4E 202, Shor's Stone
Gerron Ironbreaker
A sigh tore out of his mouth as he stared at the varnished ceiling beams above his bed.
The room was not barren, but neither was it adorned for beauty. Everything within it served a purpose. An enchanter's table rested in the far corner, runes faintly aglow from last night's work.
Shelves lined with soul gems stood in careful order—petty to grand—each sorted by size and strength. A weapons rack was set near the door, beside it a chest reinforced in iron bands.
Of course, the objects that lay within them were the ordinary and mundane. All magically powerful artifacts—like the Daedric Weapons or Dragon Priest Masks— were kept within his own storage space for safe keeping.
The smell of last night's coupling still lingered in the air. While slow at the start, the next few times they did it had proven Serana was as wild as was mountain lion, and his back still ached from where her nails had dug into his flesh, his neck from her fangs.
Light spilled softly from the windows of his room. Gerron lowered his gaze, and his eyes settled on her peaceful face. Serana's soft, dark curls sprawled across his chest as she clutched his side in her sleep. The way her fingers curled over his torso made the desire pulse beneath his skin again.
What was this between them?
It had begun as attraction—he would not insult either of them by pretending otherwise. She was beautiful, fierce, brilliant in both magic and mind. A prodigy. A Champion of Meridia. A woman who had seen the worst the world had to offer and returned from it stronger and unbroken.
But somewhere between all the times they spent together, since they first met back in Dimhollow Crypt, something had deepened.
She wasn't his first, Gerron having known a woman's touch in his days back when he was just an ordinary blacksmith. But none of his previous experiences ever felt so…passionate and loving as this one.
His finger combed a strand of hair away from her face as Serana stirred, and her crimson red eyes with a tinge of silver blearily cracked open as she gazed at his face.
"Is it morning yet?" a drowsy groan escaped her rosy lips.
"Aye," Gerron replied softly. "Sun's been up half an hour."
She groaned faintly, resting her cheek against his chest. "We should probably get up, shouldn't we?"
"Probably."
She tilted her head, wincing faintly as she stretched. "Gods… last night was incredible. Don't you ever tire?"
He let out a low chuckle as pride bloomed in his chest. The enhanced stamina granted by the Battle Smith perk was good for more than one thing, it seemed.
"You scarcely leave for your own chamber anymore," he said. "How about staying here permanently?"
His question was innocent, but the underlying meaning wasn't lost on the both of them.
She studied him for a heartbeat, then smiled—slow and sure. "I'll fetch my things, then."
Simple words, but a sense of rightness settled into his ribs.
Serana stretched languidly and yawned as she shrugged off her covers, revealing once again her generous form.
Morning light traced pale lines along her skin. Gerron had to once again squash the burning desire rising within him at the sight of her.
Instead, he reached to the bedside and picked up the object he had hidden there the night before.
"Serana." He called her as she turned and froze.
In his hands was an Amulet of Mara, a beat of silence hung between them before her lips curved.
"Took you long enough." She moved her hair to the side as Gerron clasped it over her neck, his hands hovering over her soft skin. She then turned and met his lips with hers.
His restraint dissolved like snow beneath flame. He pulled her against him, pressing her back to the bed, hands roaming familiar curves.
"I thought we were supposed to get up," she murmured against his mouth.
"We can do that later."
She giggled. "No complaints from me."
An hour passed before they rose again.
…
By the time they left the chamber, the sun had climbed high and the air outside carried the scent of pine from the plains of the Rift. Freshly bathed and clad in clean clothes, they made their way to the council room.
Gerron had called in one for today to speak about the preparations being set for the city after the last meeting, when they had just returned from the Cairn and reported Alduin's actions.
They arrived at a set of massive oaken doors, two members of the Shor's Guard posted beside them in polished ebony mail. Valerica waited nearby, hands folded within her sleeves.
While not considered part of his council, Gerron invited her to join this one since her experience would be invaluable in the coming conflicts.
