Chapter 4:
Parting Words - Aurielius
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The inside of the keep thankfully looked to be in better shape than the outside as Strikes followed me inside the entry hall of Helgen Keep; it wasn't by much though: the ceiling above was webbed with large cracks and bricks of the ceiling had fallen out over the floor. It wasn't lacking for carnage either, pools of dried blood caked many large spots of the floor and scraps of material like mail links and leather were scattered across the floor between the fallen bricks that hinted at carnage almost as bad as dragonfire, I even saw fragments of bone where someone had a particularly nasty encounter with either a warhammer or one of the falling bricks.
There were no bodies though, the place having already been dutifully cleared both for the sake of the dead and to make way to evacuate anyone that wasn't yet, and hopefully wouldn't end up that way if the grace of the gods or potentially daedra were on their side.
As Strikes and I made our way down through a barred door and into the keep, we had our first encounter with some of the legionnaires assisting the rescue; two male nord imperial militia in armor of the same style as our own carrying a Stormcloak shield-maiden on a stretcher of spear-shafts and cut and knotted tent-leather as she groaned in pain.
Her leg was missing from just below the knee and she had a nasty, wide stab wound straight in the belly around her right kidney; a classic wound borne by those who faced the Empire's legions.
Imperial legionnaires were trained to almost exclusively thrust with lightning-speed from behind their tower shields with their shortswords, and then primarily to the gut because it was an area often less armored and harder to protect, as well as immensely painful; the shock of the blow allowing for a quick follow up to the neck or face to swiftly dispose of the enemy and move on to the next as a legionnaire maintained their place in the shield-wall during an offensive advance. This didn't mean that they didn't also slash, the imperial short-sword's shallowly leaf-shaped blade was excellent for hewing meat and bone too while it's small size still allowed it to remain more nimble in the hand than longer weapons; an excellent combination when the lack of reach could be easily compensated for by the large shield and heavy armor of imperial legionnaires and militia.
I couldn't see the type of wound that severed the shieldmaiden's leg so I had no idea what caused it, it very well could have been a blow from an imperial shortsword in the battle… or it was actually most likely since that might just be the quickest and cleanest way to sever a leg crushed under rubble so that healers could more easily deal with it; that would explain the large amount of fresh blood on the bandage.
I was tempted to call out to the legionnaires after my Father, but that shieldmaiden couldn't afford any delay so I decided against it. Clearly there was enough going on in here so it shouldn't be difficult to find somebody doing more menial work to point us towards my Father, or potentially just run into him by happenstance.
The next stop was actually someplace familiar as we rounded our way down the spiral staircase leading from the barred door, because it still stuck in my mind to this day: the torture room.
My Father had taken me and Strikes on a tour of the imperial legion garrison in Helgen once when I was still a lad of about sixteen and really starting to hit my stride with my training, we had come to this point, then I had heard the most horrifying scream.
I still remembered how the blood had drained from my Father's face almost like a vampire had stuck itself to his neck, a legate of the Imperial Legion and veteran of the Great War had frozen stiff for a moment when he merely heard that scream… followed by a vile cackle of glee and the zapping of lightning.
Father and I had to sit down for a long talk about the necessities and necessary brutality of war after that. Though no side liked to admit it to their civilians, it was an open secret among basically anyone in the government or serving it anywhere that they all had their secret and unfortunately lucrative cabal of expert torturers. The right type of pain for long enough, but most importantly not too long so as to completely break the mind or kill the subject, could make even the strongest wills break and spill secrets that could save the lives of your own nation's people. It was that delicate and horrifying balance that the cabals of torturers made into not only a science, but very much a horrifying, truly oblivion-spawned art form.
The short time Father had spent in Aldmeri Dominion dungeons and prison camps before, and worst, after he and the few survivors of the eighth legion were captured during the sack of the Imperial City in the Great War, had scarred him for life. Mother had helped him somewhat, but what things my Father chose to remember were still horrifying enough to give him nightmares. However, through those memories my Father helped ensure that the sacrifices of his comrades and a few friends who had been killed horrifically by the Thalmor were not in vain; the memories ensured that my Father would never falter in his duty to ensure the same fate didn't befall his family or those of his comrades.
Thankfully though, all that was in the torture room now were probably the ghosts of the restless dead; and apparently not such apparitions as the elves in the courtyard since the militia and the shieldmaiden had come through fine.
I looked back up the steps and spoke up to Strikes in a tone of tired resignation.
"There's no other way through right? I don't remember seeing one…" I stated more than asked as Strikes nodded, and placed a hand on my shoulder before gripping it firmly.
