Chasing Aetherius: Epilogue

• Posted by The Long-Chapper December 31, 2016 - Filed in TSC: CB Story - #TSC:Skyrim  #TSC:Long  #TSC:C.B.  #Chasing Aetherius  #Lissette  #Karver  - 1,808 views

   

  

  -From Notes on the Aetherium Forge.

   

  20^th of Morning Star

   

  I write this late at night. She is resting and I know I should be too, but I still cannot contain my excitement and am wide awake, despite the effects of the moon sugar and the heavy draught Brother Theodard gave me to quell this sudden cough. The implications of my discovery surrounding the Shards of Aetherius at Decimus’ cairn are huge. The implied prospect of inter-being communication through shared possession of Aetherium. Gods! Grulmar had heard my laugh! The ramifications are potentially dangerous, so I will keep these notes “under wraps” as Serana likes to put it. Written in a cypher that would make Nerussa blush at its complexity.

   

  As Galar Rothan often says, “Progress requires Experimentation” so I will endeavor to conduct several of my own experiments with my given Shard once I return to Whiterun. I will attempt to cut it and fashion items from it. Jewelry, in a manner similar to that which I observed in the Dwemer displays at Crystal-Like-Law. Two amulets specifically, or possibly an amulet and a ring. I have enough amulets already. One more, and I will look like an Altmeri noble trying too hard impress his betters on Sundas service at the Temple. But I digress...

   

  Dreth’s research, well rather, his blatant thievery of Katria’s, indicated that all manners of conventional smithing proved ineffective against the Aetherium material, hence construction of the Forge under the ruins of Bthalft. As much as I admire Katria’s research, I do think that, in her zeal, she overlooked a small detail. Forgivable, considering the circumstances of the Forge’s construction and where it falls in the timeline of the First Era. After the Dragon Wars. From my own research into the dragons, I have learned that some, some of them practiced the craft of smithing. All manners of conventional smithing… Conventional. The thu’um, the thu’um is most definitely not conventional and neither is Skyforge.

   

  “Progress requires Experimentation.”

   

  -Äelberon of Dusk.

   

  28th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 203

   

  Erik parried a blade aiming at his neck, the steel meeting steel rang loudly, and then he twisted the blade, stabbing at his opponent's face. A shield stopped that attack and the blade then attacked his left side.

   

  He raised his left arm, extending a buckler into the blade's path. The sword hit the buckler and tipped it over, passing through the defense and continuing to his body. Erik's sword quickly slashed down, intercepting the blade and then he brought it over his shoulder, attacking at his opponents head. Shield stopped sword again, but Erik pushed forward, sending his opponent to the ground.

   

  Companions cheered and he grinned. He put the sword under his left arm and extended his right towards Torvar, lying in the dust of Jorrvaskr's training circle. He helped Shield-Brother back to his feet and was rewarded with Torvar’s enthusiastic pat on his back.

   

  “Well met, Erik. Nice. I thought I had you back there. If I had put more strength into the blow, you wouldn't have had time to block it.”

   

  Erik frowned and his fist hit Torvar's shoulder. The Nord made a hurt face. “Hey! What gives?”

   

  “I told you not to go easy on me. If I make a mistake, I need remember it's a mistake. You know the Harbinger doesn’t like it when we go soft on each other.”

   

  “Sure, aye. He doesn’t.” Torvar grinned. “That fucker is no fun to spar with anymore. Takes it too seriously.”

   

  Erik laughed with Torvar. “Don’t I know it.” But in his mind, he disagreed.

   

  Torvar spat to clear his mouth and stretched his sword arm. “Just do something about that teeny shield of yours. I’ve seen tankards block blows better.”

   

  “I bet.” Erik smirked, heading towards a table where a jug of water was waiting for him. He put down the sword and then removed the buckler from his crippled hand with a groan, still feeling some soreness in the left hand from the arrow. He looked at his hand, with the fingers forever frozen in a grotesque imitation of a talon or claw. Talon. That was Grulmar's new nickname for him. And others started using that too, calling him Talon-Hand. The name was starting to stick. Erik Talon-Hand. He had to admit it had a much better ring to it than Erik the Slayer. He smiled, remembering what Ronnie had told him at Anga’s Mill. That they would remember him for that, that this would be his mark. And Talon-Hand sounded like a name of one of the big Nordic clans. Maybe I'll start one myself one day.

   

  It was a strange month. He and Grulmar tried to mend the rift between them several times, created by Erik joining the Companions and recent events, but...it wasn't that easy. They both tried. It was just...awkward. The problem was that Erik wasn't the same as he was and that Grulmar was...still Grulmar.

   

  When they returned, all Companions were nice to him. Too nice. They went easy on him and he didn't want that, because he didn't felt like he needed it, as Ronnie showed him. His trials in Raldbthar showed him. It was still him, he wasn't something less. But he understood that he had to prove it to them first. Sure, there were moments when he reached for things with that left hand, dropping them on the ground or just breaking them, but it was all about getting used to it. When he was on the road, he didn't have time to think about it, but now...he had plenty of time to mull it over. And he decided that he wouldn’t be limited by it.  

   

  “Does it hurt?” he heard Vilkas's voice and Erik turned to face the Nord. He was standing in the door to Jorrvaskr, in a set of steel armor, with all his things packed in a few packs. It was a sad reminder to Erik that since he returned, all things were not quiet and peaceful. Vilkas wasn’t really willing to solve or get past his issues with Ronnie. It all came back to Serana.

   

  Erik shrugged and exercised his wrist. “Very little, though it gets sore. Almost didn't feel the arrow that went through it.” He took the jug and took a proper swig of the cold water before he set it down on the table again, looking at Vilkas. “You're still set on leaving?”