Valerica paused as she saw the Amulet of Mara dangling from Serana's neck Her eyes widened in surprise, before turning to a rare proud smile.
"Congratulations, the both of you." She put a hand on her daughter's cheek. "Oh, how you've grown."
Serana smiled, "Thank you, mother."
Everyone was already waiting inside when Gerron, Serana, and Valerica entered through the doors.
Gerron took his seat at the head of the table. Serana sat at his right. Filnjar at his left.
Filnjar's eyes dropped to the amulet. His brows shot upward. "Well I'll be damned. Congratulations, lad. 'Bout time. The two of you been circlin' each other long enough."
Grogmar grinned broadly from across the table. Ralof's smirk said much the same.
"Was it really that obvious?" Gerron asked dryly.
"A blind skeever could've seen it," Ralof replied.
"Have you set a date for the wedding?" Filnjar pressed.
Serana glanced at Gerron, amusement flickering. "Considering he asked me this morning, no."
"Well, leave the preparations to us." Filnjar said firmly as Valerica nodded from beside him. "Talos knows the both of you deserve to have that special night. The wedding of the Jarl of the Rift and two Champions? That'll be an event. The townsfolk could use something to look forward to."
"Just make it simple," Gerron said. "We've other matters demanding coin."
Filnjar waved a dismissive hand. "Our coffers are healthy, Gerron. While they took a big dent for the town charters and the rebuilding of Riften, most of it's already made back with the increased trade from Windhelm. The roads are safer, so merchant and Khajiit caravans are returning and bringing more gold into the Rift. That's not even considering the amount we're making from war taxes. Shor's Stone supplies arms to nine holds and the Empire besides, the gold we're making from them ain't small in any stretch."
Gerron nodded, having known most of this information before. While he wasn't bad with numbers, doing them was a chore he'd rather not do. Filnjar was more than capable in handling the Hold's finances.
"Just make sure that it's secure." Gerron sighed. "People said the same thing for Vittoria Vici's wedding and look how that turned out. The Dark Brotherhood is a blight on the land that I'm glad we're finally rid of. Word had come from the Vox Matrix in Solitude, Emperor Titus and Jarl Elisif had said that Commander Maro and Legate Rikke's campaign in Falkreath had gone successful. The Dark Brotherhood—at least their sanctuary here in Skyrim—has been purged."
"That's good news." Serana stated, her arms crossed. "From what I've heard, it was only due to Kiera's presence that the bride herself wasn't killed. Be on the lookout for poisons and knives in the dark as well."
Grogmar chimed in, the Orsimer master-at-arms clad in his full ebony plate. "The extra swords I called on have already started to trickle in the gates the past week, I've had them all drilling in the yard from dawn till dusk. Four thousand guards should be enough to keep the city in order and keep any brigands out. As for poisons, we can employ food and wine tasters and I'll assign a dozen men to keep vigil on the kitchens."
"Get Brynjolf and employ the Thieves Guild as well." Serana added. "Spies and assassins will find it hard to get past experienced thieves if they attempt to sneak in."
"With the amount of preparations we've done in the past week, Shor's Stone is practically a fortress now." Ralof folded his arms. "The fire brigade are prepped and ready, they know their duties."
Gerron nodded at his words.
For the past few days, the Housecarl had been drilling the townsfolk of what they should do should the emergency bells ring. Secret bunkers and hideouts had been built in sections of the city for the non-fighting folk and the children. Those still hale and hearty, yet were incapable in wielding a sword for any reason, were trained to become a quick reaction force to douse any fires that start wherever in the city.
The newly named fire brigade would be stationed near the water caches, with pathways set up and memorized to all the important locations within the city. It was another protective layer meant for the granaries, barracks, smithies, and armories—points of interest that would cripple their war effort should they be destroyed.
The reminder of the preparations stirred a thought in Gerron's mind. He leaned back slightly.