"It's just a room, and those guys came through just fine. It's not like any of that stuff down there is going to jump out and bite us… just make sure you don't think about them too long." Strikes said as I sighed and nodded, muttering as I walked down the steps.
"Oh boy…" I muttered before looking up by necessity as I hit the bottom of the steps… and of course, the first thing I saw was a grinning skull, its head hung in utter defeat as it lay hung from clasps on the wall.
I winced and grimaced in pity as I stared at the poor wretch before wrenching my eyes from it as I continued hastily through the room; or intended to anyway.
As I was looking down, trying to avoid looking to long at anything for fear it would spark my imagination, I noticed a blood-spattered navy-blue book lying on the floor by a kicked over stool; it had the symbol of the imperial dragon on its cover but it looked like no official imperial manual or manuscript I'd ever seen.
Its borders were covered in strange script, my eyes widened in shock as I realized it looked familiar; the same claw-like script that was upon the husband elf's golden robes.
I leaned down to pick it up before hesitating as I remembered what happened the last time I touched something strange in these ruins, and Strikes noticed as she clamped her hand firmly around my left shoulder.
"Strange book in a torture room… I don't like it. Leave it." Strikes demanded as I actually balked further at her insistence, not only because she had unusually outright ordered me, but because I remembered the horror and helpless terror on her face as I'd come out of that vision; it wasn't something I was willing to repeat.
Then again though, it was just a book, and it didn't look like some kind of torturer's guide.
I hesitantly reached out for it, only to suddenly be wrenched back as Strikes exclaimed with a snarl, her crests flaring in agitation as she clamped her hands around my left arm and forearm with all of her werewolf strength as she dragged me away towards the exit to the next area.
"No! You're not fucking touching that thing!" Strikes snarled and I somewhat meekly replied, knowing logically based on experience that it was a terrible idea to touch the book, but then with other logic saying it was a harmless book; such was what I said.
"…but it's just a book, and maybe it could be useful! Maybe we should check…" I was about to say "just in case" only to be again viciously cut me off again as she rounded on me and hissed in fury.
"…and that thing was "just a fucking ring" and you touched it and the next thing I know… you were screaming and thrashing on the ground like you were burning alive!" Strikes hissed, her voice breaking in residual horror as my already weak argument fell flat even on my own ears while Strikes continued, knowing me well, she finished what I had been saying. "If you want "just in case", then don't touch that fucking book… just in case I have to watch you fucking die in front of me again!" Strikes hissed in fury as I took one last glance at the book and nodded and sighed in resignation as I turned back to her.
"Okay… I'm sorry Strikes… I just want to figure out what's going on… it helps…" I said as Moonstrike's feathers slowly fell flat again as her fury dissipated and her grip loosened as she cut in, but softly this time; thankfully for my throbbing arm.
"It helps you cope… I know… I just… can't stand the possibility of seeing that again; not if we can help it at all. Please just leave it." Strikes pleaded as I nodded and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"I said okay, I'll leave it be. I might be able to find a not-so-strange copy somewhere or something; we're going to the college after all." I reasoned as Strikes pressed her lips in displeasure, and spoke again.
"Do you really have to?" Strikes asked desperately as I sighed, in exasperation this time as I nodded again and responded.
"Strikes, one of the things I want to study more is conjuration, there will be lots of strange books with weird sigils on them with that school. Tell you what, I'll wait before messing with any copies of this book, if we find any, until after we get to the college where we can be supervised." I reasoned and bargained as Strikes looked down pensively for a moment and nodded.
"Okay… just not that one; with the blood and everything, just leave that one! I don't want to touch anything that's not stone or dirt here if we don't have to." Strikes insisted as I nodded obligingly and repeated the important part.
"Not that one, alright." I said as Strikes breathed a sigh of relief and finally completely let go of my arm and spoke.
"Thank you." Strikes breathed as we continued on through the prison hall.
One might say that letting my 'pack' order me around, whatever the circumstance, wasn't a very 'alpha' thing to do. However, it was also the duty of the alpha to provide for the pack and keep them content, in return the pack followed instructions when it counted and afforded the alpha due respect. Those who simply tried to rule through fear alone ended up deposed, often violently and gleefully by their pack or whatever group they were leading. As a certain well known leader once said: "The more you tighten your grip, tyrant, the more that will slip through your fingers." Beyond that, Strikes and I had just so recently agreed to try a more intimate relationship for once, those things went both ways, if I just bowled her over and did whatever I wanted all the time then especially a woman like Strikes would quickly grow frustrated and tired of me.