   

  “How can you even ask?” Vilkas shook his head. “Just look what he did to your hand.”

   

  “He did nothing to my hand.”

   

  “You know what I'm saying. That vampire is poison. A whore. She'll make him her thrall and I don't understand how all of you fail to see this,” Vilkas angrily gestured with his hands. “All we have built as Companions, can be lost just by the whim of one vampire whore.”

   

  Erik frowned. “Don't talk about her like that. And I don't see you complaining about—“ Erik started and then looked around so see he could talk openly—“werewolves running the Companions.”

   

  “That's something completely different. We were forced into that.”

   

  “No you weren’t. Any one of you could have said no at any time.”

   

  Vilkas looked him in the eye. “It’s not that simple. You needed to be one to join the Circle.”

   

  “Then I guess status is what was more important to you then. If I remember correctly. He offered me the Circle and I turned him down. You didn’t have to say ‘yes’, Vilkas.”

   

  “He took it too.” Vilkas argued back, clenching his jaw. Erik could tell he was starting to anger. The heart of a saber cat, something Ronnie would tell him.

   

  “I think Ronnie’s reasons for taking the Beast Blood were very different than yours. He never sought the Circle, it was thrust upon him because he is a good person and loved his family. You cannot deny that status or glory was not his reason to take to the Circle.”

   

  The Nord frowned, not liking Erik’s honesty. Another habit he picked up from Ronnie. “That whore and her thrall—“ It was a cheap shot, a bad argument, and Erik was losing his patience with Vilkas’ stubbornness. For being a loremaster of the group, he sure was dumb sometimes.

   

  “Don't talk about them like that,” Erik bristled. It was time to squabble.

   

  “But she is a who—“ Vilkas started, but Erik jumped on him and his fist hit him square in the jaw, sending him back into Jorrvaskr where he landed on his arse.

   

  “The only poison I see now is you,” Erik went inside, ignoring the stares from all his other Shield-Siblings, though he did see little Tilma cover her mouth to suppress a giggle as she swept. He winked at her and then faced Vilkas who was now rubbing his jaw. Yeah, I can hit too, you shit, you can throw bucket duty in my face if you want, I don’t care. I know where I can put the shit. “I was with both of them at Raldbthar and at the Forge, I saw what both of them did. For me. And for each other. He is no thrall.” He turned his back to Vilkas and went outside, stopping at the door and giving Vilkas one last look over his shoulder. “I wish you best luck in your journeys, friend.”

   

  When he was outside, he sighed. Things weren't easy back in Jorrvaskr. Vignar's death, the insanity surrounding the birth of Farkas's baby. That was a crazy day. When Erik joined the Companions, he had no idea there would be so much in-fighting. He hadn’t pictured it that way.  

   

  But the thing was...he wasn't that naive anymore. Families fight, it was a part of life and the crew of the Jorrvaskr was a family. He learned that nothing could meet everyone’s expectations. The Companions were his brothers and sisters, Jorrvaskr was his home that was true. And he knew he would stay a little while longer, to heal, to practice, but…

   

  Farkas stormed out of Jorrvaskr with frown on his face, huffing and puffing. He stepped in front of Erik and growled: “Saw you hit that brother of mine.”

   

  Erik shrugged, not even looking at him. “He was calling our Harbinger and Serana names.”

   

  Farkas's eye twitched a little and Erik saw through the Nord’s ruse. “Don’t you know by now, boy that if you want make a big difference, don’t go for the jaw, go for the balls.” Farkas exploded into a big belly laugh, his stomach shaking and then swung his leg in a pretend kick towards Erik’s crotch to drive home his point. Erik knew it was pretend and he still flinched. “See! I would have kicked him square in the balls. Boots hurt.” He grimaced. “A lot.” Erik smiled. “Glad you showed some spine around him. I remember in the beginning, you let him intimidate the shit out of you. Well met.  He's a stubborn bastard, as are all of us,” Farkas continued, the twinkling grey eyes acquiring a more introspective cast. “He'll come through, though, just needs time.” He then pointed at the sword lying on the table. “Care to show me what you got? New toys are always fun.”

   

  Erik nodded. He went to the table where he had put down the sword and lifted it up, weighting it in his hand. Decimus' sword. A Goldpact sword.

   

  There was another calling he decided to heed.  

   

  

   

   

  “Out, boy.” Beron ordered.

   

  Serana woke to the smell of coffee, the sound of Beron’s voice, and Koor’s yowl of protest.

   

  “You heard me. Out.” Beron repeated, holding the door to their bed chamber open. At least she was pretty sure that was what he was doing. She had not bothered to open her eyes yet. The dog yawned and she heard it its pawpads as it slowly crossed the chamber towards the door. She let out a sigh and stretched under the furs and then she curled up, enjoying the softness of the fur and his residual warmth. Very faint, but still persistent. He had been up far too early for the amount of sleep he got the night before. It was the day before they were to embark on a long journey, very late in the morning by her reckoning, and he usually preferred to rest on those days. It was better for the magicka.

   

  Serana frowned, her fingers moving slowly over the vale saber cat pelt, only he really didn’t get to.

   

  His footsteps drew nearer and she smiled secretly under her haven of fur when he closed the door. Beyond their room, she could faintly hear Greir and Farkas in the hearth, speaking softly about the day. How Erik punched Vilkas. Good riddance, Serana smirked. Farkas then made the most ridiculous sounds in an attempt to entertain his newborn son. Serana rolled her eyes through their still-closed lids. They actually named him Ronnie. Well, she shrugged, he did save the baby’s life. Breech births were terrible, the winter was hard, and he had saved baby and Greir.  She could hear Greir busying herself over the pot, stirring the rich-smelling venison stew that would become the new parent’s evening meal. They were to live in the ‘stead while Beron and Serana were away, Beron wanting the infant to be in the warmest, most comfortable place possible.

