4E 202, Skuldafn, a few days ago (around the same time as the events of Chapter 94 and 95)
Esbern
They had finally found it.
Months and months of searching, and finally they yielded proper results.
Esbern turned to see all current members of the blades, Delphine their Grandmaster, Fultheim, Mjoll the Lioness, and Aerin the Archer.
A small group, but no doubt an elite one. Once, the Blades had filled halls from Cyrodiil to Skyrim. Now they were merely five figures in the snow, no more no less.
Right after the attack of High Hrothgar, the Blades had been bid by the Emperor and the Dragonborn to seek the hideout of Alduin. A mission they had accepted instantly, it was a rare chance for their order to regain their long lost honor and prestige—especially considering the horrid impression they gave to both Kiera Fendalyn and Gerron Ironbreaker when they met them the first time.
Esbern didn't fault Delphine. Even he struggled to see Paarthurnax as an ally initially, not after reading all the atrocities his kind bore during the First Era.
But the Kruziik's actions during the fight had earned him the benefit of the doubt, and the conversation that the Grandmaster and the Elder Sage shared had squashed away all suspicion.
Thus began their search to all of Skyrim's soil. They spent so long in the wilderness that Esbern's beard and hair had grown longer. Fultheim was no better, his hair already starting to grey from stress despite only at the cusp of his fourth decade.
They had followed leads wherever they could. Any sightings of black-scaled dragons or sudden miraculous changes in the weather, they investigated.
They had climbed different mountains, finding dragons roosting atop the summits or even tall abandoned watchtowers, but none held their actual quarry. Even so, they made sure to slay whatever Dragon they could find.
Every dead beast meant one less supporting Alduin, and that was more than worth the time and effort it took to actually kill the damn things.
The Blades were the descendants of the Dragonguards and they had finally retaken the ancient duty of their predecessors. Twenty dragons and at least a dozen unmasked dragon priests had fallen to their swords.
It sharpened their skill and allowed them to grow as a group. Delphine had proven to be a capable leader, and Mjoll's skill had grown leaps and bounds. Her sword arm had surpassed even Fultheim, now capable in wielding the Akaviri katana with the skill equivalent to that of a Blades Captain—a title usually used for the more experienced and honored Knight Brothers or Sisters.
Aerin was the only outlier, being neither great warrior nor mage. But the man was an expert in logistics. He handled their provisions and had memorized the map of Skyrim from Solitude to Riften, always knowing where they can resupply in towns or villages.
It also helped that the man was as charming as can be, capable of talking down and smoothing the people who looked at their harried appearance with suspicion whenever they returned from a rather long journey.
It allowed Esbern freedom to do his duty, which was to consult every bit of dragon lore he could find to narrow the search of the area for Alduin. It had taken months of thinking, studying the reports of dragon attacks, analyzing the patterns in which they started.
When the Night of Convergence came about, they were halfway across the world near Falkreath. All they could do was pray in hopes of victory, and when that victory came, they cheered and celebrated.
All but Delphine, who looked like she swallowed a sour lemon.
It didn't come from a place of anger, but of disappointment. Already months of searching and they yielded no results. While at the same time, the entirety of Skyrim and the Dragonborn continued the fight.
Esbern had advised patience, reminding her that their mission was an important one. None of those previous victories mattered should Alduin return to his full strength.
Thankfully, Delphine acquiesced. It was that same night, after everyone had fallen asleep, did Esbern get an epiphany.
One of the earliest recorded attacks after the Peace Summit was a Stormcloak patrol that went missing near the Eastmarch Foothills, close to the borders of the Rift.
Esbern furrowed his brow as he looked over the other reports. The second, third, fourth…nearly all of the beginning reports began from the east. Villages and hamlets burning as smaller towns were decimated.
All of these attacks had one thing in common, they were all settlements located at the foot of the Velothi Mountains.
Esbern shared his findings with the rest, and they had packed up their things and continued east the next day.
That was three months ago, and they had scoured the Velothi Mountain range proper. At first, things were proved difficult, for the thick snows and jagged rocks meant that climbing it was a risk.
There were no paths or foothills here, but just a pittance of stone blanketed with the white snows coming down from the peaks of the mountains.
Ropes had saved Esbern more times than he cared to admit. His old hands were not made for such climbs. Fultheim had tied the knots himself, steady despite shaking fingers that too often sought a flask in quieter days.
It was on the 30th day of Hearthfire that the lightning first came.
Purple lightning fell from the heavens and struck down one of the summits of the mountains. Then, a massive roar followed that Esbern had only ever heard once in his lifetime.
"That was…Alduin," he had breathed.
Dark clouds appeared from nowhere in the horizon more draconic roars echoed through the air.
Fultheim shivered. "Gods damn it all, what's happening up there?"