The next room was only marginally better than the torture room, the room was shaped like a backwards "L" from our perspective upon entering, and had skeletons and corpses crammed cruelly in what looked to be oversized bird cages hanging from the ceiling on dangling chains. At the far end of the long part of the "L" was a slightly more than man-sized hole in the wall that looked to have simply collapsed rather than being knocked in or out.
Now we saw two Falkreath city guards carrying another stormcloak, a male this time, up past us. It seemed like the rescue team must have finished breaking into some pile of rubble or another and was now actually getting around to evacuating survivors. This one though…
I grimaced and even Strikes gasped a bit behind me as the armor over the right third of the stormcloak's chest cavity, simply fell into it; the right side of the stormcloak's chest cavity save for the heart had apparently been thoroughly caved in by what was probably a falling boulder. Blood choked and burbled out of the man's mouth and down the sides of his short, blond and slightly greying beard. The middle aged man who had no business fighting was doing so, and had likely died, for what would inevitably be a lost cause against either the Empire, or the Aldmeri Dominion when they gained their vaunted 'independence'. If Ulfric won, the forts and garrisons of the land would all likely be badly damaged and those manning them exhausted from long years of war; it would be the perfect time for the Aldmeri Dominion to sail around north and take a key province and center of Talos worship that would no longer be under the Empire's protection.
If Ulfric won, the Aldmeri Dominion would simply step into the Empire's boots, and do so far more harshly while also threatening the northern border of the Empire. This would force the Legions to split widely across the continent, disallowing significant resistance on either front, unless the rumors of the Empire training new legions or heavy "militia" in secret forest camps were true. Even then though, the reason the Dominion failed last time was because they couldn't take the north of the Imperial City isle quickly enough, and reinforcements had arrived from Skyrim. Taking the Skyrim candy from Ulfric's baby Stormcloak nation would significantly reduce the likelihood of both problems coming up for the Dominion next time, and everyone with any connection to the Imperial Legion and the Imperial government knew that there would be a next time. Essentially, a Stormcloak victory could very well be a Dominion victory in the long run.
I averted my eyes and shook my head in pity for both the older stormcloak's injuries, and for his and Ulfric's zealous gullibility. They were bleeding and dying to throw themselves right under the vengeful boot of the Dominion and Thalmor they so despised, and that despised the nords equally for costing them the last war and defiantly continuing to worship Talos against the Dominion's pet project of the "White-Gold Concordat".
Strikes spoke up next to me as the men passed.
"I almost want to say they deserve it for being so stupid… but no-one deserves this…" Strikes said, her feathers pressed sadly against her head in pity as she referenced what we both knew about the true situation of the war.
I nodded silently in respect to the fallen warrior and carried on through what appeared to be a small cave tunnel into a large cavern with a ring of stone bridges around its perimeter.
There were still bodies on the ground here, imperial and stormcloak lying on the ground in pained repose: stormcloaks with precision thrusts to their gut, neck and head, imperials with arrows buried deep in their faces, limbs cleaved and caved helmets with blood leaking from nostrils and over eye-sockets.
It was nothing Strikes and I hadn't seen before, we had done far worse to bandits who picked the wrong time of night, and the wrong hold to raid travelers. It wasn't like those on the stretchers, Strikes and I barely acknowledged the corpses except for perhaps imagining what had gone wrong to lead to their final moments. What my mind, and likely Strike's too, lingered on though, was that there was just something about the idea of being helplessly buried alive and crushed, damned to a slow death by a careless and spiteful monster that was uniquely horrifying.
This chamber was still quite busy, a ruckus of barked orders and shifting and cracking of stone as militia and town guards worked their way through the rubble that had collapsed over several areas and one massive area making up almost a full third of the room diagonal from the near-right corner up to a central support.
Reflexively after so many years around soldiers of the Imperial Legion, I scanned the helmets of the imperial soldiers working, looking for the distinctive forward-curving, embossed metal crest of an imperial legate.
It turned out I didn't need to look at the helmets though as the only man in the segmented plate armor of an enlisted legionnaire also wore a cloak for the cold and bore the metal-embossed crest proudly aloft on his helmet as he knelt down over an area of the rubble between two militia.
My father was well-fit and honed from a long life of soldiering, his face having a typical imperial look of a moderately strong jawline and high, moderately strong cheekbones. His wasn't the face of some chiseled hero out of legend, merely that of an average soldier doing his duty to family and Empire. However, as far as I was concerned, my Father may as well be the Hero of Kvatch.