"We still don't have the barest of clues to where Alduin is hiding," he said. "The Blades have been missing for half-a-year. Either they're dead… or they found something they couldn't send word about." He paused. "The World-Eater has no doubt grown more powerful from his stint in the Cairn, maybe it's time we give him a reason to move."
Serana's eyes sharpened. "You mean to bait him."
"Aye." Gerron replied with a nod. "Like Ralof said, the city's practically a fortress, the most secure place we have now. The dragons have the advantage on the open field, where we have no cover, siege weapons, and fields of grass burn like kindling. But here, in Shor's Stone? We have the advantage. We have all the preparations we could ever need."
"A…bold idea, my Jarl." Filnjar exhaled slowly, "And should we invite the other Jarls, the Dragonborn, and the Emperor for the wedding…that's every leader of the war in one place."
"A chance he won't ignore," Gerron said. "He could kill all of the opposition in one night. But at the same time, it'll give us a chance to end things once and for all."
Murmurs and conversations erupted from the other councillors after Gerron's proclamation. Though none bore his attention more than his future wife. He glanced at her, a pondering look on her face.
"Are you alright with this?" he asked quietly.
The room went quiet as she blinked. "With what?"
"To use our wedding as bait, is that okay with you?"
She held his gaze and smiled.
"I never cared for grand ceremonies. As long as we're together, that's enough for me." She shrugged, though a faint glint lit her eyes. "Besides, slaying a world-eating god at our wedding? That would make quite the tale."
A grin tugged at his lips. By the gods, he loved this woman.
"Send word to everyone with the Vox Matrix," he ordered. "We have a wedding to plan."
…
4E 202, Northwatch Keep
Isran
Northwatch Keep was a pitiful castle located on the frozen coasts of Northern Haafingar, crouching upon it like a dying animal.
Isran didn't know what to expect when he first headed here. When he was given the orders to purge the castle of filth, he had accepted almost immediately. Killing the damn nightstalkers was a pastime and a hobby he'll never refuse.
Yet when he arrived here with thirty Dawnguard Knights at his back and a thousand legionnaires under Legate Taurinus, all he saw was a squat and crumbling stone keep surrounded by a thirty foot curtain wall.
But the defenses worked against it, for it was built upon a pittance of land. Haafingar's northern shore was no place for stone. Half the fortress walls had sunk into wet sand, foundations sagging as if the sea itself were trying to swallow the structure whole.
There was no road that reached here—no banner road, no smuggler's trail. Isran and the rest had to brave the ridged mountains of Haafingar and then trek through a mile of bitter shoreline that clawed at boots and lungs alike.
They had timed the assault in tandem with the Dragonborn's attack on Castle Volkihar. The siege lasted barely an hour, with only five vampires and less than sixty thralls—all former members of the Thalmor garrison—defending it.
A large part of it was honestly due to Aela, who had volunteered to help in the battle and had singlehandedly tore open gates and portcullis with her massive werewolf form.
He glanced sideways at her now as they paced the battlements.
The Huntress walked with the loose readiness of a predator both confident and wary of her surroundings. Wind tugged at her hair. Dried blood marked the leather at her shoulder. She looked alive in a way few people ever did.
She was a very fierce woman, and the memories of their shared nights filled with passion echoed in the back of his mind.
There was a strange attraction between them that had bloomed after the Night of Convergence. Both of them enjoyed their time together, there was no need to quickly label what they had.
Neither of them were nobles and held no particular desire to wed. They were warriors, living a life where they knew they might not wake up the next day. There was no need to rush into anything.
Isran forced his thoughts back to the present and leaned his forearms on the parapet.
Below, legionnaires stacked corpses into neat rows. Vampire bodies lay in one pile, already soaking in oil. The thralls lay apart, faces pale, expressions slack in the death of their masters. Taurinus moved clinically among them, in search of something.
"The Dragonborn seem to have everything well in hand," Aela said as they both looked north.