   

  It was a moment of peace and quiet in what had otherwise been a strangely stressful month.

   

  She felt his weight at the edge of the bed and heard the sound of two tankards being set down on the nightstand on her side of the bed, bringing the scent of coffee that much closer to her. She inched closer and though her eyes were still closed, her senses were keen enough that it didn’t take long for her head to end up resting on his right thigh. She let out another sigh and then felt his hand on her head. It caressed her hair and for a bit, her lids became dangerously heavy again.

   

  “You keep doing that, old Mer, my eyes won’t open for the rest of the day.” She murmured sleepily against his leg. There may have been drool and she wiped her mouth on his trousers with a soft slurping sound before anymore could fall, as good a spot as any. He gave her hair a playful tug.

   

  “Yours is the not the first spittle I have encountered this morning.” Of course it wasn’t. Beron was all over that baby. The perfect, doting grandfather to the little ginger runt. She didn’t really go near it yet, it was still too delicious to her, the new life too tempting to drain dry. Fresh and uncorupted. When she was used to it, it would be safe around her. Beron understood, and she hunted more frequently with Aela and Sinding as a result, but she purposefully did not allow herself alone with the infant.

   

  She could feel the smirk on his face and Serana dragged her head away from his thigh and sat up on the bed, wrapped in her furs like a caterpillar wrapped in a cocoon, her eyes still closed. “Do it.” She ordered.

   

  Her eyes finally popped opened when Beron passed the tankard of rich, strong coffee right under her nose and her arm snaked through the furs to grab the tankard’s handle. “Thank you.” She smiled, her eyes settling to a more or less, half-closed position after their initial pop. Serana gave the Mer in front her a sidelong glance while she took her first sip of the deep brown, almost black liquid. And sure enough on his shirt was baby spittle. He wasn’t jesting, she smirked, taking another slow sip of the invigorating brew. She took hers bitter without sugar most of the time while he practically made his a dessert. A little coffee with his honey and milk.

   

  At least he used to. She noticed that his in the past month or so and been taken black like hers, with only a small dollop of honey. The amount of discipline the Mer possessed was mind-boggling sometimes.

   

  They sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments, using the brew to wake them up before she spoke first. “I’m sorry.”

   

  “For what?” He smiled from the edge of the bed, but she could see his face. He had not slept well.

   

  “For last night.”

   

  “Oh, that.”

   

  “I don’t know why I still dream that dream.”

   

  Last night was the last night she had wanted to have that nightmare. They were going to travel. Far and involved and he needed the rest. But instead, she woke up screaming violently in the middle of the night, sobbing, the images of his dead body in the Forge burning in her mind. He spent afterwards, when her sobs finally died down in his comforting embrace, a good long while convincing her just how alive he really was and they both enjoyed it. She felt herself smile at the intense memories. 

   

  “It is part of dealing with everything we went through. I dream too, Ana, and they are not always pleasant. What matters, is that you are smiling now.” He pointed out, giving her a dirty smirk as he sipped his coffee. “I did do well last night, if I say so myself.” And now he was puffing his chest a bit. Braggart.

   

  “Of course I am. I slept well. You didn’t.” she answered, frowning at Beron’s dark circles.

   

  “I will sleep on the way to Volkihar Castle.” He continued. “You know me, if I am relaxed, I sleep anywhere, even on a rock.”  They laughed. It was true.

   

  Besides the dark circles, however, he looked fine. Better even. Thinner, but better, though there were gruesome, permanent scars from his injuries, the ones on his chest were particularly painful for her to look at sometimes. That was it, Serana paused from her drinking. She had tickled that scar on his chest the night before. They were teasing each other, getting ready for an early night after working all day together to pack the supplies for their journey, and she had touched it. That was what set up the nightmare, she was sure of it.

   

  His discipline, strict diet, and aggressive training had resulting in a leaner physique. He was still a big Mer, but she definitely noticed the difference. The muscles more defined, less fat. The weight loss took a great deal of strain off that damaged lung and to him, it was worth the limited sugar the lack of desserts and the extra helpings.  What had greatly improved was his speed and flexibility. He trained with two bastards at Jorrvaskr and everybody said he was crazy for it, laughing at him.  He was fast enough already and nobody dual-wields two bastards! Then he took away one of the weapons and it was incredible to watch. He held his own against her now. Granted, Beron was still slower, but he held his own, and she was a vampire. The magicks took longer to return, but they eventually did. And his thu’um was now totally different, he was far more comfortable with its use, becoming almost for him, like an extension of magic. He could even heat up his tea, light up a campfire, cool milk. All without blowing anything up. That was not his thu’um at Windhelm or Volkihar or any other way she had seen it previously.

   

  Beron had reinvented himself yet again and Serana was pleased for her lover, because a little over a month ago, his very survival was still in question. 

   

  They had spent the trip back to Whiterun doing mostly four things. Sleeping, eating, riding, and healing. He had developed a nasty lung infection and cough soon after his arrival at Fort Dawnguard and then they left for the frozen open road the next day, his desire to go home too strong. At first, she protested, knowing that he was very sick, but feeling the environment of Fort Dawnguard, seeing the way some treated him, she then agreed to head home. Home was best. You heal faster when you are happy, and where you are happy. It was the same with her. Her silver poisoning really didn’t start to mend until he was by her side.  

