It was Ulfric's third day with Mithllon, and the Nord had learned more of Summerset Isles than he had ever dreamt of. The Altmer filled their seemingly tiresome and uneventful journey with fascinating tales of magical battles, epic adventures lasting over decades, and incredible stories of his ancestors. Ulfric was enthralled by Mithllon's words, spellbound to the times in which ancient Altmer knew nothing of humans, filling their centuries with knowledge and strength. He learned of the many schools and varieties of magic, learning of the difficulty of each spell and the energy and focus required to cast them. At this point, Ulfric caught himself imagining casting fireballs into the bellies of his enemies rather than cracking their skulls with his mighty axe, like Nordic tradition.
However, Ulfric was a child and could only be amused by stories for so long. His third day stuck on top of a massive elvish horse without much movement filled him with energy. He could not burn off his vigor while he was on the ground either, for his cast rendered him immobile and Mithllon would not have him even lean on his sprained ankle. Ulfric had voiced his complaints to the Altmer, who had informed him of 'only' two more days of traveling. Then Ulfric could see his parents once again and look upon the familiar sights of his home. He would be welcomed with a feast of food and drink as Windhelm celebrated the jarl's son's return.
Ulfric squirmed in Mithllon's hold at the thought of water. His face turned red as he looked back at the elf.
"I have to go," he mumbled. Drastíll snorted at the Nord's voice, neighing at Mithllon in distress as he understood the Nord's natural need to relieve himself. The horse wasn't too keen with the boy sitting on top of him at the moment with such a thing in mind.
Mithllon realized the look of urgency on Ulfric's face and quickly leaped off of Drastíll, keeping Ulfric in a tight hold before gently settling him down. The boy hopped to a nearby bush, glaring at the Altmer once he reached it. Mithllon swiftly turned and strode away, giving the youth his privacy.
Once Ulfric had finished his task, he shuffled out from the cover of the bush, hopping back towards the spot where Drastíll and Mithllon where waiting for him. Or at least he thought. A child was unfamiliar with the woods, and could easily become lost. He rounded the corner of a crop of trees to find no horse or elf. Retracing his steps, he turned around another group of trees. Again, there stood no elf and his horse. Ulfric had realized the woods had become rather silent, the chirps of birds dying down as the flutter of wings filled the sky. He swallowed as a chill entered his body.
"Mithllon?" he whispered in a meek voice, his voice echoing throughout the woods. There was no response; not even the crack of a twig or the whisper of wildlife around him. His heartbeat grew faster as the wind howled eerily through the trees, their branches crashing against each other at the force of the air.
"Mithllon?" he said again, with a loud, shaky voice. His eyes darted to each shadow, his breath coming in panicked gasps. "Mithllon!?"
A sudden crack caused him to turn, and Ulfric saw a form behind the trees. He heaved a sigh of relief.
"Mithllon, I thought I lost you-"
The hair at the back of Ulfric's neck sudden prickled and he felt the warmth of his Nordic blood completely drain away. His knees felt weaker than water, and his bones turned cold and stiff. His mouth fell open to release the scream coiling around his throat, but his stiff chest constricted the expansion of his lungs, resulting in a quick, short croak.
The shadow was nearly nine feet tall, its massive shoulders broader than Drastíll, and muscles the size of tree stumps. The fur on its skin was darker than the most starless night, and its golden eyes gleamed hungrily from behind its massive skull. It opened its jaw, revealing a row of sharp, glistening teeth, coated in slime that remained attached to it expanding mouth, stretching into long glittering streaks of saliva. It released a roar in which shook the child's spine, its volume banging against his ears as it thundered through the trees and echoed into the mist. Ulfric collapsed as his limbs quivered, finally expelling a shriek of his own, sounding nothing more than wind in the air as the bear's lungs over-powered his own.
The bear crashed onto its colossal paws, charging the boy as it gave a harrowing roar, the ground trembling with each collision of the bear's paws into the soft earth. Ulfric wrapped his arms around his head, fingers curling over his head and squeezing his eyes shut. He felt his body quake along with the earth, his head numb and cold as he was forced to listen to the horrifying crashes of branches snapping and leave crunching. The bear's heaves of breath grew louder until he could finally smell the rotten stench of the bear's last meal, its hot, misty coating swathing over him like a wave, its saliva splattering onto his arms.
