Prologue
He could have sworn that Bruma was colder than most of Skyrim. The biting air pierced him all the way through, adding to the already existing throbbing coming from his head. He was used to this morning ritual, however. He would be roughly shaken awake, dragged out of his cell, and marched towards the castle at Bruma at what seemed an inhumanly fast pace. The shackles on his arms and legs constantly tripped him up, and on more than one occasion had caused to him to land square on his face, as his bruises reminded him. The guard roughly grabbed his shoulder and came to a halt, as the huge oaken doors to the castle were opened. A blast of warmth from the fire washed over the prisoner’s face as he was shoved inside. This pleasant sensation was soon replaced by indignation when he saw who awaited him inside.
That damned elf.
“I trust your accommodations haven’t been too… rough? It must be hard for you, Faendal of Riverwood, to come from roaming the forests at your own whim to being caged up like an animal.”
Faendal managed to let out a smirk: “Seeing your face is by far the worst part of my day, Ithriel.”
Ithriel’s face remained stoic, as always. He motioned to the guards to bring Faendal up the stairs. When at the top, Faendal was shoved into a wooden chair. Ithriel began pacing in front of him.
“You know the routine, Faendal.”
“Never liked being constrained by a schedule, your highness.”
Ithriel stopped pacing and sauntered to Faendal’s chair. He leaned down until his face was only a few inches from Faendal’s.
“Enough of the games,” he hissed, “Where is Aedan Caelius?”
Faendal waited a moment, and reached his head up to Ithriel’s ear. He faintly whispered, “So far up your arse, you’ll never be able to reach him.”
Ithriel moved away and nodded to the guard. The guard’s armored fist pounded Faendal square in the mouth.
“I am not a patient Altmer, Faendal. You were a member of the Blades, were you not?”
“I’m just a poor hunter, your excellency.” This time, the blow came to his stomach.
“You have one more chance, Bosmer.”
“Alright, alright… just give me a moment to think,” Faendal sighed.
“Well?”
“I don’t know.”
Ithriel shook his head. “Castrate him. He’s a lost cause, anyway.” For the first time since he was taken prisoner, Faendal was genuinely scared.
“Wait!” shouted a voice. All heads turned to see who the voice was coming from. A tall figure shrouded by a hood strode into the hall.
“Guards, seize him!”
The shrouded man deftly sent an arrow into one guard’s face and disemboweled the other with a ferocious cut from his sword.
Ithriel drew his sword and prepared a destruction spell in his left hand. “I am a Thalmor Justiciar, and demand to know your name and business at once.”
The shrouded man sheathed his sword and strode boldly up the stairs. He ripped the hood of his head.
“My name is Aedan Caelius, and I am the patron saint of lost causes.”
Ithriel stood speechless and dumbfounded.
But it might have been because of the arrow in his chest.
Author's Note: Before going on in this series, I would strongly advise you read at least the "Background" section from Character Profile for Aedan Caelius, which you can find here. I will be assuming information from the character profile in future releases, and you might be a bit confused if you don't read it. The rest of the character profile contains very minor spoilers about this story, but you will be absolutely up to date if you just read the "Background" section. Also, I will be including my own screenshots in all the releases following this one.