   

  So they treated each other’s wounds and ailments on the road, Allie making a fine makeshift bed. When one rode, the other slept and they would then switch off, spending the journey back in relative quiet. Save his coughing, which had been horrible the first few days. When she saw blood come from his mouth, she took matters in to her own hands, concocting for him a strong syrup of Colovian brandy stolen from Isran’s stash with a big ‘fuck you’ to the asshole Redguard, honey, and heavy doses of blue mountain flower. She expected him to balk at the idea of the alcohol, citing his Tenets, but no.

   

  You realized he had seen the writing on the wall with the events of the Forge, and his failure with Ondolemar, when he took that medicine without question, not caring if it violated his Tenets. He wanted to get well, and get well quickly and the Mer who was normally an ornery patient became extremely cooperative. He didn’t even care that she had stolen the brandy. So she took a chance and told him about her deal with Galar. And she was floored by his response.

   

  It happened soon very soon after they left Fort Dawnguard.  She wanted nothing between them anymore, no secrets, everything out in the open. She expected him to be angry, but no, he took the news with an understanding that almost left her in tears. And then he volunteered to go with her. Back into the Soul Cairn. Only he was much smarter about it this time. Their second day out, while he was still dealing with his terrible cough, they walked some distance away from their camp. Somewhere in the Rift, she didn’t know where. They hadn’t even began the descent from the plateau yet platform yet. When he was out of the camp’s line of sight, he stopped, turning to her and she saw the fire in his eyes. There was fresh snow and the atmosphere was quiet.  He looked down, facing the fresh snowfall, densely wrapped in his cloak and several other furs. And he spoke the name.

   

  “Durnehviir”

   

  The ancient Dovah materialized, greeting Beron with what Serana only imagined as joy, calling the Mer, fahdon.  Friend. There was a quick tinvaak then between the two before the decaying Dovah then surged to the air to enjoy his beloved Keizaal for a spell. They would have help in the Soul Cairn, Durnehviir only too eager to help the worthy Qahnaarin acquire the tools he needed to defeat Alduin.

   

  It was a change in Beron that needed to happen. The honor was still there, he was still a wonderful Mer who cared deeply about family and friends, cared about the world he lived it and would still sacrifice everything to see it safe. But he was more practical. This was a Mer would never make a mistake like Ondolemar or the Forge again.

   

  “I am excited to go.” He suddenly spoke up with a broad smile. “You?”

   

  “For Ustengrav?” she asked.

   

  He nodded, swirling his coffee. “Yes, but it will be good to travel with only you again.”

   

  “Oh?” She narrowed her eyes.

   

  “I never admitted it, but I enjoyed much of our first wanderings together.”

   

  “After you stopped strapping me to your horse and leaving me out in the rain, you mean?” She clarified.

   

  Beron leaned closer and whispered, his eyes teasing her. “Aye.”

   

  “Allie and I had a lot of deep conversations as I hung over her back while you stuffed your face with honey nut treats at Dawnstar.”

   

  “Deep conversations, my arse.” He pulled back, pretending to frown. “You wanted to eat my horse. I saw the tooth marks on her saddle where your bloody mouth was. I was glad for her armor. She is my little girl.”

   

  “True.” She conceded with a-not-so innocent smile. “Aye, it will be good to travel again. I think you also want to get away from people, in general, your family. Everybody.”

   

  “I feel guilty admitting that, but yes. That too.” He sighed and scratched his head. “I actually think I will be more relaxed away from home this time. This past moth has not exactly been pleasant. Poor Vignar’s death, Vilkas leaving for the Vigilants. I will miss him a great deal. I wish I could make him understand, but he needs, needs to find his own way.” He furrowed his brow and Serana could tell that he was still trying to sort out all the in-fighting and bickering that plagued Jorrvaskr this past Sun’s Dusk. “I thought that we could come together. We overcame so much last year, banded against such adversity. We had so much to celebrate this Sun’s Dusk. So much hardship last year, and, Ana, we were actually happier as a family during that terrible crisis last year than we are now.” He shook his head, taking another sip of coffee and then shrugged, facing her. “I do not know if I can fix it.”

   

  “You can’t fix everything, Beron.”

   

  “I know, they are still my family though.” He set his jaw. “I will try.”

   

  She scooted closer to his side of the bed and beckoned him over. “Come, be beside me.”

   

  “You look like a worm, you are so tightly wrapped in fur.” He set his tankard down to recline against the headboard. He leaned forward to retrieve his coffee and then regarded her when he settled next to her. “Well, do it. I am not going to look at worm. I want to look at my Ana.”

   

  Serana laughed and shrugged some of it off the furs and was rewarded with his smile when more of her shoulders and her legs were exposed. He then tugged on a fur, which bared her legs to her thighs. He smiled, his eyes lingering on them a moment with a flicker of passion before he resumed speaking. “I talked to Tilma the other day as we played cards and even she is glad I am leaving tomorrow. ‘For my sanity’s sake, old Mer’ she says.” He chuckled.

   

  “She’s right.” She quipped, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Is there anything else left to be done before you head out to see Grulmar? For the trip?”

   

  He sat in thought and then shook his head. “No—wait—yes.” He looked at her. “Would you deliver that ebony buckler to Erik, please?” Beron blew out a gust of air before settling back to his coffee.  “I do not know how the Orc is going to be. It may go fast, or…” He slumped. “He may need some convincing. I will attempt to be home before dark, but it may be late.”

   

  “Gah, I don’t know why you bother.” Serana groaned.

   

  “Decimus is why.” There was a sadness to the way he said it and she sighed.

   

  “I’m sorry.” She apologized, realizing her mistake. He loved Dec like a brother. Seeing his cousin did much to help deal with the pain, but sometimes the crusty old Dusken Legate was a bit too much like the old Blade.

   

  “Do not be, I understand you.” He replied, finishing his coffee. “That little Orc is a motagiik.”

   

  She swirled her tankard. “Done, eh? And what does that mean?”

   

  “Aye,” He made a wistful face. “You done?” He laughed when she gulped her remaining coffee in one swallow and handed him the tankard.

   

  “Done.”

   

  “Time to do this last favor for a good friend.” He leaned closer to her. “Give me a kiss.”

   

  Serana brought her face right up to Beron’s and she had to admit, she was very excited to just be with him. Him, the Snowberry, and Alle.  “What does motagiik mean?” She asked, scrunching her face. The Dovahzul was still so strange to her.

   

  He kissed her. “It means, annoyance.” They shared an intimate laugh.

   

  “I dare you to call him that to his face.” She challenged, her lips still touching his. “And then…”

   

  “And then what?” He murmured.

   

  “Don’t ever tell him what it means.”

   

  Beron chuckled huskily, his eyes dancing with mischief and maybe a little lust. “What will you give me?” There was no maybe, there was lust.

   

  “Hurry home and you’ll find out.” She replied, reclining against the headboard.

   

  “Knight’s Honor! Very well then.” He rose from the bed with their two tankards, disappearing out the door to greet Farkas and Greir and she knew it, to hold the baby, while Koor trotted back in.

   

  “You coming with me, snowberry?” She asked, rubbing the dog’s ears. “Daddy has to deal with an annoyance, but you and I get to go to town and play.” The husky huffed, his tail wagging and Serana wrapped herself in a fur to find clothes.

   

  Perfect, it was exactly what she had wanted him to tell her to do, she thought as she dressed. The door to the ‘stead slammed and she knew he was out and on his way. She rubbed her amulet, and sure enough, she saw him kicking the snow away from the walkway to the ‘stead so no one would slip, and then stooping over the fence that held Sharrum and Bataz to check on them. The pair of goats looked at their Master nonchalantly and when he was satisfied, he continued his walk towards Whiterun.

   

  She stopped holding the amulet and began her planning. She would meet with Tilma too and discuss his birthday. They would be close to Hjaalmarch by then, but the old Woman wanted to give him a few things. He deserved something, especially after the amulet. His intended present for Hearts Day before baby Ronnie decided to arrive into the world with all the bluster of his father, Farkas. Scaring everybody to death.

   

  Training wasn’t the only thing he had done in his spare time. He had also spent time at Skyforge, doing both the daytime forging of a new silver bastard and Erik’s buckler, and secret nighttime visits where he conducted experiments on his Shard. The result of his efforts were two pieces of jewelry. A ring for him, for the middle finger of his right hand and an amulet for her. Simply designed, yet beautiful the shimmer of the Aetherium offset by the deepness of the dwemer metal. He told no one what he had done. Only her, showing her cyphered notes. They would keep the secrets of the Aetherium forge to themselves for now, and she couldn’t lie, part of her loved the fact that he had one-upped the Telvanni asshole and Dreth.

   

  Tomorrow they would leave.

   

  First to Castle Volkihar, to retrieve the asshole’s payment and then on to Ustengrav. Wherever that was. He said he knew, that he could see exactly where it was in his mind, and she believed him.

   

  “And may it bring us what it brings us.” She murmured softly.  

   

   

   

  When Äelberon came to see him, informing him that they were going on a ‘wee’ adventure—as he tuskin’ called it—and mind, not ‘would ya’ or ‘want to come’ or ‘please come’, but nah, ‘we are goin’—Grulmar was sorely tempted to tell the old Mer to sod off. But, he needed to get out. Fast. And if Shiny was offering a way out, he’d take it, even from him.

   

  He was back only a few days from Fellglow Keep, where he was helping Urag, the Librarian, recover some books. Yeah, just gettin’ some books, my arse. What he got instead was a serious magic shit storm, spending the entire time cowering in a corner while the old fart of a librarian took fire ball after tuskin’ fire ball, sucking up magicka like it was a sponge, and shooting right back at that ‘Caller’ bitch. She was terrified and Gru didn’t blame her. I’d be terrified too, unless I was born under the tuskin' Atronach Sign, but I'm tuskin' not—I would have noticed that much sooner when idiotic renegade mages were throwin' fireballs at me. The only reason he came with Urag was that he needed something to do. He couldn't sit on his arse like the others, doing nothing. He had to keep himself busy. Keep his mind busy.

   

  So when he got back, he was actually itching to leave again, do another stupid thing that would most likely get him killed—and he was perfectly fine with that. To certain degree. I could go without that dyin' part, but...where would be the fun, eh?

   

  So he just said yes to Äelberon and they were now travelling east, towards Riverwood and then through it, more east, following the White River's southern bank, towards Lake Ilinalta. Shiny didn't exactly tell him why or where they were headed and he didn't ask, because he didn't really care enough to ask.

   

  Since the funeral, Grulmar avoided him—though he wasn't really sure why exactly. He wasn't angry at him, no, not anymore. Was it shame? Shame for what he said to him right after the funeral? The Mer never spoke of it again and for some strange reason, Grulmar went with them willingly back to Whiterun the day after. He even stopped where the Mer stopped on their journey home. He was perfectly capable of finding his way back to Whiterun on his own, but no. He made the stop to Riften to pick up the stupid dog, siting in the Ratway chatting with Delvin while Shiny spoke to the stablehand and his wife. And he stopped when Shiny stopped at a remote Imperial camp, and saw Shiny do the strangest thing.