"Only one way to find out." Delphine stated, eyes narrowed. "Remember, our survival is the priority. If it comes to it, I want all of you to abandon the others and save yourselves."
"What?! But–!" Mjoll's protest was interrupted by her own beloved.
"Mjoll, she's right." Aerin's words had Mjoll whirl towards him. "Right now, we're the only ones with an inkling of Alduin's location. If all of us dies, then all our efforts will have turned to waste."
She turned to look at Esbern. "Couldn't you send a message by familiar and warn the Dragonslayer? Shor's Stone is right there."
Indeed, the seat of the new Jarl of the Rift was within eyesight. Though merely the size of his fist from this distance, it was no less imposing.
"Alas, I do not possess the mastery to send a familiar that far without it disappearing halfway." Esbern replied.
Mjoll still scowled. "Even so, I'm not leaving anyone behind. We'll find a way."
"I certainly hope to share your optimism, Mjoll." Esbern sighed, "but in these circumstances…"
"That's enough. We'll deal with whatever happens when it actually happens." Delphine said, "we can't waste anymore time."
The words of their Grandmaster was heeded as they continued the climb. It didn't take long for them to notice that the jagged rocks slowly but surely turned to smoother stone.
They were getting close, and Delphine knew it. She turned to see everyone and had her flat palm hover over her face from forehead to chin. They all understood immediately.
Fultheim, Mjoll, and Aerin took out potions filled with a clear white liquid and downed them in an instant.
Esbern merely casted the spell, his body turning invisible at the same time as everyone else did.
It wouldn't help much due to the crunching snow beneath them, but it is at least a layer of protection they'd rather have than not.
They continued the climb and at the very last stretch, climbed through a thin opening in the rock—one that Fultheim could barely fit through due to his bulging belly—and found themselves upon a narrow ledge that oversaw a massive structure.
Before him, the temple rose from the bones of the Velothi Mountains like some vast, slumbering beast. It wasn't built inside the mountains, but rather truly humongous platforms jutting out of the rock interconnected by narrow stone staircases.
Carvings and depictions lined the stone pillars, and it didn't take Esbern long to discern just where exactly he was standing.
Skuldafn, the ancient temple built by the dragon worshippers in times of old.
Esbern could scarcely believe it, he had always thought this place to be a myth or a cautionary tale.
From the many tomes of dragon lore he had scoured, mentions of Skuldafn had appeared very rarely. Even then, most of it was written as though the place was fictitious.
Alduin's last fortress, they called it, built at the height of his power the true home of the dragons.
Those platforms were made for larger dragons to roost comfortably, the stairways narrow since only mortal caretakers could use them.
Everything made sense now, in a morbid way. There were no paths that led here, no roads or trails to be built or maintained. Only the dragons, with their natural ability of flight could travel here.
It was a troubling thought, for the forces of Skyrim would be greatly hampered in their attempts to siege this fortress. Only the Dragonborn and her partner dragon could come here unhailed.
They saw a large gathering of dragons in the distance, Alduin and Odahviing among them, before the former shouted into the skies as a dark portal opened in the center of the temple.
It depicted a realm of arid death and purple skies. Though Esbern's thoughts were focused directly on the fact that both Alduin and Odahviing, along with twenty of their larger dragons, had passed within.
The moment they did, the portal closed behind them, and three figures rose from their kneeling position.
Esbern recognized them instantly. 'Krosis, Nahkriin, and…Morokei.'
The most powerful Priest merely stood there as Krosis and Nahkriin began to walk away. Yet the strange staff in Morokei's hand began to alight as his head turned, twin eyes of blue flame sweeping on the grounds as five white tendrils formed from the crown of the staff.
Within a heartbeat, the white tendrils shot lanced outwards like serpents, latching onto their chests.
Esbern felt the spell strike onto him, robbing him of his magicka. A sense of lethargy accompanied the sudden action as the invisibility shattered.
Delphine immediately reacted, unsheathing her blade as she shouted. "All of you retreat!"
Steel rang against ancient wood as her katana met Morokei's staff. From the upper platforms, draugr began to descend.
Esbern ignored her orders, hands weaving practiced sigils. Four frost atronachs tore themselves into being from the realms of Oblivion, their jagged forms rising from swirling snow. Two remained with Esbern while the others charged the central platform, their massive arms shielding them from coming arrows.
Aerin's bow sang. In one quick volley, the first wave of draugr fell as they tumbled from the narrow steps, arrows puncturing their eye sockets. The sound of their fall echoed long after they vanished into mist.
Mjoll fought at Delphine's side, covering her flank from the first few draugr to approach as her blade swept wide arcs that cleaved off limbs and sent them spinning across the stone.
Fultheim covered her other side, raising his shield to block a wicked axe that nearly buried itself onto Delphine's side.