Father had first earned renown in the Great War when he rallied imperial legionnaires fleeing the sacking of Leyawiin by the Dominion and busted a Thalmor prison camp in the wilderness wide open. He had an impressive attention to detail and sense of logic which he used to make opportunities out of anything his situation gave him; an ability that allowed him to quickly rise through the ranks of the Legion in a war against an enemy for whom tricks and plans within plans were the norm. Quite simply, he was very good at not only thinking on his feet, but making the right decision in those crucial split-second moments. All of this was guided by a sort of opportunistic sense of duty and kindness, trying to work himself into positions where he could actually do the most good for those he cared about and those he might actually be able to help rather than just throwing himself into a grinder for 'honor', tempering what might otherwise be unthinking zealotry into reasonable action for his station. My Father was everything I aspired to be: dutiful, reasonable, open-minded and logical, and putting those you care about and can actually help first over naively trying to "save" everyone; and thereby only failing and getting yourself and others hurt or worse in the process.
My wolf-ears heard snippets of a firm, yet soothing tone as two other imperial soldiers heaved at something, before suddenly hearing a furious accented snarl and shout ring out and the soldiers jumped back with startled shouts as even my Father fell back on his ass as he scrambled away from a madly flailing blade; a Stormcloak of typical build and a similarly typical beard and long blond hair was waving a dagger around himself even as one of his legs was trapped under a boulder.
"Scroll-licking imperial dogs! I'm not going back in that cart! I'm not going to be forgotten in some Thalmor prison either! I'm dying with glory today!" The stormcloak roared and snarled like a feral wolf in pain and fury as Father slowly got to his feet and dusted himself off.
I looked to Strikes and our eyes met as I heard the whoosh of her firebolt spell being readied as I readied my lightning bolt with a crackle. We both started to slowly approach the scene to get a better shot if things got nasty; our hands hanging inconspicuously by our sides despite our charged spells to hopefully ensure that we didn't spook the borderline mad stormcloak.
Father cleared his throat as he moved past the awkward moment to speak; speaking calmly but firmly once more as I thought through how I would have to aim to make the shot.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
"Look, the Empire is offering a full pardon to any that come quietly. We'll do all we can to have you housed in an Imperial prison, and you'll be treated well. You can see your family again after the war is over. Just put down…" Was as far as Father got before the stormcloak roared again.
"You can't protect anybody, Thalmor lapdogs! Your piss-skinned friends murdered my family! If I'm going to Sovngarde today I'm sending you to oblivion too!" The stormcloak snarled before suddenly twisting as his arm raised in a fraction of a second and sent itself forward in a throwing arc with his dagger; straight for my father's face.
My werewolf reflexes slowed the world to a crawl as I sped up, magical lighting flashing blindingly from my palm with a thundercrack as I heard the softer woosh of Strike's firebolt in the air.
A sharp scream rang through the cavern as the stormcloak's form slammed roughly to the ground, his grip tightening instead of loosening around his dagger as the lightning caused his body to seize shortly before Strike's firebolt slammed into his skull: flash-boiling blood, brain, bone juice and marrow as half of his head exploded in an instant while father reflexively turned away and covered his face from the lightning flash and impact with his arm.
Within the same second as it had started, it was over.
The stormcloak's shattered and charred skull lay lifelessly on the ground as his dagger rolled onto the stone floor with a clink that echoed deafeningly through the now deathly silent cavern; his formerly long blond hair and the juices of his skull still burning and evaporating as wisps of smoke curled up into the air.
Father stared over his reflexively still-raised arm at the corpse before dropping it with a defeated sigh and muttering.
"Damnit… that's the fourth one today… fucking zealots…" Father muttered before sucking in a steeling breath and turning around with thanks on his lips.
"I guess I owe you soldier… what's…" Father started before stopping is he gaped and stared at Strikes and I in astonishment before exclaiming.
"Alexander? Strikes? What are you doing here?! This place is all but rubble!" Father exclaimed worriedly, his black brows raising to his receding hairline of the same color as I looked up and winced in realization, in hindsight we should probably at least be wearing our helmets and I made a mental note to put mine on in a moment. As I was doing that though, Strikes spoke up with her typical quick-wit.
"Besides saving your ass? Alexander and I are going to be going on a trip for a while. Falkreath didn't warn Riften hold and we figured it couldn't hurt to warn Riften before that stick-city became a glorified bonfire. We were also considering heading to the College in Winterhold, so we wanted to have a little talk before we left." Strikes said, starting with the quip before proceeding to just go ahead and explain everything.
Father blinked before bringing his hand to his face as he absorbed the news, it was a lot to just drop on him all of the sudden.