Even at this distance, Volkihar dominated the horizon. Legion ships lined the docks as people moved between them, just ribbons of red moving to and fro as they busied themselves through the tents set up on the shores. Far above, the dragon Vermithor was curled up around a tower in rest.
"The attack was well planned," Isran answered. "With Volkihar broken, only Alduin and the Mythic Dawn remain."
Aela nodded. "Vilkas and Farkas ride with Jarl Balgruuf. They should be deep in the Reach by now, aiding the Stormcloaks and the Vigilants of Stendarr."
"The new Harbinger is a capable man." Isran acquiesced. "I still remember his feat during the Night of Convergence, wielding that damn axe like a storm. How many vamps did he kill himself? Twelve?"
The edge of Aela's lips quirked. "Fifteen."
The wind off the Sea of Ghosts struck Isran's face, cold and clean. Isran took his cape and wiped it.
The sound of footsteps had him turn to see Gunmar approach with Sceolang, a hulking husky war dog the size of a wolf that his friend had taken as his personal companion.
"Isran, the Legate's calling." Gunmar said, "We finally found her."
Isran nodded and pushed off the stone, turning and making his way down the steps followed by Gunmar and Aela.
Near the line of thrall corpses were Legate Taurinus and his right-hand-man, Praefect Hadvar.
The Unbroken Sword was an interesting man, Isran thought, having earned his title when he rallied the breaking Legionnaires during the Night of Convergence. His actions were what allowed Kiera to kill Vokun unimpeded, thus turning the tide of the battle.
His prowess and mettle had been tried and tested even more, and the man proved that the Night was not a one time thing. The man had bravery and boldness in spades, having been the first to charge through the gates of Northwatch after Aela tore it down.
"Isran," Legate Taurinus greeted before pointing to one of the dead thralls on the ground, her body covered by a white tarp. "Here she is, the late Ambassador Elenwen. We've been looking for her ever since word came in that she was killed and turned. Why Harkon kept her here instead of taking her to Labyrinthian, I cannot say. But this will please the Emperor."
Hadvar chimed in then, "Proof the ambassador became a vampire gives him leverage with the Aldmeri Dominion. Should His Majesty come into negotiations with them again, he'll do so in a better position. Altmer culture also means they'd want to give the Ambassador a proper burial, so securing her body would do us good."
Isran didn't know much about the Thalmor, only that they were a bunch of stuck up cunts. He had only been a vigilant before he eventually revived and founded the Dawnguard, politics was never an important topic to him.
So he merely nodded at the Legate for another job well done. Helping the Emperor and gaining Imperial favor was never a bad thing.
A sudden thunderous crash rolled across the sea. Shouts erupted from the legionnaires stationed at the walls.
"Something's happened at the castle!"
Isran moved quickly, taking the steps two at a time with Aela, Gunmar, Sceolang, Taurinus, and Hadvar close behind. They reached the battlements together and turned north.
Half of Castle Volkihar's inner keep had collapsed inward. Dust billowed skyward in a gray plume visible even across the water.
A distant horn sounded from the legionnaire camps. Taurinus sounded from beside him, "That's the warning horn, they're under attack!"
Another sound followed as Vermithor roared from atop the castle. The dragon's cry rolled across the Sea of Ghosts and struck Northwatch like a hammerblow.
Waves surged as the sea grew tumultuous, battering the walls of Northwatch in heavy tide.
Something moved within the broken castle.
One shape rose.
Then another.
Then a third.
Dragons.
They climbed from the shattered keep, wings unfurling against the pale sky, wounds covering their bodies.
Then another presence made its appearance. A tall, daedric figure, cloaked in robes. In its grip rested a colossal axe that drank the light around it.
Isran's jaw tightened as dread coiled cold in his gut.
'What in Oblivion is going on?!'
…
AN: Serana and Gerron tie the knot as plans for the future are made.
At the other side of Skyrim, Isran sees Castle Volkihar erupt as the portal to the Soul Cairn beneath it collapses.
More chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 113 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers!