AN: Really sorry for how late this chapter turned out, but I have a pretty bad fever and am now chained to bed rest. This week's chapters might be slower to post since I'll be taking a few days rest. Thanks for the understanding and hope you enjoyed the chapter!
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4E 202, Shor's Stone
Serana Volkihar
Serana had always considered her mother the cleverest soul she knew.
Immortality, when paired with discipline, bred mastery. And Valerica possessed both in excess. While other long-lived beings decayed into arrogance or madness, her mother had chosen refinement. Alchemy had been her sanctuary long before Molag Bal's curse had twisted their bloodline, and even centuries imprisoned within the Soul Cairn had not stripped that passion from her.
Serana would have been the same had she not spent eons being buried underground, but alas, she had long forgiven her mother's actions after the lengthy talk they shared.
Now, inside Gerron's workshop, Serana witnessed something she had never thought possible.
Her mother looked baffled.
"H-How?!" Valerica sputtered, holding up a crystal vial filled with a strength-enhancement brew to the lamplight. The liquid within shimmered with a flawless amber sheen. "The ingredients were mundane. Standard tundra cotton, blisterwort, bear claws. And your alchemist's table bears no rare enchantment that I can detect. While you are certainly a dept hand at alchemy, this—" she shook the bottle slightly "—turned out perfect."
Across from her, Gerron only laughed, wiping his hands on a cloth. His blonde hair was matted with ash from the forge next door.
"As much as I'd love to claim to be a peerless genius," he said lightly, "it;s not all me."
He reached into the padded stand upon the table and carefully lifted the artifact resting within.
The White Phial.
Even Serana felt the faint hum of contained purity from where she stood.
Valerica's crimson eyes widened slightly as Gerron continued, "The White Phial. Said to hold the first snow to ever fall upon the Throat of the World. Any liquid poured within it is purified… amplified."
Her fingers tightened around the strength potion as if she feared it might vanish.
"Such a relic would have been a boon had I found it in my youth." she murmured. Then her lips curved faintly. "Though perhaps it is well I did not. It would have served Serana's late father more than me."
A chill crawled up Serana's spine at the mere thought. Just imagining Harkon with an endless supply of perfected potions and poisons brewed by a master was frightening. The world would have already ended.
"The healing potions Gerron and the legion alchemists produced during the Night of Convergence saved thousands of lives," Serana added. "Even now, the wounded recover faster than anyone predicted. How many are you making daily?"
"Not much, admittedly." Gerron shook his head. "Cures and Curses can only spare so much time, and the owner of that store is barely an apprentice. And the Builders…" He shrugged. "They're better with stone and steel than tinctures."
Valerica's smile sharpened.
"Well aren't you lucky to have me here then? An alchemist of my caliber with the White Phial, not to mention all the supplies I could ever ask for?" She gestured toward the shelves. "I will help produce what you need, Jarl Ironbreaker."
"Stamina and magicka draughts first then," Gerron said immediately. "We still have an abundance of healing potions from the earlier batch so that can be put to later. Magic resistance potions to withstand the Thu'um, as well as strength enhancers for the men on the front lines."
"The first two can be done easily enough," Valerica put a hand to her chin. "But magic resistance for the dragon's Voice, hmm? That would need—"
Serana watched as the two of them slipped into technical discussion—ratios, catalysts, optimal distillation times. Her betrothed and her mother were quite possibly the two greatest alchemists that currently walk the land of Skyrim, perhaps even in Tamriel itself.
She understood most of what they were saying since she was quite the proficient alchemist herself despite not being on their level. It was even one of the students she had taught here for the first time that eventually opened up Cures and Curses as the sole alchemist shop in Shor's Stone.
Yet the word echoed once again in her mind as she subconsciously thought it.
Her betrothed.
The word still felt warmer than the time she experienced the sun again after Meridia's blessing.
She felt heat creeping up her neck and turned slightly away to hide the flush.
Their relationship had changed so naturally it startled her sometimes. What had begun as an alliance and shared purpose had deepened into something steady, intimate, certain.
She had moved her belongings into his chambers weeks ago. Their nights since had been filled with electric passion and quiet devotion. Even her mother, stoic as ever, had allowed the faintest approving smile when she thought Serana wasn't looking.
Preparations for the wedding had begun in earnest.
Filnjar had taken charge with the same determination he used when overseeing the city, but he was not alone this time for Valerica was more than happy to share the burden. There was only so much they could accomplish in a week, but word had gone to all Nine Holds. Invitations dispatched and the arrangements were made.
But beneath it all lay the true purpose, Shor's Stone would become bait.
Gerron had spoken directly with the Emperor about it. Every major leader would gather here—Jarls, generals, champions. All of the main driving forces of the war effort, stationed in one location.
Alduin would not ignore such a feast.
If he came, they would end him.
If they failed… the Empire would lose its Emperor. Skyrim would lose an entire generation of rulers in one strike.
It was a gambit with a potential risk just as high as its reward.
When the plan had been voiced, Serana had expected outrage and denial, but they were instead met with laughter and grins. Each leader of the war were warriors who had stared death in the face too many times to flinch now, and a chance to end everything once and for all was too good to pass up.
Even the Emperor had smiled, a challenging look on his face. It seems the man had been invigorated with the recent victories, and would doubtlessly try to get to the field himself next time. After all, he had once been quite the warrior back during the Great War.
The only major conflicts still unfolding were the siege of Bthardamz… and the chaos at Castle Volkihar.
The reports from the latter had been sparse and clinical. Dragons, undead, and a daedric entity somehow entering the castle with none the wiser. Serana had worried the first time she heard it, thinking this was another of her father's insane plots.
Until news came back that they had triumphed in the battle despite heavy casualties,
Her father was gone for good this time and the threat he represented has finally ended. No vampire loyal to his court now lived, and no more shadows will come from that direction ever again.
The sound of footsteps broke her reverie. Serana turned to see Ralof enter, helm tucked beneath his arm. His expression was serious.
"Jarl Gerron, we have visitors at the gate requesting for you," he said, voice low. "Three of them came in looking harried and injured, and claimed to be from the Blades."
Gerron blinked, wiped his hands in a rag as Serana walked closer. Valerica merely raised an eyebrow as she continued working.
"Did you say three?" Gerron asked.
Ralof nodded. "Aye, m'lord."
Serana met Gerron's gaze instantly. Three, not five.
Gerron wiped his hands and nodded. "I'll see them."
Valerica did not even look up from the table. "I have no desire to sit through politics again," she said dryly. "Go. I will ensure your army has what it needs."
Serana fell into step beside Gerron as they exited the workshop.
The air outside was crisp, the scent of pine and distant forge-smoke coming in through the open windows of the hallway.
Serana's eyes peeked through them to see the sprawling city beyond. Shor's Stone bustled more than ever now—soldiers drilling, messengers riding, smiths hammering armor late into the evening.
Two burly Shor's guards stood at attention outside the council hall. They straightened as Gerron approached.
Ralof pushed the doors open.
Warm lamplight spilled outward.
Inside, Filnjar stood near the head of the long table, arms folded. Beside him loomed Grogmar, massive and silent as ever.
Before them were three figures, battered and wounded. Dust, ash, and snow covered the Blades armor peeking beneath them as Esbern, Mjoll the Lioness, and Aerin looked up at them, exhaustion etched on their faces.
…
4E 202, Solitude
Kiera Fendalyn
The campaign of Castle Volkihar had ended, but victory had tasted like ash.
They had remained at Northwatch Keep for a week, tents spreading across the cold coastline while healers worked day and night beneath snapping Imperial banners.
Seven hundred had fallen in the initial assault on Castle Volkihar. Another five hundred had died when chaos reigned upon them in the aftermath—when the dragons descended from the skies, when the undead swarmed the courtyards, and when the Reaper carved through ranks as though harvesting wheat.
Hundreds had died with the portal collapsed and the inner keep crumbled. The others fell when caught off guard by the shambling Bonemen, their morale plummeting when Adventus died and nearly routed their lines.
Had Aela the Huntress and Isran not arrived when they did, Kiera knew the dreary island would have become a graveyard beyond counting.
Castle Volkihar itself was beyond salvage. Twisted stone jutted skyward like broken ribs. Whatever dark majesty it once held was gone, buried beneath ruin and sea-spray.
Thankfully, most of their ships had survived. Only one had been claimed by the waves in the confusion. The remainder had ferried the battered host back to Northwatch, where General Tullius—now wearing a black patch over his ruined eye—had overseen the construction of triage camps with the same iron discipline he once applied to battlefield formations.
They had exhausted nearly all of their pure healing potions after the first assault, believing the war in the north concluded. They had not expected the suddenness of an attack after the castle had already fallen.
It was a mistake that Kiera vowed to never make in her life again.
Some of the Dawnguard possessed restoration magic, and that had spared countless lives—but even so, another hundred had succumbed to wounds that better preparation might have healed.
News had to reach Solitude swiftly, which was why Kiera volunteered to go there on Vermithor. Upon the dragon, she could make it there in three hours, less than a tenth of the time it takes for a small army to make it through the mountains.
Isran and Aela would remain here in Northwatch, treating and camping with the wounded until they were deemed fit to travel. Once so, they would march back to Solitude with Tullius and the remainder of his legions.
Now she stood inside the high, vaulted halls of the Blue Palace, wind still in her hair from the flight.
"They're getting married?!" Her jaw dropped before she could stop herself.
Across the council table, Emperor Titus Mede II looked thoroughly amused. "Indeed. Word came through the Vox Matrix more than a week ago. Invitations have been sent to every Jarl in the realm. Including you, the rest of the Champions, the College, and the Vigilants of Stendarr."
Kiera blinked once. Then she grinned.
"Well about damn time. Those two have been giving each other the googly eyes for months."
She shook her head, genuine warmth rising in her chest. If anyone deserved joy after all they had endured, it was Serana. And Gerron—stubborn, steady Gerron—would protect that joy with his life.
Her smile faded as Jarl Elisif the Fair outlined the larger plan.
The wedding would serve as bait. Every major power in Skyrim gathered in one place. Alduin would not ignore such a gathering.
It was brilliant. It was reckless. It was everything this war had become.
Kiera's gaze drifted toward the windows overlooking Solitude's cityscape. The damage near the Temple of the Divines had been fully repaired now. The last wedding she had attended there had ended in blood—Vittoria Vici collapsing mid-ceremony when the Dark Brotherhood struck.
Not this time.
By the Divines—and any Prince who still bore a shred of benevolence—Serana and Gerron would have their day unmarred. Even if it was their plan entirely to use the day as bait, Kiera was determined to burn half the sky to guarantee that they had their special day.
"What of the Dark Brotherhood?" Kiera asked, folding her arms. "And the siege on Bthardamz?"
It was Falk Firebeard who answered, unrolling a scroll.
"Commander Maro and Legate Rikke struck the Brotherhood's sanctuary in the dead of night. They ambushed Festus Krex while he walked beside a pond outside their cave. Fifty arrows pinned him to a tree before he could cast a single spell."
Kiera huffed.
Few Nords favored such tactics. But the Brotherhood forfeited honorable deaths the moment they chose murder-for-hire. Krex was a powerful mage, but none of that saved him the moment the odds turned.
"The fighting inside lasted nearly two hours," Falk continued. "Fewer than two dozen Imperial casualties. Confirmed kills include a Redguard assassin, a vampire, and… a massive spider the Brotherhood kept as a pet."
"A vampire?" murmured Sybille Stentor from her shadowed corner, interest flickering behind her calm mask.
"Indeed. Legate Rikke noted that without prior experience against Harkon's kind, the creature might have caused greater harm. But only one remains unaccounted for—the assassin who attempted to poison Lady Kiera. Cicero."
Kiera snorted. "He felt dangerous. Unstable. I would've expected him to fight alongside his allies rather than flee."
Falk hesitated slightly before continuing. "They also discovered a strange coffin containing the withered corpse of a woman. Rikke deemed it… sacred in nature. Given recent events, she ordered it buried alongside the other bodies when they collapsed the cave."
"Commander Maro continues to not disappoint." The Emperor inclined his head, "and neither did Rikke. One of the more capable of the Legates, I would say."
"Did Rikke state her next destination?" Elisif asked.
"That's what the letter was for, my Jarl." Falk said. "After Jarl Siddgier's death at High Hrothgar, his uncle and predecessor Dengeir of Stuhn has reclaimed Falkreath's throne. He requested Maro and Rikke's retinue to help escort him to Shor's Stone, citing a lack of guards. Maro and Rikke await your instructions."
The Emperor waved a dismissive hand. "Grant it. And send word that I expect him to retake Helgen from the bandits occupying it and hold it until we arrive. Falkreath has contributed little to this war. It is time they shoulder their share. Maro and Rikke will be his escort but also act as my eyes and ears."
"What of your security, Your Majesty?" Falk asked carefully.
"I retain fifty Oculatus within the city. We will wait for Tullius to return to lead the legions, along with Aela the Huntress, Isran, and his Dawnguard. I am not unattended."
"Helgen?" Elisif frowned. "Why is the ruined keep so important?"
"Because it controls the southern pass beneath the Throat of the World," Kiera answered immediately, already tracing the map in her mind. "If we secure it, we avoid weeks crossing central Skyrim. We pass through the mountains, resupply at Ivarstead, and collect the new Voice-wielders from High Hrothgar."
Her lips curved faintly.
"One hundred and eighty trained under Paarthurnax. Every one ready to fight."
The Emperor gave a soft, rueful chuckle. "Strife does bring forth unexpected heroes."
"Tullius and the others will arrive back in the city in a week." Kiera said. "Then I will fly ahead on Vermithor and clear the remaining dragon roosts between here and the Rift. If Alduin means to strike, I would rather he not have reinforcements or take a chance to burn your column when you travel there, Emperor."
The Emperor nodded gratefully.
Elisif folded her hands before her, gaze distant.
"Then let us hope that the Siege of Bthardamz ends soon," she said quietly, "for Ulfric and Balgruuf will be needed in the times to come."
…
AN: Information has spread and things are finally being prepared.
I glossed over the entire Dark Brotherhood plotline and gave it a tertiary role since I determined that their destruction did not warrant a whole POV section of it. Merely stating through narration or dialogue should be enough.
Anyways, Kiera learns her two besties are about to get married and she squeals in excitement for both.
More chapters are available on my P-word. Chapter 116 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name, TeemVizzle, and you'll find me.
Cheers!