"Right. Thank you, you two." Father said gratefully as a smiled thinly, the smell of charred flesh already stuffing itself vilely in my nostrils as I responded.
"Sure. I'm just glad you're alright Father. That was too close…" I said worriedly as Father looked back at the smoking corpse and pursed his lips before wincing as he nodded.
"Yeah… how about you not tell your Mother about this, she'd probably set me bed-ridden with something real special." Father said, only half-jokingly. Mother had never intentionally poisoned Father… that we knew of, but she'd threatened to a few times, and Father and I hadn't been particularly keen on testing threats of poisoning from an expert alchemist.
I winced and nodded as Strikes snickered and a few of the soldiers nearby chuckled a bit before I got back to the important stuff.
"Yeah, probably not a good idea. Anyway, it doesn't really look like it, but do you think you could spare some time for that little talk or…" I asked before trailing off pointedly as Father pressed his lips, looking back at the rubble before shaking his head in denial.
"There's still a lot of rubble and people to dig out… this'll be going late and I can't just leave the operation. Either you have to wait or… well Riften can't wait. Stormcloak or not, they and their people don't deserve dragonfire. Your Mother is wrapped up with treating the wounded as well. It would probably be better if you just headed to Riften. Keep your armor from plain sight as much as you can though, the Stormcloaks don't know how Ulfric is yet so they'll probably be baying for blood; shooting first and asking for writs of surplus never. Just… try to make some time to head back and speak with your Mother and I before you make for Winterhold." Father said before walking up to us and giving us both a hug before stepping back and holding each of us by one shoulder.
"I love you both. It's a good thing you're doing. Remember to at least stop by to talk to your Mother for a moment, she can probably spare that much and would hate for you to just run through without at least doing that." Father said as Strikes and I fidgeted in the public setting and I responded.
"I love you too Father." I said simply before Strikes responded as she fidgeted a bit more and muttered more softly, her feathers bashfully flat against her head with the public display of affection, and the fact that my parents still insisted on saying they love her too despite the fact that Strikes and I had been at least physically together for a while.
"I love you too…" Strikes said quietly as well as Father smiled, patted us both on the shoulder and stepped away and back towards the rubble and the militia with a final parting wish.
"Stay safe! Alexander, make sure Strikes doesn't do anything too "fun"! I don't want her coming back with scars again." Father said as Strikes scoffed and turned her head to glare at me and grumbled.
"Talking about me?" Strikes grumbled as I heedlessly replied.
"We'll do our best!" I said before deciding that now was a good time to put on my helmet just as Father turned and said exactly that.
"…and don't forget your… ah, good." Father said as I smiled and nodded at him reassuringly and brought a fist to my chest in a proud Imperial salute as he did the same and we went our separate ways; Strikes and I heading back up the way we'd come as we started to make our way to the triage area of the camp.
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A short while later and Strikes followed me by my side, our helmets once more off now that were out of the ruined keep in the now solid darkness of the night, as I walked through the triage area to the considerably cleaner mind-healing area where one of the healers said that my mother was "taking a break" mind-healing instead of healing the body. Mother was never one to let her hands idle for long, spending the majority of days and evenings either managing or advertising for her alchemy business, working in either her associated garden or the garden our family kept for some home-grown food, or off healing or otherwise helping someone in need as she was now.
In contrast to my reasonable and logical Father, my Mother was a passionate and emotional woman. She was sensitive and was all-but limitless in her compassion and understanding, but also bore a nigh-on indomitable will that made her borderline bull-headed at times; the undisputed head of the household. Anything major in our household tended to have to pass her approval first, without it, it wouldn't happen. This wasn't to say that my Father was completely powerless, far from it. However, it took a truly grand and impeccable argument and set of reasoning, in addition to vast quantities of patience to actually get my mother to back down; things my Father was very good at. Thankfully for my Father, as a student of science, my Mother did give significant weight to a solid argument. My Mother still might just take a while to completely back down and stop looking for alternatives for whatever it was.
The mind-healing area of the encampment was far larger than one might expect, a large fraction of the entire size of the camp dedicated to it just as much as the triage area. A great many people wanted to forget what happened, but what happened here in Helgen was so grand in scope and so devasting to those involved, that I guessed from knowing what my Mother did that she wouldn't be providing much of that particular service. It would be far more damaging to have an unaccounted for blank spot in one's memory where a spouse and family used to be than to simply be taught how to cope better and move on from the loss.