And then Ulfric heard it. The high-pitched whistle of something slicing through the air resounded above him, a soft thud following thereafter. There was a agonized shriek and the warmth of the bear's breath disappeared. The ground thudded behind him as the pained roars continued, loud, sudden, and crazed. Ulfric felt arms coil around him and was lifted. Cool air whipped across his face, objects whizzing by his head with inhuman speed. Just as he opened his eyes to see what was happening to him, he was tossed gracefully onto a pile of soft dirt and leaves, crunching beneath his backside. Blinking rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the scene, Ulfric's jaw fell once the sight finally touched his consciousness.
Yards away, the mighty, terrifying giant of a bear howled with rage and agony, a long, transparent spear etched into its hide, painting it with long streaks of crimson. It tossed its head about, snapping its jaws as it eyes blazed with fury. It's cry echoed through the trees, causing the leaves to shudder, The bear, however, suddenly did not seem nearly as nightmarish as the elf standing before it.
It was something Ulfric had never seen in the Altmer. He was not angry, and his teeth did not gnash at his enemy. He was not snarling or roaring with anger, and his chest was not heaving with the energy boiling inside of it. His arms did not tremble, and his breath did not falter. He seemed completely calm, in fact. And then Ulfric saw his eyes. There was something unspeakable brewing inside the emerald orbs, among the many emotions of anger, hatred, and fear. The air turned chilling and suffocating as the Nord realize he could not tear his eyes away from Mithllon. His bones felt as if they would crack under the strain of fear and coldness, and his blood might burst from his skin from the rapid thundering of his heart. As his mind began to twist in a craze of panic, Ulfric finally managed to name the unspeakable thing in Mithllon's eyes. His father had only explained it to him once. It was the emotion that brought entire kingdoms down, and sent the bravest of soldiers running in uncontrolled panic. It was what separated man from beast, the emotion that drove the very heart of destruction. It was what killed every man, in every unjust battle. Blood thirst.
Mithllon's very soul was immersed in the hunger for battle, and his eyes were the windows to his soul. The bear must have sensed it, for its shrieking ceased for just a moment and it froze-its entire body went rigged and stiff, unmoving as it stared at the elf. Then, Mithllon flicked his hand, a simple twitch of the wrist. The transparent spear shifted for a moment then went still. A crackling sound emerged from within the bear as the spear suddenly burst into shards. There was a short, high-pitched whine that was immediately cut off by a disturbing gurgling sound. The bear collapsed without warning, its body colliding with the earth with a final, solid thud.
There was a moment of cold silence, when air was still stiff with tension and Mithllon's eyes held the murderous glare. But slowly, the forest regained its warmth, and the wind shifted the leaves ever so slightly. The blood thirst died in Mithllon's eyes, but still held its cold indifference as the Altmer shifted to peer at the bear. However, despite the calmness that immediately took the trees once again, a sweltering sea of panic churned inside Ulfric's belly. The young boy began to breathe, but they were short, uneven breaths, and his lungs were not receiving the proper amount of oxygen. Ulfric curled in a tight ball as he gasped through each breath, tears streaming down his eyes as he collapsed on one side.
Mithllon turned, his sleek black hair flying with the sudden movement. The coldness finally sank completely away from the Altmer as he ran toward the Nord, crouching over him and prying him out of his fetal position. He suddenly embraced the Nord, who latched desperately onto Mithllon as the tears poured down his cheeks. Mithllon whispered comforting words, instructing Ulfric to take slow, deep breaths. The Nord trembled with each exhale, feeling his muscles loosen with each quiver. The shaking caused his arms to go sore. Finally, the gateways opened, and the river broke out.
He wailed into the dark cloth of Mithllon's tunic, shoulders shaking with each sob. The cloth covering his face became soaked after a minute, and his skin grew cold. The little boy immersed himself in the warmth of the Altmer's arms, listening to Mithllon's own beating heart as the elf's fingers combed through the boy's blonde hair. The thrums of his heart were rapid, but Ulfric knew it wasn't due to fear. The elf couldn't possibly be afraid.
Mithllon was never afraid.
