” the circlet said, pulsing with each syllable.

Hiccup didn’t even think about grabbing it. His body acted on its own, reaching in with both hands to take hold of the crown. It was beautifully crafted, and despite moldering for how many thousands of years, it was polished to a near mirror shine. It buzzed in his hands like a trapped insect, and sent tingles up and down his spine. He was compelled, and obeyed.

Once the circlet was on his head, he felt immense power rush through him, down to the tips of his toes. It was so much, he blacked out.

The place he was conscious of next had to be a dreamscape. It was black, with a rolling fog surrounding him. His body felt impossibly heavy, and he was unable to do anything except sit as a creature emerged from the fog before him.

It was a dragon, but not what he imagined one would look like. It had a soft, friendly face, like a salamander. Instead of twisting horns, it had two earflaps. Its claws didn’t look any less deadly, though.

“So, Dovahkiin, you have finally decided to answer my call.” It spoke with a deep lulling voice, but didn’t move its mouth.

“You were the one that called me?”

“Yes,” the dragon circled him. “I have been calling for the Dovahkiin for a long time. Two centuries at least. It seems you finally heard me.”

“Well, I only started hearing you call last week. But, you really think I’m this…Dragonborn person?”

“I do not think, I know.”

“But…Gobber said they’re supposed to be some ultimate authority or proud warrior. Look at me! I’m…I’m nothing.”

“This Gobber is correct. As Dragonborn, you will learn the way of the voice as you grow. It matters little what you look like. The voice brings power and authority.”

Hiccup let that digest. It would be nice to have people listen to him for once.

“The people of Tamriel will look to you for guidance as an unbiased opinion. You will find yourself in the middle of many upcoming wars, as a voice of reason.”

“Wars? What wars?”

“Is there no conflict in your time?”

“No, there’s…well, actually…the High King was just killed…but they appointed a new king. It’s…it should be all over, right?”

“I have seen glimpses of what is to come. A war between men. A war between men and Dragons. A war between the arcane and nature. A war among families. A war among friends. And a war among life and death itself. They will all need your guidance.”

“What if I just don’t tell anyone? Surely people can’t just assume I’m the Dragonborn…unless I get a giant sign on my back or start glowing…”

“It matters little. There are those who are attuned to the changes in nature I am associated with. They are sensing your awakening now. Doubtless, the world will know tomorrow.”

“Great. And I bet a hundred people are going to come at me with swords to try to kill me…or at least to take this circlet. The last thing my father needs is me bringing conflict to his front porch.”

“The world will know the Dragonborn has returned, but not who he is. It will be up to you to stand up when the time is right. And you will. I have seen it in you.”

“How could you possibly know that? Who are you anyway?”

“I have been called many names. Each Kingdom in Tamriel has a name for me. My original name has been forgotten over the years. I will respond to the name you give me.”

Hiccup blanched. “Oh, you don’t want me to do that. I’m terrible at naming things.”

“You will have time to think on it. What do your people call you?”

“Hiccup. My full name is Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, son of Jarl Stoick of Whiterun, but that’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“The son of a Jarl? How intriguing!” The dragon opened its mouth then, in a mock parody of a human smile, though it had no teeth.

“You’re toothless.” Hiccup stated in shock. It was more of a question, but not the way he said it.

“My name is now Toothless,” the dragon nodded sagely.

“No! No no, it’s not! Ohhh let me pick something else!”

The dragon came close, the heat from its nostrils fanning Hiccup’s hair. “It is the name my soulmate has given me, why would I not like it?”

“Because it’s dumb! I should have–” he stopped. “Wait, soulmate?”

The dragon nodded. “The circlet you wear binds a human soul to that of a god. We are now connected, in this world, and the next.” He leaned in and touched his nose to his chest.

“You’re a god!?” Hiccup yelled.

“Yes. As the Dragon god, I prefer the one that wears my crown to be Dragonborn, which is why I have been calling to you.”

Hiccup grew increasingly more panicked as his actions began to stack up. “Dragon god? You mean the god of Lightning and Death?! You’re Akatosh!? But you’re–you’re the head of the pantheon!”

“I am? How interesting.”

“I can’t wear this crown. I have to give it to someone more qualified! I’ve never even fought a person, let alone fought in a war!”

Toothless walked around him, coiling Hiccup with his tail. “You cannot take off the circlet. It is bound to you, as I am. This is your fate. It cannot be passed onto anyone else.”

Hiccup felt weak and leaned against Toothless for support. “I…I can’t believe this. I…you said some people are learning about me right now? Anyone bad? I don’t know if I could defend myself in a fight. And I wouldn’t want anyone to take a hit for me! By Talos, I renamed Akatosh Toothless!”

“You are already on your way to becoming untouchable by mortal men. The Word Wall you read before donning the circlet taught you the word Fus, correct?”

“Yeah…it means ‘Force’ right?”

“Very good! Think about force as it is applied in the natural world. You push against Nirn, and Nirn pushes back. Fus beckons that force without the reciprocate. Now, I will teach you the other two words of the Thu’um.”

Toothless roared at the ground and words appeared, in the ancient text just like the Word Wall.

Ro. Da.

“‘Ro’ in your tongue means balance. Combined with Fus, it gives precision to your Thu’um. ‘Dah’ means push. A thu’um that combines all three can be powerful and deadly. Be careful. I give you this Thu’um because I heard its echo in your world not too long ago. Someone else knows it.”

“That had to be Drago! He killed High King Torygg with a shout. My father said witnesses saw him collide with the wall and all his bones were shattered.”

“As I said, the Unrelenting Force is a deadly Thu’um. It is also one of the easiest to comprehend. It does not surprise me that someone would know it. I do wonder where he learned it from, though. The Greybeards perhaps.”

“Gobber mentioned them too! They live on a mountain or something?”

“Correct. The Throat of the World. The tallest mountain in Tamriel. The Greybeards are monks that study the way of the voice.”

“So I could learn shouts from them?”

“Certainly. You will have to go to them. You can also learn shouts from Word Walls, like you saw not long ago. And I will teach you shouts when I believe you are ready…but I have been removed from Skyrim for so long with no one to talk to, I’m not sure if I remember them all.”

“Are you going to be able to see through my eyes and talk to me whenever?”

“For now, we will speak while you are asleep. As our bond grows, the more one we will become.”

“I see.”

“There is another group who is learning about you now as well. They will have to seek you out, as they are impossible to get to.”

“Who?”

“The Psijic monks. The Guardians of the Miraculous.”

Hiccup frowned. “What’s a Miraculous?”

“The crown on your head is a Miraculous. A jewel that connects the soul of a human, and that of a god. The Psijic monks have sworn to keep track of them, but these jewels often have a mind of their own. One of their order will seek you out, no doubt.”

“Do they know any shouts?”

“No. And it’s likely they will only take note of you before disappearing again. They are rather hands off.”

“So…I should visit the Greybeards, and I’ll be visited by these…cystic monks.”

“Psijic monks.”

“Right. Anything else I need to know?”

“All in due time, my Hiccup. Now, you should probably wake up.” He reared back and unleashed a thunderous roar right in Hiccup’s face.

Hiccup startled awake for the second time that day, still on the floor of the cave in the burial mound. He glanced around, checking his surroundings. No bandits or skeevers or spiders had found him. He was alone.

He absently went to scratch his head, and touched the circlet. He tried to remove it, but it was just as Toothless had said. He couldn’t take it off.

“What am I going to tell dad?” He lamented.

He considered this as he gazed over the pile of gold still in the chest in front of him. He earned it, after all of this. So he shoveled it all into his satchel, and then shouldered it.