Looking around at rows upon rows of tents with groups of people sitting and waiting inside, I imagined that Mother would be very busy here for a long time yet. Mother would easily be busy until and past when we got back from Riften if all these people stuck around that long. Unfortunately, Helgen had been these people's homes and often families, a great many probably didn't have anywhere else.
All of this… death, destruction and suffering… all because their homes were in the wrong place when that dragon had woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
Once again the image of Alduin's contemptuous sneer as the townsfolk fled before he burned them all out of pure spite flitted in front of my mind's eye; my face once more mimicking his in response as I clenched my fists in anger before pulling my head away from the sight. Air blew from my nose and mouth in a gust as I tried to calm myself, the rage would do no good here and would only further risk my inner wolf breaking out in the worst place possible.
Instead, I turned to asking questions, trying to find some kind of reason or justification for it all, however poor and unbefitting all of this suffering. Angry people did horrible and irrational things, the stormcloak that almost killed my Father tried to take him from his family even when given an offer that it seemed like he couldn't possibly refuse. That stormcloak had done it all out of vengeful spite for the pain he blamed the Empire and its legions for.
"Just… why? What the hell was the point of all this?" I wondered aloud as Strikes and I walked with Sten down the row. Strikes was typically quick and passionate in her response.
"I don't think there was a point. There may as well not be even if there was, no point is worth this!" Strikes declared vehemently as I couldn't help but nod in agreement, nonetheless though…
"I don't think so either, but there still had to be some kind of reason!" I insisted as Strikes smirked tentatively and responded.
"Well… we were talking earlier this morning about a dragoness in heat…" Strikes suggested wryly, her feathers tentatively fluttering up and down as she presumably tried to break the depressing mood, a ghost of a smile twitching on my lips as I nonetheless shook my head.
"I mean a real reason… that was a fun joke before but…" I trailed off as Strikes' feathers fell flat and she hung her head in disappointment as she nodded in acceptance and responded.
"I know…. I just… hate everything being this… gloomy and horrible. That… our world could end within our lives…" Strikes said depressingly as I pressed my lips and looked around, there were a lot of people around, but it was the end of the world and I couldn't just leave Strikes alone in this.
Still holding Sten's reigns, I wrapped her in a tight, one armed hug as Strikes' head shot up and she flinched and glanced around; her feathers rising slightly in mild agitation. She didn't push me and the welcome comfort away, but neither did she exactly like public affection, it didn't help that most people were averse to relationships between "beastfolk" and the other races.
"Alexander… people are watching…" Strikes said as I shook my head and responded.
"Let them watch, they probably believe it's the end of the world. Let them explain it with that if they don't like it." I said as Strikes turned further in towards me as she returned the embrace, her feathers still flared somewhat in agitation but slowly falling as she accepted my reasoning and just started to forget about the others as she spoke.
"Alexander… if we're going to fight that dragon… please promise me that we won't do anything heroic if we don't have to, that we'll run if we can't fight; heroes die way too much. I don't want to die yet." Strikes pleaded as I nodded without hesitation as I looped my other arm through Sten's reins and grabbed Strike's biceps firmly in assurance.
"We won't. You know what my Father always says: it's only heroic if it's stupid, and if it's stupid and it works it's still stupid. That's why we're going to the College and not leaving until we can blast a dragon out of the sky from behind a bush and have daedra tear it apart. The less heroic duels and lucky escapes the better, and I don't intend on any last stands. Better that we live to fight it again than to die pointlessly and have it rampage anyway." I assured Strikes passionately, I didn't want to or intend on me and especially not her dying "gloriously" anyway.
Strikes sighed, smiling and nodding in relief as she responded.
"Okay. I trust you." Strikes said before glancing around us again and gently pressing her right hand to the inside of my left arm in a signal to let go. I did so and Strikes stepped out of the embrace and continued.
"Come on, people are really staring now; lets talk to your Mother and get going before it gets too terribly dark and cold in the pass to Ivarstead." Strikes said as I nodded in affirmation and we continued on.
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After a little more walking we finally came upon the actual mind-healing tent itself. It was a large tent, but nonetheless a tent, it had the look of an officer's and had likely been converted for the purpose after my Mother had arrived and began treating people. Two Falkreath town guards stood outside on either side of the entry-flaps, idly chatting away with each-other, but nonetheless with a hand on their sword-hilts and their shields by their side; associates and almost friends of our family who we paid a small fee for to provide security just in case one of my Mother's "clients" were to become overly hostile.
