Chapter Four

It was late morning when the pair departed Falkreath. Nephenee huffed as they climbed the hill through the towering pines, the air still biting Gaeolin’s ears with its chill. His sword gently beat against Nephenne’s harness. The blacksmith had actually done a better job than he’d expected. The edge was true, but the heart still looked questionable. Fortunately, he rarely used it.

Inigo sang to himself a little behind, passing the time in his usual fashion. “Riding, riding, riding, My backside is subsiding…” He threw his hands in the air with enthusiasm, “Riding high, swooping low, find a bride, be denied! Sore hide!”

The elf looked back with a smirk. “Having fun?”

“Yes,” Inigo replied, “I feel particularly lively today.” He nudged Beast into a faster pace. “Something feels charged this morning.”

Gaeolin stayed quiet, the breeze shifted from the south, carrying smoke through the trees. The pair heard a blood curdling scream. The elf slapped his reigns, tearing through the woods toward the sound. As they drew near, the smell of burnt flesh invaded their senses. Inigo coughed, pulling a cloth out of his saddle bags to cover his face. Coming to a stop, Gaeolin slid from his horse, drawing his sword in spite of the total destruction they found.

Flames crackled everywhere. A cart sat with its wheel gone. The horses were dead, but still better off than their smoldering masters. The corpse of what had once been a man knelt in the center of the carnage. He appeared to have been attempting to cast a spell, to what end he couldn’t guess.

“By the Gods…” Inigo eyed the scene. “What happened here?”

“Who knows, maybe it was a rogue mage, or a necromancer… Doesn’t add up to the latter though. No necromancer I’ve seen leaves perfectly good corpses behind.” He saw a cloak flutter from the seat of the cart, landing at his feet. He sheathed his sword, picking up the linen to inspect it.

The broach at the base of the hood struck him. His expression went blank. Gaeolin stared into the silver, his face distorting slowly. Inigo moved to stand next to him with another cough. The khajiit turned, noticing the pained look in his friend’s eyes.

“Gaeolin, are you okay?”

“Its… This was from Woodhearth. They were from my home, back in Valenwood.” He clenched the cloth tighter. “I didn’t think anyone else had escaped.”

“Escaped?”

The elf didn’t answer. He massaged the fastener. The silver was wrapped around a dark sapphire. There were fine vine engravings, winding around almost infinitely. “My mother had a broach just like this. She always said it was her lucky charm…” He inspected the cloak. It had a few holes where it had been burned through, but was still mostly good. “I wish I had hers.”

“Just take this one,” Inigo offered, “as a memento. Clearly, they won’t miss it.” He watched as his comrade threw the cloak over his shoulders. “You’ve never mentioned your family before.”

Gaeolin turned to face him. “I don’t often. Even after thirty some years, the loss is tough. This scene haunts me, because I saw a similar one before.” The flames were starting to fade out under the wind. “The Dominion killed my parents and brother. Burned our village to the ground in the war. I…” He fell silent.

Inigo didn’t feel it appropriate to speak. How did you press this conversation?

“I can’t…” Gaeolin cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Inigo. I’m not ready to talk about this.”

“I accept that.” The cat scratched at some fleas awkwardly. “I’m… Sorry, for your loss.”

“Thank you…” He pulled his gloves on further. “Lets keep mo…”

A roar split the air, Nephenee and Beast tearing through the trees with cries of terror. A rush of wind nearly bent the pines to the ground. A wall of heat knocked the pair down. Eyes forced to the sky, Gaeolin’s vision was overwhelmed by a rush of gray.

The earth shook with a growl. Gaeolin rolled to his feet, his sword in hand as he faced the source. The dragon snarled, blue flames flickering in it’s maw. In an instant, the pair dodged a jet of flames. Forsaking safety, Inigo ran forward, slashing wildly with his ebony blade at the beasts leathery wing. As it’s head swung around, the bosmer rushed, hacking at the soft space at the base of it’s skull.

The edge struck, causing the drake to screech. It turned to devour him. The dragonfire ignited his shirt. Inigo, no mage, fortunately managed to extinguish the inferno with a burst of fated frost. The dragon became dazed by the sudden flash of magicka. In that moment, Gaeolin forced the point of his sword into the beast’s eye. It reared up, beating its wings to flee. Gaeolin’s weapon shattered, shards flying to the road as acidic blood dissolved the hilt. Cursing, he drew his bow, running after the monster in a fury.

“Gaeolin! You idiot!” Inigo ran after him. “You’re going to be killed!”

The dragon made for lake Klinaith. Gaeolin skidded to a stop at the shore firing off four arrows in mere moments. Three tore the webbing of the wings, making the scaled terror veer to shore. The last embedded in the soft underbelly. It crashed down, skidding through the wood, felling trees until it once again met the road. Not thinking, the wood elf drew his hunting knife. Leaping onto its neck, he stabbed it in the eyes, the creature writhing to evade the killing blade. With a last gasp, it collapsed with the certainty of death. Inigo rushed to them, stopping a short distance away as the winds changed. A rushing sound filled his ears. He saw the dragon begin to burn from the inside out. Gaeolin fell to a knee, his body beginning to glow. Tendrils wound from the corpse, wrapping around his friend.

The elf coughed, his breath short as the life force of the ancient lizard invaded him. The pain… Terrible pain as hot, raw, instinctual knowledge burned his mind. Veins bulged on his neck, sweat beading on his forehead. He held his head, standing shakily. Turning his head to the sky, he cried out. “YOL!” A gout of flames scorched the tallest branches. The birds flew in horror as their homes were set ablaze. Inigo was frozen, staring as the shout faded and Gaeolin crumpled to the ground. He dropped his sword, running to him.

He would die… If he hadn’t yet, Gaeolin would unless he found a way to control this power. “You fool! I begged you…”