“Right. Now to figure out how to get out of here.”

He looked back the way he came, lamenting the long walk and all that he had to sneak past. As he studied the room, he found another set of stairs not too far away, leading towards the wall.

He followed them, noticing that there was a lever built into a podium next to the wall.

“Oh please be a back door…”

As he pulled the lever, a doorway in the stone gave way to reveal a tunnel, and daylight glowed at the other end.

“Yes!”

Hiccup ran down the tunnel, elated to see the sky again, and proud to have finished his quest unscathed.

But as he came out of the mouth, he smacked face-first into a bandit.

“Well well. Isn’t this interesting?” He cracked his shoulder. “Told the boss it was crazy to patrol this back entrance, but he didn’t care. I should tell him he was right.”

Hiccup panicked, looking for a way out. The tunnel had ended rather abruptly, and if the bandit hadn’t been there, he likely would have run off a cliff.

“So kiddo, whatcha find in there? Let me see that pretty crown.”

It happened on instinct. The bandit reached forward, and Hiccup sucked in a lung full of air.

“Fus Ro Dah!”

The blast echoed across the landscape, making nature itself grow silent.

The bandit ragdolled right off the cliff, being flung several feet before falling and rolling down the mountain like a limp sack of potatoes.

Hiccup peered over the edge, only to see the body still and unmoving.

“By the nines, I killed him.”

Hiccup glanced around the cliff edge, looking for a way down. There had to be one if the bandit got up there in the first place. He found a steep, narrow path along the wall that he could shimmy down if he was careful.

It led to a rock, which led to another rock, on and on, until he finally reached the road.

Exhausted from the descent, he sat on a stone to catch his breath. The sun was now making its way to dusk, and night would be upon him soon. He had spent more time in that dungeon than he thought!

He whistled for Thump, assuming it was pointless as his horse had either wandered to Riverwood or was still on the other side of the mountain. But fortunately, the blessed sound of horse hooves trotting across the ground graced his ears…shortly followed by another set, and then another.

Thump happily galloped around the corner, followed by two Whiterun guards on horseback. That couldn’t be good.

They all came to stop in front of him.

“Young Master Hiccup, the Jarl has been looking for you. We are fortunate to find you alive.”

“He’s been that worried about me? But I’ve only been gone a few hours.”

“A few hours? No. We are nearing two days of your absence. We found your horse outside Riverwood and have been tracking it, hoping he would lead us to you. Luckily, he did.”

Hiccup stood then, on shaky legs, and mounted Thump.

“We will hurry you back to Dragonsreach, Young Master, you look wounded.”

“Oh, I’m okay, I just—“ he glanced down to his side, where he was punctured earlier. In the light of day, his entire side was bloodied. “It looks worse than it is.”

But nevertheless, the guards escorted him quickly back to Whiterun.

When they entered the city gates, townsfolk started cheering.

“It’s good to see you alive boy-o!”

“Welcome back from the brink!”

“Had enough adventure for one lifetime, huh?”��

Hiccup tried to shrink on his horse, but still saw every eye on him.

When they reached Dragonsreach, he developed a lump in his throat that he couldn’t quite swallow. The second Jarl Stoick saw him, he came running with his arms open wide. “Son! Hiccup! You’re alive!” He effortlessly lifted Hiccup off the ground and embraced him. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again!”

Just as quickly as he had been lifted, he was rushed over to Gothi, the healer and court magician. He was stripped of his bloody clothes and his wounds were examined. Stoick didn’t leave his side for a second.

“What happened? Where did you go? Who do I need to put a bounty on?”

“Dad, dad, please calm down.” He prepared to tell his father all about his fate as the Dragonborn, but couldn’t quite find the words. His father was already overly protective of him, and if he shared the truth about his fate, chances are he’d never be allowed to leave the city walls. Maybe even Dragonsreach.

With the way his father was acting, that might be true no matter what.

Hiccup decided to tell the truth, just not the whole truth. He sighed. “I found some information, and it led me to Bleak Falls Barrow.”

At the name, Gothi pulled tight on a bandage, making him wince.

“The old Nordic burial mound by Riverwood? What possessed you to go there!?”

“I thought there would be some information about the Dragonborn there.”

“And? Did you find what you were looking for?” Stoick asked with a grimace. He didn’t seem too indulgent at the moment.

“Not…not really. I found the treasure in my bag, and then this circlet.” He gestured to his head. “It’s…we’ll it’s cursed, dad. I can’t take it off.”

Stoick looked devastated. “Cursed? What is going to happen to you?”

“Nothing, from what I gleaned. I just can’t remove it.”

Stoick sighed. “I suppose that is enough punishment. Can you confirm, Gothi?”

The old woman scrutinized the circlet touching the band before breathing in the stone. She tugged on it for good measure. No, for sure this wasn’t coming off.

Gothi was a mute, and as such, she had to communicate her findings through writing.

Hiccup and Stoick sat awkwardly as she scribbled out her message.

“She says,” Stoick read her note, “‘this circlet contains a vast, intense power that sleeps. It does not seem malevolent in nature. I see no reason to try to remove it at this time.’” Stoick frowned. “No need to remove it? It’s a curse!”

“Dad, let’s just see where this goes. She said it’s not malevolent, maybe I’ll be blessed with strength or magic or—“

“Common sense?”

“Harsh.”

“Look, Hiccup. You are the only family I have. Your mother went out on an adventure and never returned. I don’t want the same for you. Please promise me your adventuring days are over, alright?”

“I promise.”

No one noticed he had his fingers crossed.

#edge of the sky #httyd #how to train your dragon #miraculous ladybug #ml #fanfiction #skyrim #tes #The Elder Scrolls #hiccup haddock #stoick the vast #toothless

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archangelsunited · 11 months

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In Foul Redemption, the general idea is that what Elisif sees does not match anyone else’s POV. Her POV is supposed to be flawed and short-sighted, and it is supposed to gradually Change.

The biggest example is how Elisif sees Astrid, versus how Astrid sees Elisif. Its supposed to be very jarring.

I’m writing the next big part, which is Grieve at the Mercy, focusing on the Dragonborn and his relationship with illness, and eventually vampirism. (Its HarkonxDragonborn- a snippet of the beginning of the relationship can be found here). I seem to be focusing more on characters who have multiple motivations for their choices. There is not one reason they do things, and it makes it a lot harder to make decisions.

Anyway, I am having fun experimenting. Grieve at the Mercy, is becoming cathartic to me. I have spent my life surrounded by chronic illness, and have dealt for years. My experiences are extremely important to me, but one of the biggest things I’ve had to deal with is when you have to decide if the cure is worse than the disease- socially, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

#measure for measure #foul redemption #grieve at the mercy #AU writing

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nam-imperii · 5 years

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Dragons Keep, Riften Reborn

After the war is won and Ulfric is dead, there is the Moot. As predicted, Elisif becomes the new High Queen of Skyrim. Queen Elisif has no idea how to make a battle work but turns out she's wildly loved by the people. Even ex stormcloaks begrudingly ammit that at least she has good intentions, I can't deny that

One of the first projects of Queen Elisif is Dragon Keep, a giant orphanage in Riften where once Hronorall Orphanage stood. The new orphanage is way larger and secured, providing at all the war orphans (which are defintely more than the dozen or so kids we see in game that's a nation we're talking about) a refuge and the chance to be adopted. The Orphanage will also teach the childrens to read, write and basic math and provide occasions to the best brains despite the humble origins. Costance Michel is still there but with the way bigger dimensions of the orphanage she's only assigned to help the original section of the building -the childrens who were under Grelod abuse-

The reborn Thieves Guild, who has returned to the ideals of the Grey Fox under Guildmaster Fa'Ir, protects the orphanage from any corruption, while the Skyrim Legionaries who were recruited during the civil war and have taken the place of Jarl Laia city guard are prtecting the city and the orphange from any exterior danger.