On the front of the pole holding up the front side of the tent were two signs: one reading "Mind-healing in progress, do not disturb.", and another with a price tag of one septim. Some might be offended at the idea of charging for these people's care, but my Mother had costs to pay for her business as well as our home and living, and then there was simply what would likely end up being the vast cost of time that she could be using actually running her business. What Mother was asking was a tiny pittance compared to the twenty minimum she usually charged, a beggar could pay it and it was the smallest possible price to maybe compensate for her costs somewhat, though with all of these people it might still actually end up turning a handsome profit; that's not even considering the massive and marketable goodwill and simple knowledge of her services she would build up in Skyrim from this.
I tied Sten up to another tent-pole nearby, but respectfully out of earshot as Strikes and I made small talk and bantered the next minutes away while waiting for my Mother to finish up.
Probably a quarter-hour later and a haggard-looking legionnaire appeared out of the entry-flaps, not quite standing tall but visibly lighter with his helmet under his arm as he nodded and thanked my Mother as she followed him out and shook her head. Mother waved off whatever he said with a smile before the legionnaire seemed to insist and she finally relented with a nod and what were probably the words "Thank you." as the legionnaire nodded in satisfaction and turned to leave.
After the legionnaire left, I nodded to Strikes and we started to approach as Mother laid back against the front post tiredly before looking to the now solidly dark and starlit sky, pulling out and rubbing a small and unobtrusive brass locket with the symbol of Mara upon it from her brown quilted fine dress. The locket was chosen by Father and Mother for its clear status as a devotional item and symbol of an already-present marriage rather than one of the grandiose and fancy marriage proposal amulets, I imagine the choice helped avoid a lot of very awkward questions and conversations.
Mother was of mixed descent, her mother a breton from High Rock and her father a nord revealed to me by Hircine to be a werewolf, and likely the reason why my grandmother had to leave High Rock considering that Mother said Grandmother never talked to her about it. By the word of Grandmother and habit by Mother, the topic of my Grandfather was essentially taboo and forbidden in our family, all I knew about him I knew from Hircine.
Grandfather was a scribe of particularly high station, unusual for a nord in the breton high courts. Despite being a werewolf, Hircine claimed that he, much like myself and Strikes, hunted animal prey rather than people; and made up for the less inherent worth of the kill with larger ones and the perfection of the hunt itself even as he challenged himself by hunting alone.
However, one day Grandfather was discovered and forced to flee, the massive backlash resulting in my Grandmother being forced out of the court aristocracy and into exile as well, only barely avoiding harsher punishment by convincing the court that she had no knowledge of my grandfather's true nature. Thankfully for her, she actually didn't so it was within reason. Though the court was rather ridiculous in the depth of proof they desired, she ultimately convinced the court that she truly knew nothing.
All of that was Hircine's claim anyway.
Mother's features reflected her mixed descent: she had the comparatively well-built cheekbones and jaw of nord women, but her face was also somewhat more rounded and less angular like a breton's and she had darker brown hair rather than the paler colors common to nords. Her height also ended up above average for a breton but below average for a nord, making her the height of an average imperial woman. Essentially, she actually looked very much like an imperial woman save for paler skin than most and perhaps slightly more rugged features.
Mother looked down and pulled a small stamina potion from a satchel hanging from her shoulder, likely to deal with the late hour of her work, uncorking it and preparing to take a swig before her blue eyes widened in surprise as she saw Strikes and I approaching.
"Alexander? Strikes? What are you two doing here?!" Mother exclaimed before recorking the potion and quickly stuffing it in her satchel as she marched over with anger on her face and her eyes wide with concern. "Don't you know that Helgen was destroyed by a dragon! It could come back at any time! You shouldn't be here!" Mother fretted as I raised my hands somewhat placatingly.
"It's alright Mother, we'll be leaving shortly. Riften, actually. No-one's apparently sent riders over there to warn them so we're going to ride up there and let them know so they can take precautions; whatever they can anyway." I said as Mother's anger faded, leaving only the concern which grew further to replace it.
"How are you going to let them know? Tell them that a mythical dragon from ancient times returned to life and burned Helgen to the ground? They'll laugh you out of town without some kind of proof! You have some don't you?" Mother asked as my eyes widened in realization as Strikes did the same beside me before we both grimaced a bit guiltily.
"I… guess we hadn't thought that far." I admitted as Mother facepalmed and sighed in exasperation before speaking sternly.
"Alexander you can't just walk up to someone and throw some wild story in their face without proof. I would've thought you'd know that by now with all those hunter's tales in the Dead man's Drink of werewolves in the woods, and how many times they were laughed out of the tavern. There aren't any werewolves around here and if that suddenly changed then the only way to convince people would be with proof." Mother said, ever the skeptic, which was to our advantage as Strikes and I carefully maintained that guilty look from before as I quickly moved conversation forward. It was not the first time and certainly not the last that I unfortunately had to deceive my Mother like this.