   

  He embraced another Mer, calling him cousin. The tusker had family! Who knew! It was strange to see Shiny being so different. Not acting like Shiny at all, but laughing and carrying on with this other Mer, who, to Gru, was like a taller, fatter version of Uncle—even knowing Decimus’ family back in Anvil, vaguely remembering Dec as a lad, calling him a trouble-maker—except that the Mer was happily married with a cart full of great, great, great—tusk it, Gru lost count—grandkids.  It was a strange night by that campfire, surreal to Gru to see somebody so much like Decimus. It was almost like Uncle was in that Mer, they even held their wine the same way. It was a bitter reminder of his own loss. But he didn’t walk away, he watched, knowing that Shiny was thinking of Decimus too, seeing those eyes mist over several times, meeting their stare and watching his faint nod beyond the campfire crammed with Imperial soldiers. It was cruel, hard, soft, sad, happy, a dozen emotions at once and Grulmar didn’t know what to make of it.

   

  “So,” Äelberon said suddenly, breaking the long silence. A smirk appeared on his face and Grulmar braced himself. “You and Borgakh?”

   

  “Shut up,” moaned Grulmar and rolled his eyes.

   

  “Oh come on!” laughed the big Altmer gruffly and Grulmar was almost knocked over by that big bear paw slapping his back. His laughter made Äelberon cough and he cleared his throat before continuing. “People say that the creaking of wood can be heard all the way in Jorrvaskr!  I remember Aela saying something about screams and heavy thuds coming from Bannered Mare. Poor thing, with her wolf ears and all. I wonder if the lass is even sleeping?” He shot Grulmar a playful look. “I know yer not!” He teased.

   

  “She's…” Grulmar started, but then he realized he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say. He never had to go through a discussion like that before. “She's doin' things to me.”

   

  Aelberon laughed and the Orc sneered at that. “And you like it. She is one Oblivion of a pot of honey, that one is!”

   

  “Of course I like it,” Grulmar snapped at him and then he sighed. “It's just...too much is too much, ya know.”

   

  “There can be too much?” The Mer questioned. He was tuskin’ being serious. Tuskin’ Elf.

   

  “Ya are old, ya don’t work the same!” Gru growled.

   

  “That is true.” He nodded.

   

  “Did ya know that the stupid people in Bannered Mare are taking bets?”

   

  “Bets on what?” Äelberon asked with curiosity in his voice. And little bit of mischievousness. He's bloody enjoyin' it.

   

  “Like...how long I'll last,” Grulmar said and Äelberon laughed out loud as they continued walking, but Grulmar didn't finish yet. “Also whether or not the bed will break. How many bones I have broken—“

   

  “Oh, I have broken some.” He interrupted, a silly look on his face. “Serana can be…” He let out a gust of air before flashing a dirty grin. “Intense.”

   

  “I didn’t tuskin’ ask ya! Tusk, Shiny, now I’m picturing ya and Fangs together! Not what I want in my mind right now!”

   

  “La la la la…” The Elf guffawed. Grulmar eyed him. He was being ridiculous which only meant one thing. Tusker had some big bomb to drop on him later. “Is that all?”

   

  Grulmar huffed. ”How come I knew ya were gonna ask that? No, there’s more.”

   

  “More?”

   

  “Ya are mocking me, Shiny.”

   

  The Elf looked at the sky. “Not going to lie, a wee bit.”

   

  “A wee bit, a wee bit.” Grulmar sneered, imitating the Altmer’s accent. “Tusk ya! And, and… They are bettin’ how long it will take for her to...fuck me to death. Teineeva already bet in one week.” He then looked at Äelberon, stopping in the middle of the road. He stopped too and the evening air was punctuated by the Mer’s faint wheezing. “But ya know what's worst?” The Altmer raised his eyebrows, an indication for the Orc to continue. “The tuskin' people. They're smilin' at me, pattin' me on my back, buyin' me rounds. I tuskin' hate that. It was so much easier when they just spat at me and all that.”

   

  Äelberon chuckled. “I will never figure you out Grulmar. Look at you!” He raised his hands in the air in a questioning gesture. “Is this not what you wanted? To be accepted? To be…loved? Look at you. Isn't that what you wanted? To be accepted? To be...loved? And now you are complaining about it.”

   

  “I tuskin' know that. I'm tusked up, Shiny,” Grulmar growled and hit his thigh in frustration. “It's just...too much, alright? She's holdin' me too tight, ya know. They all are so nice and it makes me angry. Because he's not around. It feels like...he's gone and suddenly everythin' is nice. That is wrong.”

   

  “I miss him too, Gru.” Äelberon nodded, the funning suddenly gone from his face.

   

  “Yeah,” Grulmar murmured, looking aside as the emotions overwhelmed him. It was an awkward silence as he rubbed his eyes, but the Mer was looking away too, at the river. They then resumed their walk. “So...let's get this over with.” He then stopped again and touched the old Mer’s forearm, making him stop. He looked at Äelberon uncomfortably, scratching his head and the big Altmer’s eyes focused on him. “Listen. I…”

   

  “You…?”

   

  “Ya are not goin' to make this easier, are ya?” the Orc muttered.

   

  “Whether something is easy or hard for you, Grulmar, has nothing to do with me.”

   

  Grulmar scratched head again and looked away. Very hard to meet those eyes. They saw right through him sometimes. “Listen. I just wanted to apologize, yeah? For the things I said to ya, back at the Fort. After the funeral. I didn't really mean it.” Aelberon blinked slowly and just continued his probe. The lips opened slight as if he was going to say something, but Gru stopped him. “Let's not get emotional, alright? I apologized and ya are cool with it, so let's get going, yeah?”

   

  The Altmer chuckled, the eyes narrowing just a touch. “Now you sound just like him. Except the accent…”

   

  Grulmar rolled his eyes and resignedly waved his hand. “Oh for the love of Sheogorath's tits...shut up.” He started walking again and then looked at Äelberon. “Alright, I have to ask. Where are we goin'?”