Under Guildmaster and secret Penitus Oculatus agent and infiltrator Fa'Ir, the Thieves Guild becomes a weaponized shield against corruption. Oh they still steal... But their stealing is like the Oblivion times, which quickly gain the support of the population and control crime under a single group with standars on what is crime.

Of course, Jarl Maven Black-Briar is... Relieved and happy to see Riften returning to such fast. Her name is acclaimed as an example of virtue as the Jarl who wiped out corruption and protected the common people. And if this result was reached by being blackmailed by Oculatus agent Fa'Ir who made the guild more powerful than Maven and has some documents who could destroy her... Well that's not something that people has to know. Maven is still well liked and Jarl, she could have got a way worst ending.

Of course, Jarl Black Briar is more than happy of paying the creation of Dragons Keep orphanage with her personal money, as sign of good faith toward Riften and appreciation for the Empire.

Thank you, Jarl Maven! Truly the best leader Riften ever had!

#the elder scrolls #skyrim #headcanon #imperial legion #maven black briar #jar elisif #oc: fa'ir #thieves guild #also dragons keep exists #it's a mod #but the orphanage in-game is in Solitude #I have builded my headcanons for the existance of the place #and merged them with my headcanon for fa'ir and riften #and the thieves guild for good guys mod #also brynjolf adopts a kid

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happywitch416 · 3 years

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Chapter 66

Flying. There was a breathless joy in every beat of the dragon’s wings. The higher and lower they were in the sky the winds changed, higher up was sharp and biting. Elena felt weightless, experiencing the sky the way her mind had for so long. When she let out a whoop, she felt Odahviing rumble before he roared with her. Skyrim passed below them quickly, towns no more than speckles on the vast landscape. Too soon, Odahviing descended to land before an immense, ancient stronghold. “This is far as I can take you.” The grey and red dragon bowed his head to let her safely slide to the ground. He considered her carefully. “Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin's.”

Elena watched Odahviing fly off before turning towards Skuldafn with a roll of her shoulders. Creeping closer to the bridge, she spotted the draugr guarding the way. She grumbled quietly, searching the cliff side for a better way up. Wasting her limited supply of arrows on them was not the risk she wanted to take. Throwing rocks at the World-Eater was not going to do it.

She hauled herself, sweating and exhausted up and over the last edge, half stumbling up the stairs. Another cut had joined the others on her face, and she had managed to catch another shield to her ribs. She almost wished for that vile drink of Serana’s. A skeleton rose to hover before her in a dark cloak and mask and she groaned before pulling her bow. The dragon priest yelled, words she didn’t bother to try and understand, and she stuck him full of arrows. She mused pulling them from its ashy pile, that at least her arrows were undamaged fighting such things. Movement caught the corner of her vision and she turned to see a dragon staring at her. For a few slow heartbeats, she worried this was the end, snuck up on by a dragon, dying so far from home and where Alduin could eat her soul without a single ounce of effort on his part. But the dragon just watched her, and she very slowly stood. Another flicker of movement brought her attention to the second one. They continued to silently watch her as she ascended the stairs to the portal.

It was a wild torrent of color and rocks, and if she watched carefully, she could have sworn she saw the night sky. She stepped back a moment and studied the staff set into the seal beneath her feet. Her fingers smoothed across the metal and she gave it a gentle twist. The staff didn’t budge, and she nodded to herself.

With a deep breath, she took a flying leap from the platform and plummeted through the portal. Winds Guide Me.

Chapter 67

Elena had expected to land hard, had braced herself for a bone-jarring, teeth-rattling impact. Instead, a gentle wind surrounded her and set her softly on the ground, a feeling of warmth flowing through her before the wind blew away along the mountains. “By the Divines.” Breathless at the beauty around her, Elena stood for a long moment, studying the world around her. It looked like Skyrim, on a clear night in the mountains, the sky above twinkling with more stars and more colors than she had names for. She took several steps down and that’s when she saw it. The Hall peeking through mist, the eternal home to Skyrim’s heroes. Black wings obscured the Hall and horror filled the pit of her stomach as Alduin dove into the mist. She hurried down the stairs and into the mist-shrouded valley only to freeze when a Stormcloak soldier appeared before her.

“Turn back, traveler!” He was frantic. “Terror awaits within this mist. Many have braved the shadowed vale but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way.”

She nodded, mouth dry. “Do you know what has caused this mist?”

“I do not know -- but none have passed through.” Elena briefly wondered how he knew that, but he continued on. “Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley.” He fretted, more a man then spirit in his fear. “Can you lead the way to where Shor's hall waits, beckoning us on to welcome long sought?”

“Stay here.” She held up a hand when he began to protest. “I am here to kill Alduin. When it’s safe, I will come back and lead you to the hall myself.” The wind ruffled her hair. She had not realized it had come free; its tie long gone.

“Beware! The World-Eater waits within the mist!”

She stepped around him and took a deep breath. “Lok Vah Koor!” The mist merely shifted, and with a tired sigh she set off into it.

Elena didn’t say anything when he followed her further into the mist, but she did yell when the mist parted a moment, revealing Alduin crouched before them. Black scales gleaming he launched into the air on silent wings and she winced at the scream that was cut short behind her. Her boots followed the stone path more than her eyes could, hoping it would lead her to the Hall. It had not been surrounded with mist, and she hoped someone knew of a way to clear it, as no one could fight in it.

One moment the path would be clear and the next she was stumbling with her hands outstretched. The wind blew and it cleared again leaving her face to face with an old friend. “Torygg?” She whispered, eyes unbelieving.

He did not seem to notice her. “When Ulfric Stormcloak, with savage Shout, sent me here, my sole regret was fair Elisif, left forlorn and weeping.” There was a bleak sadness on his face, could taste his regret on her tongue. “I faced him fearlessly, my fate inescapable, yet, my honor is unstained. Can Ulfric say the same?”

“No.” She said quietly and moved past his unseeing eyes. “Goodbye, my king.”

Elena was still dashing tears from her eyes when the mist spat her out before Shor’s Hall. The Hall itself was magnificent but it was the bridge that caught her attention. She had seen whale skeletons, between hunters and the unlucky ones that washed ashore. The one before her was too big to understand. Each rib was as tall as Proudspire. She wondered what sea it had swam in before its death, if the deeps it had traversed had been full of terrifying monsters. Her thoughts were interrupted by the man who approached her from the bridge, he was tall. She was tall for a Nord, but this man seemed more giant than man.

“What brings you here, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to the honored dead?”

She straightened, chin lifting. She was no young and untested stripling, and these were the dead. “I pursue Alduin, the World Eater.”

“A fateful errand.” She was not sure who he was announcing to with his booming voice but was grateful when he lowered a touch. “No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor's restrained our wrathful onslaught. Perhaps, deep-counseled, your doom he foresaw.”

Elena had an unpleasant thought, that the heroes of old and Shor himself were as useless as the Greybeards. Content to sit and do nothing in their cozy home. “I am Elena Songschild, Champion of Kyne, and he would do better to stay out of my fate.” The man’s brows raised. “And you are?”

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor.” She was pleased her reaction to that did not show on her face, of all the people she had to say that to she had to pick this one. “The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all the souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall.”

Her gaze flickered past him a moment, any help she could find would be within. “I seek entrance to the Hall of Valor.”

“No shade are you, as those who usually here pass, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?”

“By the right of birth, I am Dragonborn.” She left the bite to her words, sick of wasting time on formalities.