"So what do we do then? It's not like we can just give them a signed letter from General Tullius, that would probably make it even less believable. We were kind of hoping the dragon would have just flown over Riften by now so that part wouldn't be so unbelievable. Last thing we saw it was heading on a loop around the province." I said as Mother pressed her lips pensively for a moment before responding.
"Testimony. A lot of it, with signed signatures and… maybe even General Tullius'. Focus on getting testimony, word-for-word exactly from stormcloak supporters, that will hopefully help outweigh Tullius' name on the paper while Tullius' name gives it some officiality. That will be your best chance if the dragon didn't fly over." Mother said as I nodded and repeated the important parts.
"Testimony, word-for-word exactly from stormcloak supporters and Tullius' signature. Got it." I said before walking up to Mother and giving her a hug.
"Thank you Mother. Stay safe. We'll do our best to do the same. I love you, we'll be back after we deliver the message; there's a couple other things that we need to talk about." I said warmly as Mother returned the embrace and nodded as I pulled back.
"Okay. I love you too. What other things though?" Mother responded and asked as I pressed my lips in thought and responded; it wouldn't exactly be good if I told Mother Strikes and I were planning on fighting the giant flying monster that had destroyed a city, so I had to think of something else for why we were going to the college so that she didn't completely panic.
"Strikes and I are… thinking about going to the College in Winterhold…" I started before Mother's eyes widened in shock as she cut in.
"What?! Why? Your Father and I could use your help for the business. I won't stop you if you really want to go… but there has to be a good reason why you're going now right?" Mother asked, the hard questions as always as I pressed my lips a bit and responded.
"Well… there's probably going to be a lot more chaos now, so I figure it's about time that Strikes and I learn better magic, and we're still considering adventuring too; being good with magic will make that a lot safer." I responded as Mother frowned worriedly as she always did in response to any mention of adventuring.
"Okay… Those are good points… I'm glad that you're planning on being as safe as you can with that adventuring. Just… write back plenty okay? Your Father and I will miss you dearly." Mother said before gesturing to both of us.
"Come here, both of you." Mother said as Strikes and I did so before Mother came in and wrapped us in a tight hug as Strikes fidgeted and her feathers flattened against her head in embarrassment again as Mother pulled back slightly.
"We love you both. Remember that, okay? You're my son Alexander, and Strikes, ever since you came and stayed with Alexander… and even before that you were like the daughter we never had. Please, again, both of you, stay safe. Riften's dangerous and it's stormcloak territory. Don't forget to keep your armor out of plain sight, keep your valuables hidden and close, don't go anywhere suspicious and…" Mother started to go on before I went in and hugged her tightly again before pulling back as I kept a hand on her shoulder and gently cut in.
"I know… we know Mother. We've been there before, and I'm a lot better at staying out of trouble than trying to convince people wild tales are true so… we'll be fine." I said placatingly, lest Mother never stop in her worry as she smiled sadly and nodded.
"Okay. I just can't help but worry, please promise me you'll stay as safe as possible." Mother insisted as I looked down and held in a sigh of exasperation as I smiled and nodded before responding.
"I promise." I said before Strikes finally spoke up.
"It's alright Miss Alessia, I promise I'll keep sparky from zapping anything he shouldn't. It's not like we're going anywhere long, right now anyway, just Riften and back. We've done it a dozen times before, and this time it'll actually be even better if we're gone less time; for Riften's sake." Strikes said comfortingly and wryly as I smirked as well and added on.
"Notice how she hasn't promised to stay safe… I'll keep this impulsive lizard from hurting herself to much." I said as Strikes gave me a short, playful hiss, pushing me away by my shoulder as I snickered and Mother chuckled and smiled.
"I know, you always do, both of you. I trust you'll keep each-other out of too much trouble. Now you'd better get some paper and start writing some stories before it gets too late, I have a few stamina potions you can borrow too. I can make more potions for myself and you and Sten will need them." Mother said as Strikes and I nodded before taking some of the said potions and heading off to get some paper and stories for Riften.
A while later, Masser and Secunda were about a quarter of the way up in the sky as Strikes and I each drank a stamina potion and started off on our ride towards Riften with the goal of riding straight-through and reaching Skyrim's "Capitol of Crime" by nightfall the next day. It would be a rough ride, but the people of Riften could unknowingly be depending on us for their lives.
Werewolf stamina was good for more than just a few things.
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