   

  “Did you not want me to shut up,” Shiny purred and then quickly added when he saw that Grulmar’s jaw was open. “It's not really far.”

   

  “Good,” Grulmar grumbled. “Because my arse is still freezin' off even though this winter should be slowly endin' up. I think I have had enough of this weather for the rest of my life.”

   

  “Heh. We shall see,” Äelberon chuckled slyly, the eyes narrowing like fox in a chicken coop and Grulmar didn't like that look at all.

   

  They walked in silence for a few more moments only it wasn’t really silence. He could still hear the Mer breathing. Though it was much better than it was before. When they first left for Whiterun, the coughing was constant, keeping the Mer up all night, making him cough up blood, until Serana basically knocked him out every time they set up camp with a potent mix of Colovian brandy, honey, and blue mountain flowers, a syrup. Shiny’s breathing only had the little wheeze now, the occasional little whistle. But that wasn’t from the cough.

   

  “Cough is much better.” Grulmar observed.

   

  “Aye.” The Mer nodded.

   

  Grulmar glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. There was something else too. He had noticed the difference the moment the Mer picked him up for this impromptu journey.  Still big, still powerful, but more slender to Grulmar. More flexible. Like he was building himself differently. Less for strength, more for speed. His steps lighter.  It didn’t really show much on the face, it wasn’t unhealthy looking, it was just different. “How much weight ya lose, Shiny?”

   

  “Nearly 2000 angaids.”

   

  Grulmar let out whistle. “How much were you?”

   

  “Nearly 17,000 angaids.” The Altmer answered. “What is this sudden fascination with my weight?”

   

  “You just look different. Was it the sickness, the infection?”

   

  Aelberon gave him look. “No, I was just too fat. Less talking. More walking.” He then said, taking a deep breath. The tiny whistle was heard again and Grulmar remembered who else made that noise. One of the Nords Fangs beat up in Windhelm, the one with the war wound. Yeah, always yacking on about being run through the chest and that was precisely what happened to Shiny at the Forge. He was stabbed three times. Grulmar gave him credit. If he had been injured like that and survived, he seriously doubted he’d be in any shape to go for walk in the cold after only a bit more than a month had passed.

   

  Grulmar saw three stones standing on the cliff overlooking Lake Ilinalta and figured out that this was their destination. When they reached the stones, the big Altmer dropped his pack near one of the stones and then leaned his back against it and sunk to the ground, his knees going up. He then did exactly what Grulmar expected him to do.

   

  Opened his pack and took out his pipe and a small satchel of something.

   

  “That can’t be good for ya.”

   

  Grulmar’s comment was met with the Altmer sticking out his tongue at him, which made him blink. How old are ya again? “Been smoking far too long to stop now. You going to sit or stand?” He asked, beginning to stuff the bowl of his pipe.

   

  “Stand.”

   

  “Suit yourself” The Mer replied, giving the contents of the bowl one final shove. “yol…”

   

  Grulmar almost jumped when he saw the tiny fire escape the Mer’s lips, lighting his pipe like it was nothing. He took a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils and made himself more comfortable against the stone. He was watching Gru intently. Grulmar frowned at the second probe of the evening, scratching his neck uncomfortably and wrapping his cloak tighter around him to keep the cold out.

   

  “Cold?” The Mer asked.

   

  “Tusk ya. And yer not?” Grulmar grumbled, stomping.

   

  “Only a little.”

   

  “Tuskin’ Snow Elf.”

   

  The Mer chuckled, taking another puff of his pipe. “Oh, Grulmar, take a seat and relax. You are dying to asking me something. I can practically ‘ear those gears in yer ‘ead turning.”

   

  “Don’t feel like sitting.” The Orc mumbled, but he did look the Altmer in the eye. “Well, I do want to ask ya somethin’.”

   

  “I’m all knife-ears.”

   

  “The Forge. I never asked...but how did ya come back? I saw the knife goin' through yer heart—“

   

  “I forgot my manners.” Äelberon suddenly interrupted, offering his pipe to Grulmar.”Do ya want some?”

   

  Grulmar shook his head and made a face. “Moon Sugar, right? Nah, I can't even smell that shit anymore.” He kicked the snow in front of him and looked at Äelberon. “So? How did ya come back from the dead?”

   

  The Altmer narrowed his eyes to the point where they almost seemed closed. He focused on the smoke going into his lungs and then out his mouth and nostrils. Tuskin’ looked like a dragon like that. “Grulmar. I never left. I didna die.”

   

  “But ya weren’t movin’. Ya weren’t breathin’. And why are ya talkin’ funny?”

   

  “Oh, that’s me accent, lad. From the Southern Isles. Comes out when I smoke the stuff sometimes. Back ta yer question.”

   

  “That’s just tusked up, ya sound like me.”

   

  “Want me to stop?”

   

  “Please.”

   

  The Altmer chuckled, before taking and deep breath and eyeing the Orc. “I will have to speak slower then. Alright, back to what happened at the Forge. I was doing both things, I was just doing them so slowly that to one not trained, it can give the appearance of death. I did not die. I just... slowed everything down. Going into a stasis. You know what stasis means, right?”

   

  “Of course I know what that means,” Grulmar frowned. Nah, I have no tuskin' clue.

   

  Grulmar may have seen a tiny smirk on the Mer’s lips before he continued speaking. “Right, of course you do. So I slowed everything down. My breathing, my heartbeat, because with that kind of damage, even a few heartbeats would have killed me. Imagine having your heart beat six times in an hour. Your every thought takes an eternity to process and I will not lie, it is frightening. The moment you ‘come back’ particularly. The sensory overload. When I entered that state, I focused on healing the heart at the expense of my lung. That has some permanent damage as a result, but I had to make a choice. Heart won.” He then grinned. “I am just glad they did not decide to stab my brain.”