“Ah!” He laughed. “It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood.” He readied his axe with a grin. “Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'til I judge them worthy by the warrior's test.” Elena let out a tired sigh and pulled her bow from her back and didn’t bother to wait for him to approach.

Tsun knelt at her feet, both of them panting and sweat-soaked. “You fought well. I find you worthy.” She held out her hand and half hauled him to his feet. “It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's favor follow you and your errand.”

She carefully crossed the whalebones, making sure each step was secure before moving the next foot. “I did not come here to fall to my death.” She grumbled. She hopped off the last bone and on to the land before the Hall and stared up at its massive doors. The air felt heavy, the wind that had followed her across the bridge was silent. She ascended the steps and pushed open the door.

A large blond Nord met her at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes as round as the dinner plates on the table before her. “Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not into the vale's dark mist.” She nodded, slamming her gaping mouth shut. “But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe.” He pointed to the far side of the hall. “Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim.”

He clapped a hand on her shoulder, and she nodded again and made her way towards them only to freeze in her tracks and turn back to the man again. “Ysgramor?” With a chuckle, he lifted a tankard to her and took a long drink. She shook her head, with a breathless laugh. She eyed the shining throne, a hum sounding in her ears so loudly she barely caught someone saying that Shor’s throne was empty because he was too much for mortal eyes.

The heroes she sought were easy to find, she recognized them immediately from when the Elder Scroll had thrown her back in time to witness their battle with Alduin. The woman, Gormlaith, Elena quickly recalled raised her sword. “At long last! Alduin's doom is now ours to seal, just speak the word and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks.”

“Hold, comrades.” Felldir held out steady hands. “Let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare, its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle.

“Felldir speaks wisdom.” Hakon nodded, Gormlaith almost bitterly agreeing aw well.”The World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn.” Elena stood a little straighter, the exhaustion she had felt at the door had dropped away from her entirely, her blood thrumming with excitement. “We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe.”

She grinned at the three of them. “Then let him fall to us.” Amongst cheers, the group headed to the doors and to fate.

Chapter 68

Elena followed them across the bridge, a little more careful than the heroes who were already dead. When she cleared the split skull, Tsun stepped before her a moment. “The eyes of Shor are upon you this day. Defeat Alduin and destroy his soul-snare.” He stepped aside when she gave him a slight bow, fist over her heart.

The others waited at the bottom of the steps cursing the mist before them, and the dragon that roared within it. Elena did not bother to wait for them to come to an agreement. She stepped into the mist and Shouted.

It was a battle hard-won, but Alduin lay at her feet cursing them and writhing in his death throws. “Zu'u unslaad! zu'u nis oblaan!” The explosion that followed sent Elena flying, breath rushing out of her when she landed on her back. She stared up at the swirling sky, the sickly gold of Alduin’s soul joining it before disappearing with a flash of light.

Tsun interrupted her line of sight, leaning over her with a grin and an offered hand. He pulled her up hard enough that her feet left the ground. “This was a mighty deed! The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever.” Her smile grew with every word he spoke.

From behind her came a cheer. “All hail the Dragonborn! Hail her with great praise!”

Chapter 69

Elena wandered from the Whalebone Bridge. She had spent the night, she thought it was only a night, being feasted and praised, listening to the first notes of songs in her honor. It was heady, their honor, the relief of Alduin’s defeat, and the relief that her world was safe. But she didn’t know how she would get back and had not asked yet, not wanting to know if she was here for eternity. Not yet.

The waterfall called to her, its watchful statue a silent companion as her knees found the dirt and her eyes closed to listen. She had fallen deep into her thoughts when a gentle wind blew across her shoulders. “Well done, Dragonborn.” She shot to her feet, turning until she spotted the woman. She was old and grey, the look she fixed on Elena made her think of her own mother, full of love and pride. In a blink, the woman changed. She was young and fair, hair the color of well-polished oak, eyes blue like the storm, her smile the flash of lightning.

“Kyne.” Her voice a bare whisper, Elena’s fist went to her heart and she bowed low, keeping her eyes on the ground when she rose.

There was a soft laugh and she felt gentle fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up. She had changed again, a flickering of red hair, a scarred cheek, and a kind smile. “You have served me well, done all I have called you to do, even in your moments of stubbornness.” She laughed again when Elena blanched. “Doubt can make you stronger if you only overcome it.” Her voice grew gentle. “It is time for you to go home. Joy awaits you.” Kyne leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Return and live happily, my daughter.”

A Warrior’s Heart

#the witch writes #elena songschild

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ms-katonic-of-tamriel · 4 years

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The Elder Cicero - AoD 82

I don’t normally post my fic to Tumblr but this chapter’s exciting enough to do it.

As the title suggests, New Cicero Backstory. Those of you who read Age of the Dragon but maybe stopped or not commented in a while, definitely give this one a read! Maybe even comment on it.

To sum up the story so far - Jarl Elisif the Dragonborn ended up in Thedas as Herald of Andraste. King Madanach of the Reach went after her with their daughter and a handful of others to find her, and ended up helping run the Inquisition that’s going to sort Thedas out.

The aftermath of the Halamshiral ball left Briala running Orlais from behind the scenes, with Gaspard de Chalons as Emperor. With that new power and access, Briala’s been looking into the background of one of the Inquisition, and managed to turn up things even she hadn’t expected. The trail’s led her and two new associates that she rescued from Red Templars thanks to Inquisition information to Montsimmard Circle, stronghold of the Loyalist mages. Now read on.

Meanwhile, far away from Skyhold, at Montsimmard Circle, someone else had a visit to make. Being the Loyalist stronghold, with Vivienne De Fer returning early in the mage rebellion and making it very clear that this Circle stood with the Chantry and the common folk of Thedas, it hadn’t seen the fighting many of the others had. Those sympathetic to the rebels had left but the Loyalists remained, and had taken in others from other Circles who wanted no part of the rebellion. Its library and laboratories were intact, its Templar garrison still present, albeit much reduced since Vivienne had taken most of the mages to Skyhold with her. But it wasn’t uninhabited either, and along with a few Templars to protect the building, a few elven servants to cook and clean, and some Chantry sisters to minister to those remaining, there were a few Circle members left. A few older mages who hadn’t felt up to making the journey to Skyhold and their young apprentices… and a great many of the Circle’s Tranquil, who were more use here where their tools and supplies all were.

It was one of those Tranquil that interested the visitor… and it had been the elven servants who’d confirmed that yes, he was alive and still here, still a master alchemist despite his advanced years. And so Marquise Briala had come, keen to get answers to a mystery that had bothered her for years. Official access to a great many files had answered a lot of questions… but left her with more.

Neither the Templars nor the Revered Mother had liked the idea of just letting her in to have access to one of their Tranquil, but they weren’t in a position to stop her either. Everyone knew who she was now, and her new mask spoke volumes. The design was a Marquise’s, with elven motifs. The materials were those only an Empress would use, and all Orlais knew it.

“He’s not in any kind of trouble,” Briala assured the Revered Mother. “I simply had questions. About events in his bardic life. We believe he has information that might prove useful to key members of the Inquisition, except they don’t know he has it yet. I would like to share my own intelligence with them, but I have to be sure it is true first. For that… I need to speak with him.”

The Revered Mother exchanged a suspicious look with the Knight-Commander, and Briala was near certain she’d have to use force… but she’d chosen her human companions wisely. Inquisition co-operation with the Imperial Army in clearing the roads of threats had alerted her to the fact the Inquisition were looking for them and that they might be captives of the Red Templars… and so as to save her new allies the effort, Briala had ‘suggested’ to Gaspard that the Imperial Army work with her scouts to rescue them. At worst they’d wipe out a Red Templar cell. At best… an Aequitarian mage and his noble-born Templar lady friend were assets Briala could use. And now they were recovered from their captivity, she was doing just that.