Esbern himself focused on Morokei. With the Atronachs protecting him, he had little to fear from the draugr, yet the most powerful mage amongst the draconic order continued to mutter words older than the Septims themselves, invoking wards inscribed in lost akaviri marginalia.
A single blast of magic erupted from his staff that sent Delphine flying, though the Grandmaster of the Blades rolled from the impact and swiftly rushed to return.
Esbern knew that this person was his opponent. He recognized the rhythm of Morokei's casting; there had been plenty of stories of the man's fabled magical prowess—stories that Esbern utilized to counter his moves whenever he could.
A frost beam met a conjured ward and splintered into harmless mist. A thunderbolt veered wide as Esbern twisted the currents around it, redirecting its fury into empty sky.
Yet each attempt drew inhuman focus from Esbern and not even a strain from Morokei.
The Dragon Priest did not hurry nor did he panic. He floated above the stone, robes untouched by wind, blue flames steady within the hollow of his mask.
Sweat already marred Esbern's brow, but the Dragon Priest looked undaunted.
That was when Esbern realized, 'He's toying with us.'
The Staff of Magnus pulsed.
Esbern felt it once more, his pool of magicka had dwindled as the staff drank from it greedily. Not just from him, but also his conjurations. One of his atronachs faltered as the magicka within it was sucked away, another shattered mid-throw, collapsing into slush.
Morokei's staff flared again, only for Delphine to interrupt as she threw a dagger that slammed itself into his mask.
"Begin retreat maneuvers!" Delphine shouted over the clash of steel and the rumble of stone. "Mjoll, Fultheim. Get–!'
"Retreat where?!" Fultheim barked, parrying a draugr's axe. "We're smack dab in the middle of their fortress. What are we—"
Before he could finish, a beam of frost engulfed him from head to toe. An instant later, a lightning bolt smashed onto his frozen body, shattering it.
Fragments of ice scattered across the ground.
"NO!" Mjoll's scream tore through the mountain air.
Esbern stared, breath gone from his lungs as he looked up.
Nahkriin and Krosis descended from the upper terraces. Behind them, dragons rose from every spire and platform of Skuldafn, their wings unfurled as roars began to shake the ancient temple.
"Talos save us." He heard Aerin say from beside him.
Snow drifted from the clouds above.
For one suspended moment, silence reigned.
Three Dragon Priests stood in a line, blue fire gazing without emotion. Behind them, the dragons took to the skies.
Was this the place that they would die? In a pile of snow, forgotten and dead, having failed their mission?
"AERIN! MJOLL! GET ESBERN OUT OF HERE!" Delphine's voice broke him from his thoughts.
He turned, only to see Delphine was already uncorking vials. Four of them, each one the color of the dark sky.
She drank them all.
His eyes widened in horror. Those were highly potent draughts of strength. Potions that would multiply the power of a mortal, yet every warrior knew to never drink more than one at a time. The body could not endure such force. The surge alone—
Delphine threw the empty vials aside and charged, veins popping from the side of her neck.
Her katana became a streak of silver light, carving through draugr as if they were parchment. She cut a path straight toward the priests, her heavy steps cracking the stone beneath her.
A dragon descended to intercept, only for its neck to be cut through with a single swing.
Morokei tilted his head, almost curious. The Staff of Magnus rose, white light gathered at its crown.
Esbern reacted on instinct. He thrust his hands forward, summoning the strongest ward he could muster. Blue energy flared outward in a trembling dome.
"ESBERN!" Mjoll cried out.
The beam descended.
Mjoll and Aerin struck him from either side, tackling him with desperate force. The ward expanded just enough—just wide enough—to encompass the three of them.
Stone vanished beneath his boots.
The world tilted.
Snow and sky spun together as they fell from the mountain, Delphine's charge was swallowed by the white light, the last thing he saw of her back as she charged towards certain death.
…
AN: This chapter was supposed to encompass another Gerron POV, but Esbern's literally grew way out of proportions. It's already over 2800 words, Jesus.
Writing about the Blades is fun. Esbern is such an interesting POV to use, and they finally find Skuldafn, whose importance and lore was expanded upon slightly since I don't believe it was ever explained why this place contained a literal portal to heaven and no one talked about it.
Anyways, RIP Fultheim and Delphine. I had originally planned for some members of the Blades to die in this mission but couldn't figure out who to actually kill off, so I decided to let it be a roll of the dice.
Look and behold, those two got the short end of the stick, which I think makes sense lore-wise. They were the ones with the least to live for, one being dead focused on the mission while the other could only tackle his grief through a vice.
Esbern…Esbern has a role to play yet, and his expertise on dragonlore would be useful for the times ahead.
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ALSO, A SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT. This fic has finally reached its final act on my P-Word, therefore something special is needed to celebrate.
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