Former Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard stepped forward in Templar armour repaired and gleaming, and stared down the Knight-Commander.

“For Andraste’s sake, man, we’re not here to interrogate him. The Marquise has questions. The Inquisition, for whom you are all working by the First Enchanter’s express command, would find the answers of interest. Now are you going to let us talk to him or do we have to go back and tell Inquisitor Elisif and Sister Nightingale that we might have information but it might be completely worthless because you wouldn't let us talk to the man who might confirm its value?”

The Knight-Commander spluttered at someone who was not only a rank down from him but who was known to have absconded with the mage rebellion talking to him like that… but he glanced at Briala’s mask and the coquin masks on her elven guards and gave in, shoulders sagging.

“Forgive me, it is simply unusual for someone of your… station to come here in person,” he said, deliberately hesitating on the word station.

“The information is sensitive and these are unusual times,” Briala said, shrugging. “There are few others I can trust with this… and I felt I needed to see Monsieur LaRose for myself. His situation is also unusual as I understand it.”

“It is true he came to the Circle late in life and like many in that situation, it was felt we had no choice but to subject him to the Rite of Tranquillity,” the Revered Mother said, guarded. “Mages who are never properly trained by the Circle are at the mercy of their magic, Marquise. By the time they reach midlife, they are easy prey for any passing demon and often close to madness. It is kinder all round to give the rite.”

Briala idly wondered if she knew the real reason or was just repeating what she’d been told. Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d find out soon enough if her sources were true or not.

“That is true,” her other human companion said, stepping forward. Rhys, an Aequitarian with an interest in the spirit world. “But from what I heard, he was no hedge mage being driven mad by his powers, but a talented bard in his prime. I don’t think his powers were really the problem, were they.”

“Knight-Captain, tell your mage he’s out of line,” the Knight-Commander snarled, reaching for his sword. Briala’s guards raised bows, the Revered Mother cried out, Evangeline moved to stand between Briala and Rhys and the oncoming Templars… and Briala raised her voice.

“Knight-Commander! We’re not here to lay blame on anyone or dig up old grudges. I just wish to speak with him. Rhys. Please. Leave the talking to me. I know you have your thoughts… but let’s all reserve judgement until we’ve spoken with him, hmm?”

The Knight-Commander put his sword back and motioned for the approaching Templar reinforcements to stand down.

“Fine, Marquise. But you should know his Tranquillisation was authorised personally by the then Divine. Due to his, er, circumstances.”

Divine Beatrix, newly crowned in the early Dragon Age, and likely to overreact, still unsure in her authority. Sadly, the years, rather than giving her an elder’s wisdom, had given her senility instead. Briala could see it happening, and Rhys and Evangeline clearly did too.

“We understand,” Briala said softly. “May we speak with him?”

The Knight-Commander turned to the Revered Mother, who nodded permission.

“Yes, if he’s willing. But he’s an old man,” she added. “He’s in good health but too much excitement and he becomes tired. He gets headaches. It’s not good for him.”

Briala was absolutely certain being made Tranquil against his will hadn’t been good for him either, but she wasn’t so foolish as to say it. Still, if what Rhys and Evangeline had told her was true, she might be able to right a wrong yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Tranquil they were after had a particularly ornate office all to himself, a personal workroom with quarters off to one side, various potions bubbling, alchemy tomes lining the walls along with jars of ingredients, and sitting at the bench in the middle, an old man around seventy was dicing some elfroot. Despite his age, the precision knifework involved was impressive. A side effect of tranquillity? Or a reminder he’d once been a very skilled bard. Briala wasn’t sure and didn’t like to ask.

She’d told the guards to wait in the corridor, but Rhys and Evangeline had accompanied her in, Evangeline standing watch by the door, and Rhys looking with interest at the various potions.

“Do not touch that one,” the Tranquil said, not looking up from his root-slicing and Briala felt her breath catch in her throat as she heard the accent. The language was smoothly-spoken Thedosian in the Orlesian dialect he no doubt used as his every day tongue… but Briala could hear it in the vowel sounds and the way every hard consonant seemed to expect a vowel after it, despite Orlesian not doing that. The files on him suspected Tevinter ancestry, but the sound was more flowing than that, slightly elven if anything.

Briala only knew one place in all of the world, all of the great wide world called Nirn, as it turned out, where there were humans speaking a language related to elven tongues. And only one other person whose accent so closely matched this man’s.

“Cesaire?” the Revered Mother was saying gently. “Monsieur Cesaire, you have visitors. Important ones. This is Marquise Briala. She is the new Marquise of the Dales and a very important advisor to Emperor Gaspard himself.”

Cesaire looked up at that, as close as a Tranquil ever got to surprised, tilting his head slightly. His long silver hair was tied back out of his eyes, a bard or fool’s motley exchanged for a mage’s work robes, soft brown eyes staring back at Briala with an intelligence that would once have been deadly for anyone crossing his path… but now leashed by the Chantry to making the Inquisition’s potions.

Oddly, his skin was not far off hers in colour, light-brown not the winter pale she’d expected. She wondered what colour his hair had been once.

“Yes, Mother, I remember you speaking of her after Empress Celene died,” Cesaire said calmly. “I believe you called her a jumped-up knife-ear with ideas above her station taking shameless advantage of our beloved Empress’s death.”

No emotion whatsoever on his face or any indication he’d said anything untoward, just motionless eyes and slow-blinking, but Briala could swear that some part of him was taking pleasure in embarrassing his Revered Mother.

“I… I said no such...” she gasped, face turning scarlet as she turned to Briala. “Please, forgive him, he does not always know what he says.”

“Perhaps I could have a little time alone with the monsieur?” Briala asked, repressing a smile. She had a feeling Cesaire knew exactly what he was saying… and while he couldn't do much about the institution that had broken him and enslaved him, he might take some pleasure in small victories.

The Revered Mother was only too happy to make her exit, and Briala perched herself on a nearby stool, watching him work. Once the door had closed, he’d returned to his elfroot preparation as if no one else was there.

Briala waited for him to speak, but he said nothing, and in the awkward silence, she glanced helplessly at Evangeline. What were the social niceties for talking to a Tranquil?

“Don’t expect him to speak first,” Evangeline said, amused. “He’s a Tranquil. You’ve got a reason for being here, so he assumes you’ll tell him eventually. If not, it’s not his problem and you’re free to go elsewhere. He’s got work to do.”

Cesaire did glance up at that, seeming to approve.

“You are a Templar. But not one of the usual ones. But not new either, Cesaire can tell a recruit. You served in a Circle once. Another one. An Orlesian one? This one is the last. There are no others now. Cesaire heard the Templars have gone Red and joined Corypheus. Cesaire is fond of red, but apparently this kind is different. Enchanter, please step away from the apparatus.”

Rhys stepped away from the still bubbling with something that looked like liquid ice, if ice could boil.

“What is it?” Rhys asked, fascinated. “It looks like some sort of frost enchantment?”

“It is for that elf at Skyhold who likes to coat herself in alchemical concoctions for maximum offensive impact,” Cesaire said, pointing at a stool next to Briala’s for Rhys to sit on. “Apparently another there wishes to learn the art as well. That Harlequin of the Herald of Andraste’s, Red Cicero.”

Cesaire’s tongue tripped on the name, and he paused, placing his tools down, hand actually shaking.

“Forgive me, I get these tremors lately,” Cesaire said quietly. “I don’t know why. The work normally is enough to calm me. The healers say my body is healthy, but… if I could still worry, I would. But if I could still worry, worry would not be the first emotion on my mind.”

He turned around to face Briala and Rhys, head tilted, expression strangely curious. Curiosity with no desire. He wanted to know why they were here but didn’t really want to.

No wonder people thought Tranquil were weird, and no wonder her guards had been all too relieved to wait outside. Some of them had been cooks and cleaners in Circles before.

“Marquise Briala is a very important person, so I am told. Humble Cesaire did not know his fame as an alchemist had reached even the Winter Palace. You did not need to come all this way in person, madame. You could have placed an order with the Senior Enchanter. Most do.”

“I wasn’t here for a potion,” Briala said softly, reaching up to remove her mask. “I wanted to see you in person. To see if my suspicions were correct.”

The ribbons came loose and the gold and diamond monstrosity finally came free of her face. It was a relief really.

Cesaire grasped the symbolism, and Tranquil he might be, but his bard’s instincts hadn’t gone away.

“Marquise?” Cesaire asked, expression shifting subtly. “I regret to inform you alchemy is the only service I can provide, I do not think I am worth much as a paramour.”

“You weren’t always an alchemist, were you,” Briala said quietly. “My sources were reliable and the documents in the classified Orlesian archives also have much information. I know your past. You were a bard once, one of the best in the Empire.”

Cesaire barely reacted, but his lips twitched in an unconscious mannerism, giving away… something. Something in that ambiguity was raising the ghost of amusement. Which Empire? Which indeed.

“Alas, those days ended,” Cesaire said, hands resting in his lap. For some reason, his eyes dropped to look at them. “I used my magic to save a brother bard’s life… and instead of gratitude, he looked at me as if I was some sort of monster. I did not understand, for he had never been the religious type. Days later the Templars came and my employer could not protect me. Apparently discreetly stabbing people and going through their belongings is morally acceptable but using healing magic to save the life of your injured colleague is not. I do not understand this place sometimes. That was my undoing.”

“You were a healer?” Rhys asked, intrigued. Cesaire shrugged.

“Not exactly. Raistarazione magic was a… something I was required to learn. It is useful, no doubt… but my specialty was Ahltaira- forgive me. My specialty was manipulating inanimate objects. I was always nimble and agile, make no mistake… but it is easier to Not Be There when a sword is coming at you if your mind can shift its direction. Or deflect an arrow a little. Everyone always thinks fireballs when they think of magic, or demons and blood pacts. They never think of the man who gets shot at plenty of times but mysteriously is never hit by anything. It was a source of great satisfaction and amusement to me once. But those days are over, Enchanter, Knight-Sister, Marquise. This was nearly forty years ago. You will forgive humble Cesaire if he believes the intrigues he was involved in then cannot possibly be relevant now.”

“That is true,” Briala said, taking her time, raking her gaze over every part of this man’s features, every part of this man’s face, and seeing cheekbones she’d seen before, entire facial structure she already knew… because she’d seen it before, at the Winter Palace, in the face of a dying, bleeding man she’d saved from a Harlequin, only to see him healed by the Reach-King minutes later. A man who’d showed only relief and gratitude to a mage, not suspicion and revulsion, and who would not have understood why anyone would object to being healed from certain death. Just like his kinsman, who’d learnt to pretend to be an Andrastian Thedosian but who never would really get them.

Cicero the Younger had the Herald of Andraste’s backing and a mage rebellion destroying the Circles for him. Cicero the Elder had had none of that.

“They aren’t why I’m here, Cicero,” Briala said, not taking her eyes off a face that barely moved… but the eyebrows flickered slightly.

A man with no emotions but an assassin’s training might do many things, and Briala became uncomfortably aware that there were a lot of sharp tools and glass in this workroom, not to mention all the toxic reagents.

Fortunately, Cicero the Elder glanced at Rhys, then over his shoulder at Evangeline, at Evangeline’s sword in particular, then back to Briala.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Cesaire/Cicero said calmly. “I am a master Formari alchemist and my name is Cesaire LaRose. Nothing more, madame.”

“Don’t give me that!” Briala cried, wishing her own emotions could be shut off so easily. “I know who – what you are! What you really are! I’m actually trying to help you! I – mere d’Andraste, I know why they really Tranquillised you. A bard apostate who’d clearly been well trained in both arts and no one knew who’d trained you – the Emperor’s court were involved, Cicero. They thought you were a Tevinter spy, even though Tevinter denied knowing who you were. And you wouldn’t talk, you refused to give them anything. So eventually the Divine ended up making the decision, seeing as Emperor Florian didn’t seem to care, and Grand Duchess Melisande was keen to wash her hands of the whole mess. And she had you made Tranquil on the grounds you could do no harm as one of them. No one ever did find out where you were really from. Until I finally put the pieces together after reading about all this. You were definitely a spy… just not from Tevinter.”

Cicero was saying nothing, just staring at her levelly.

“You have done a lot of research into me,” he said, still with that eerie almost-monotone, hands twitching in his lap. Hissing, he glanced at them.

“My pardon, the tremors again,” Cicero said, deliberately flexing his fingers. “Also the headaches. They are worse when I have visitors and cannot distract myself with work.”

“Marquise, do you think we should go-” Rhys began, but Briala shook her head, suddenly realising what they really were.

“You’re from a culture where it’s normal to move your hands while talking,” Briala realised, remembering Cicero of the Inquisition fidgeting constantly in formal situations and only when he could finally relax and move his hands while talking did he finally look comfortable. But the hand movements followed emotions and a Tranquil without them…

“The tremors are your body wanting to move your hands but the emotions aren’t there any more,” Briala guessed. “Likewise the headaches, you want to feel something but can’t. This is bothering you, but you can’t feel or express it any more. Is that right?”

Cicero sat upright, eyebrows flicking up, new information being digested.

“Yes!” Cicero said, and almost-pleasure was there again. “You might be right! Madame la Marquise is very clever! Alas, without a cure for Tranquillity, I suppose the tremors and headaches are there for good. That is probably for the best. I think I would be very angry if I was cured. But if I take painkilling remedies and remember the breathing exercises, all will be well. I have my work. It is enough.”

“It’s not,” Rhys whispered, appalled. “Marquise, this isn’t right. It’s bad enough with the Chantry tranquillising dangerous mages, but as part of the Game?? His magic was under control, and he used it to help someone! Marquise, I… what we spoke of before… I think I could do it. With the right facilities, and Montsimmard must have them.”

“In good time,” Briala said, touching Rhys’s arm. The Tranquil cure wasn’t widely known outside the mage rebellion itself and high-level Chantry circles, but Briala had a way of finding things out. When she’d heard the mage who’d discovered it and his Templar companion were captives of Corypheus… she’d had to intervene. Far too valuable as assets to waste, and here they were, with her now, being assets.

“But if he was definitely a spy for someone… who?” Evangeline demanded. “I know he’s an old man, but… we can’t just let a foreign agent go.”

“An excellent question from the clearly very bright Templar, and there are not many of those,” Cicero said, turning round to return to his work. “And one I am not going to answer. Good day.”

Briala rolled her eyes and motioned for Rhys to pick her bag up. Taking a book out of it, she tossed it on to Cicero’s desk.

“I know, Cicero,” Briala told him. “You don’t need to protect your Empire any more. It can protect itself now, and its existence will be public knowledge soon enough. Rhys, Evangeline, this information cannot leave this room until that day comes.”

“Rise of the Dragonborn,” Rhys read, scanning the title. “The new Tethras novel? Is that the one everyone says is based on the Herald and set in some fictitious mountain Avvar kingdom.”

“Yes,” Briala said, watching Cicero closely. “Except it’s not exactly fictitious is it? Skyrim’s real, isn’t it, Cicero. So is the Tamrielic Empire, and it’s becoming very obvious they’ve had spies here for a very long time.”

“Seriously??” Evangeline practically exploded. “The Tamrielic Empire’s real?? And they’ve been spying on us since… since before I was born?”

“Yes, and we Tranquillised one of their agents,” Briala said, staring at Cicero who was staring at the garish front cover of Alayna the Dragonborn staring at the reader with one foot on a dead dragon and the other hidden behind the shield with the diamond dragon on it. A shield that Cicero was tracing the outline of, almost in shock.

“I do not normally read fiction any more, it is difficult to get any enjoyment out of it now,” Cicero said, picking the book up and turning it over to read the blurb on the back. “But… I think this one might interest me. May I… borrow this?”

“Yes, Sieur Di Rosso, you may borrow it,” Briala said, inclining her head. “It was what I came here to tell you. You could go home. To… it’s Cyrodiil you come from, isn’t it? The big city?”

“The Imperial City,” Cicero said, without thinking. “I… before they… while I was a prisoner in Val Royeaux… the thought of home kept me from breaking. Were I not like this, I believe I would wish to see it again. I had family there once.”

Briala just bet he had.

“Who? A wife? Children?”

“Not there, no,” Cicero said, shaking his head. “My sister. Stelmaria. And her little boy. Also called Cicero. Like me. He would be a grown man now. I have not seen him these last few decades. He was eight, nearly nine, on my last visit home. I wonder if he still remembers me.”

Slowly, Cicero the Elder sat up, wincing as joints creaked as he turned back to Marquise Briala.

“Marquise. You knew my name. My real name. Because my nephew shares it… and you know him, don’t you. He followed in my footsteps, didn’t he, and he works for the Inquisition.”

Briala nodded, a lump in her throat as she recalled Morio Sicarius, the brave if demented assassin who Tethras had made pop right off the page, and when she’d met the man behind the motley, she’d realised he’d only embellished a little. Cicero Di Rosso, one of the few humans she’d ever cared about. And here was his uncle. A Tranquil, imprisoned by the Chantry.

“Yes,” Briala said softly. “I’ve met him. He’s good at what he does. He’s a lot like you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cicero said. “I would be proud of him, I think. I… I have heard of the Tranquil cure. I don’t know the details, but it appears the Enchanter here does. I do not wish the cure right now. I would be angry. And upset. But… if <i>il dolcetto</i> is here and remembers me… if he wishes to see me… I will risk that so he does not see me like this. If he does not wish to see me… then leave me this way. Easier not to feel anything.”

Briala hoped for his sake that the younger Cicero did remember his uncle. As it was though, she had one other piece of information to share. Now that she knew Cicero the Elder hadn’t had a woman in each port so to speak, and that the younger one was a nephew not a son, she felt better airing it.

“There’s something else. I know about your wife, Oisine. Looking into her was what set me on your trail in fact, all the other things came out of that. I wasn’t looking for a Tamrielic agent. I was after the man who fathered the child of Oisine, an elven servant in the Vasseur household many years ago. I suspected a noble who’d taken advantage, and when I found her linked to one of Lady Cecilie’s bards, I had no reason to doubt that… until one of my agents turned up a marriage certificate. A secret ceremony but a legitimate one, between Oisine and Cesaire LaRose. I looked into that name and realised you were arrested by Templars not that long after the wedding. Did you know she’d been pregnant at the time?”

Cicero was silent, but he did nod.

“Yes. We had names picked out and everything. Oisine wasn’t sure about a son being called Septimo but she adored Leliana as a girl’s name. It was my mother’s name, you see. I still don’t know what happened to the child. Or Oisine. I suppose they told her I’d died.”

“I suppose they did,” Briala said, heavy in her heart and just glad he wouldn’t feel the full force of emotion over this. “I’m sorry. She died years ago. But little Leliana’s alive and well and thriving. She doesn’t know about you though. Should I… tell her?”

A pause. A hesitation. And then a shake of the head.

“No. Not yet. Give me time to think on this. I should read this too. It is fiction but not all of it, I think. You will leave me a means of reaching you, yes?

“I will do that,” Briala promised. “Come on. We’ve taken enough of this poor man’s time. I’m sure he has work to do.”

Cicero Di Rosso the Elder nodded as they saw themselves out, before ringing the bell on his desk and reaching for the talking crystal.

“Hello to the kitchen staff. Master Di R- Master LaRose speaking. Could I have some elfroot tea please? And some of the willowbark pills please. The headaches are going to be particularly bad today. I can already tell.”

How a man was supposed to get any work done around here, he was sure he had no idea. He hoped no one needed any important potions today. Best to focus on the healing mist. If Madame Sera of Skyhold got in a fight, she’d have to manage without setting herself on fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Briala led both Rhys and Evangeline into an empty lecture room, had her guards wait outside and then perched herself on one of the desks, feet on the chair in front of it. She never had been good at sitting in human chairs properly.

Rhys and Evangeline were still standing, and Briala belatedly recalled she was de facto ruler of Orlais now, people weren’t allowed to sit in her presence until she gave them permission.

“Sit down, the pair of you,” Briala sighed. “I suppose you have questions.”

Rhys sat down first. While his injuries from Red Templar activity were mostly healed, he still tired easily. Not remotely ready for active service yet, and Briala had had reservations about bringing him… but she was glad he was here. It seemed he was on side already.

Sadly, the same could not be said for his Templar friend.

“Tamriel is real, not just a story, and they’ve been spying on us for years?” Evangeline demanded. “How long have you known this? What do they want? Are we safe? Is Corypheus working for them? Marquise, if this gets out…!”

“Then help make sure it doesn’t,” Briala snapped. “Evangeline. I’ve known of Tamriel for a few months now, there were stories circulating in the mage rebellion before the book came out. I didn’t know about the spies until I started looking into Cesaire, and I didn’t know for sure until I spoke to him. He looks exactly like an older, darker-skinned version of Red Cicero of the Inquisition. The accent’s the same, the speech patterns – if he wasn’t Tranquil, he’d doubtless be fluttering his hands every other word like the other one does. There’s stories of the other Cicero using magic too. Something about a demon horse, and I rather think he’s using the same tricks his uncle used to. Too many stories of him pulling off the impossible. As for what they want – that’s for me to worry about. But I don’t think they’re enemies – at least, they don’t have to be. And as for Corypheus… you’ve read the book. You must have worked out Alayna and Maranil are based on the Herald and her husband.”

“I know but… it can’t be real, surely?” Evangeline whispered, shaking her head. “Tethras wouldn’t just… where would he get his information form? He’s not a Tamrielic spy as well, is he?”

“No,” Briala said, shaking her head. “He’s their publicist. Alayna is really Elisif and she got Varric Tethras to write her story. While I’m sure he’s embellished and added things, I’d be surprised if she didn’t approve the final draft. How she got to Thedas is anyone’s guess. Maybe Andraste really did hand her out of the Fade to save us. It makes as much sense as any other theory at this point. But she’s Dragonborn, High Queen of Skyrim, and heir apparent to the Imperial Throne of Tamriel, and she’s leading the fight against Corypheus. Who, I might remind you, claims to be a resurrected Tevinter magister. He is an all too Thedosian phenomenon.”

“Tamriel’s had spies for forty years or more… and they never revealed themselves or did anything,” Rhys whispered.

“Not that we’re aware,” Briala admitted. “But there’s so much we don’t know – Cesaire was just the one who got caught. There may be many others living rather quieter lives. Still. The time of Tamrielic secrecy is coming to an end. Queen Elisif, who is our Herald of Andraste, had this published, and I am fairly certain it was so when Tamriel announces itself, we don’t all panic. Oh, it’s possible she might just go quietly home after all this is done… but she’s the future Empress. She knows we exist now. We’ve all heard of her. She has ties here, favours owed, rulers in her debt, her Inquisition both enabling my rise to power and Queen Anora being able to set up her own Chantry unmolested. There’s even Orlesian and Fereldan peace talks coming up with Josephine Montilyet facilitating them. Elisif’s written to both Gaspard and myself hoping we can reach an accord with Anora – I imagine Anora’s had the same. No ruler in her right mind is just going to go home to Tamriel and leave all this behind her. Our links to the Inquisition are going to end up turning into treaties with Tamriel, I am sure. I… am actually not displeased by this. Mages aren’t penned up in Circles. They don’t share our faith but they aren’t interested in enforcing theirs. They’re a human Empire but their non-human citizens are treated a lot better than elves are here. I’m looking forward to working with them. At least, I was until I realised we have Tranquillised a relative of someone high up in the future Empress’s court! Now do you see why this is important? Now do you realise why you’re both here??”

Evangeline had gone very quiet as she remembered Morio Sicarius’s backstory.

“Red Cicero is Morio Sicarius,” she whispered. Briala nodded.

“I’m afraid so. And you remember in the book he lost his only relative, his beloved mother, to the Great War, and that trauma sent him into the Brotherhood’s arms, and it was only the promise of a new family with the Reachfolk that got him out of there and made him into a better person.”

Evangeline nodded, remembering.

“But if his uncle is alive, was here all along… if the timelines are right, the war took place after he was made Tranquil.”

“Yes,” Briala said grimly. “If Cicero the Elder hadn’t been captured, if he’d still been a serving bard, do you think they might have recalled him during the war? Or he might have returned home anyway if he heard the Imperial City had fallen. He couldn’t have saved his sister, but he might have been able to find his nephew and save him. Cicero’s spent his entire adult life thinking he was alone in the world with no blood kin and reaching for family wherever he could. How do you think he’s going to react when he finds his uncle is alive but the Chantry made sure that uncle could never be there for him.”

Not well, and neither Rhys nor Evangeline needed reminding Red Cicero was a trained assassin.

“Anyone in a Chantry robe could get murdered,” Rhys whispered. “Maker, what do we do?”

“Or he goes to Elisif and she gets the Chantry disbanded entirely,” Evangeline said, sinking into a chair, hands in her hair. “Andraste have mercy.”

“It need not come to that,” Briala said. “I know Elisif. She’s not without compassion. But this needs careful handling. Because it’s not just Cicero. You recall he had an unborn child, a girl called Leliana.”

“Yes,” Rhys said, eyes widening as the truth dawned on him. “Isn’t the Inquisition spymaster called that. The Divine’s former Left Hand. I met her, you know. She’s got red hair too. She’s got paler skin and blue eyes not brown but… the face is very similar.”

“We didn’t just make a Tamrielic agent Tranquil but Sister Nightingale’s father too??” Evangeline gasped. “Can this get worse?? She’s a candidate for Divine, if she finds this out…!”

“I know, which is why she needs to find out before she takes the Sunburst Throne,” Briala said. “I don’t know how she’ll react but… He’s an old man. I don’t know how long he has left. I’d like to reunite them if I can. A show of goodwill and all that. And if he’s willing, I’d like him cured of Tranquillity. That will be a delicate undertaking and I’ll need the Inquisitor on side to help deal with the consequences. She’s a compassionate type and Cicero and Leliana both respect her. If anyone can help Cesaire post-cure, it’s her. But in the meantime… I have people of my own infiltrating this Circle but I’m concerned my visit will arouse suspicion. Especially if our friend here keeps needling the Revered Mother. He doesn’t feel emotions any more, but he clearly still remembers how to manipulate other people’s. I think he might need protecting.”

“Then we’ll stay and protect him,” Evangeline promised. “Andraste, Marquise, the only reason he’s lasted this long is because everyone thinks a Tranquil is harmless and he had no kin of consequence. He’ll need guarding, and I know how to protect mages. Including from other Templars.”

“And he’ll need company,” Rhys added. “I can help with the apprentices here, and be someone for Cesaire to talk to. And if he changes his mind about the cure… if need be, it can happen here, although personally I think you’re right in that maybe the Herald should be involved.”

Exactly what Briala had been hoping for. It was always nice when people volunteered for the thing she was going to order them to do anyway.

“I’ll speak to the Revered Mother,” Briala told them, getting up. “Thank you, both of you. I appreciate this more than you know. I can ensure you’re both well compensated for this – in fact,

I believe I might even be able to obtain the Brassard-Manot estate from its current owners. It should go back to the family who deserve it, don’t you think? And you and Rhys will need somewhere to live after all this.”

Evangeline could barely speak, but Rhys took her hand and thanked Briala fervently.

It was rather gratifying to have two humans just treating her like a person, and an important one at that. Briala still wasn’t used to this. Particularly when the Revered Mother and Knight-Commander both still seemed suspicious despite the surface politeness. She hoped Rhys and Evangeline would be all right here. She suspected they’d be fine but even so, two veterans of the mage rebellion at the Loyalist stronghold might well cause tension.

Stepping outside the Circle tower with her guards in tow, she was surprised to run straight into a small patrol of the Orlesian Army. Gaspard’s men, and high-ranking ones at that.

“Marquise,” the chevalier in charge called, dismounting. “There has been a… situation. The Emperor requires your advice. Here.”

Despite Inquisition protection, Briala could never be sure that each Orlesian battalion wasn’t the one that was going to piss on that and arrest her anyway… or worse. Thankfully, it wasn’t this one, it seemed. Reading the letter, her eyes widened as she read of the capture of Thom Rainier by the Inquisition… and Elisif’s request to have them carry out judgement via trial by combat. Versus darkspawn.

“Is this… serious?” Briala gasped. “And His Majesty’s opinion on this? He must have one. The massacre was done in his name even if he disavowed it.”

“His Majesty is… undecided. I believe he feels the gallows a kinder fate, as do we all… but many of us also think we should let the Herald have her way for that very reason. But… none of us are easy with sending a man to the Blight.”

Nor was Briala, but it seemed the decision was to be left to her. Well, she had asked for this.

“Don’t we have one of the participants in custody ourselves. And there’s more on the run, aren’t there. We never caught them all.”

“His Majesty seems to think that Rainier having been caught and confessing to having given the order and lying to his men about who they were attacking and why absolves them,” the chevalier said, masked helmet hiding his expression. Briala could see the reasoning, and it did save the Empire resources… even if the just following orders defence rankled.

“They could have stopped the moment they saw children in that carriage,” Briala said firmly. “Blood is on their hands too… but I suppose someone who can reliably identify Rainier may be useful. Go back to His Majesty and tell him this. I will go to Skyhold myself and meet with the Herald. I had business there anyway, I will raise this in person and let him know the outcome. I want the man in custody, Mornay is it? Transfer him to Skyhold too, I want him to identify Rainier for me. If he co-operates, I’ll consider releasing him. Don’t tell Mornay that. As for the others… the Orlesian Empire has bigger concerns. Don’t waste resources looking for them. We’ll see how things are after this situation is resolved.”

It never rained but it poured. Still, hadn’t Briala intended Skyhold to be her next port of call anyway? Now seemed like a most opportune time indeed.

#cicero #skyrim #dragon age #Age of the Dragon #fanfic

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