   

  “Why?”

   

  “Sort of need that for what I was doing. The concentration is intense. I passed out afterwards and it was extremely disorienting when I woke up.”

   

  That's some serious magic shit right there, Grulmar thought. “I guess ya won't learn that at yer local hedge mage.”

   

  Äelberon shook his head. “It takes much more than that. You need to know how the body works extremely well. And I will not lie when I say that trust and faith goes along with it. That I pray pretty hard when I am going to do it is no lie. You can still fail the attempt.”

   

  “Can’t you try again?”

   

  The Altmer looked him right in the eye. “You can’t. If you fail, you’re dead, lad.”  He then reached into his cloak, pulling out a folded piece of paper with two wax seals. There was a flicker sadness in the Mer’s eyes as he held the letter, looking at it before he looked up a Grulmar again. “But enough about me. We’re here for a reason and I have put if off long enough.” He extended his arm towards Grulmar who frowned. The Mer waved the piece of paper. “Take it. Been holding it for you.”

   

  “What's that?” He asked taking the paper.

   

  “Just read.”

  Grulmar turned the paper to see the seals. They overlapped a little. One was the head a battle axe. Looking like a screaming Mer with giant ears and Grulmar immediately knew the mark. Jorrvaskr. The other was… Grulmar furrowed his brow. It looked just like the pommel of Decimus’ sword. Goldpact? He then raised his brow. Goldpact had a seal?

   

  “Go on, lad.” Aelberon urged. “Break the seal. See what is inside.”

   

  The Orc broke the seal and it revealed a letter in Decimus’ hand.

   

  “In case I perish from this world—which means if I die, idiots—I think it would be good to pass on some words. Truth is I don't really know what to say, but I can imagine you fuckers can't live a day without me—or maybe you'll cheering that I'm gone. I certainly would be. You probably expect some wisdom from me right now, don't you? Well...go fuck yourselves. That's my advice. It feels good, try it sometimes.”

   

  “As for my property... Well, I have a certain Fort in my possession which is being rented by Isran and his fucking Dawnguard, but it belongs to the Goldpact, first and foremost. I would like it to stay that way, so Teineeva, I'm passing that shitty mantle on you. You are now owner and carekeeper of the Fort, plus as a bonus you'll get to be the new leader of Goldpact in Skyrim. You have my condolences. So water my plants and whatever. And fix the damn Fort!”

   

  Grulmar chuckled. “Ha, that's so much like him. I wondered why you and Teineeva were talking back at the Fort before you got kicked out.” Grulmar then paused and looked at Aelberon. “By the way…”

   

  “By the way what?” The Altmer asked, raising his eyebrows.

   

  “I get what you did, with the Bleak Walker’s sword.” Grulmar nodded. “You do know him, better than all of them, I think.” Their eyes locked for a moment and then Grulmar chuckled. “Yeah, no wonder that lizard ran away from there with his tail between his legs and then joined us in Whiterun.”  Äelberon snorted, his laugh lines creasing and Grulmar resumed reading.

   

  “So, now that I have given away everything I have...Grulmar. This will sound really weird, so prepare a handkerchief, you'll get all weepy by the end of it. You were like a son to me. You are. Fuck, this is weird, talking about myself in past tense. I always wanted the best for you, but that wasn't always the right thing, eh? You must know yourself what's best for you, but more importantly what's best in you. I decided to leave you some money, which you can use only on one condition: put it to good use. You have an option to be anything you want to be, not some petty burglar and asshole—yes, you're an asshole, deal with it. You can use this money to sign up for the Bard’s College—but know that you have a terrible voice—College of Winterhold or any other institution down south in Cyrodiil. I do believe you can be much more, something better, but it's up to you.  If you decide to take the chance and change yourself and your life. Alright? Just...I love you, son.”

   

  “As for the rest of you fuckers reading this and having good laugh...go fuck yourselves. And have a drink on me.”

   

  At the bottom were the signatures of both Äelberon and Decimus, with a date. Grulmar frowned. “Ya tusker,” he murmured. The date was the very day they came to Whiterun to ask for Shiny's help. “Ya tuskin' knew ya were goin' to die, ya damn idiot.”

   

  “He did not know.” Äelberon said. “Nobody does. He was just worried. Worried for you.”

   

  “Idiot,” Grulmar muttered, reading the letter again and again. The Altmer only waited, patient, his eyes sometimes somewhere else while he waited. It was strange to read it, because it was so...like Decimus. Full of his attitude and personality. It was almost like these were really his last words to Grulmar—almost as if he somehow suspected he wouldn’t get the chance to say them. Grulmar suddenly felt as if he was run over by a carriage.

   

  “Have a seat, lad.” The Altmer said quietly, understanding. Grulmar sank to the ground next to the Altmer and read the letter again. “He loved you very much.” The Mer then observed, placing a hand on Grulmar’s shoulder. Grulmar heard the restrained emotion in the voice and for once, he let the hand stay.  

   

  “What's the thing about the money?” Grulmar asked, looking up at Aelberon who was regarding him with interest. “College of Winterhold? Why the tusk I would want to go there.”

   

  “Maybe because you are a mage?” the Altmer raised his eyebrows and smirked.

   

  “Me? A mage?” Grulmar grimaced, shrugging off the hand from his shoulder. “Don't make me laugh. I think I would have noticed that by now, don't ya think?”

   

  “I was not much younger than you when I learned of the magicks in me. Seventeen. Sometimes it stays dormant for a long while and only something very strong can make it bubble to the surface. Strong emotions, a trauma. For me, it was seeing my lenya being hurt by vampires and the light of sun, aetherius, whatever, then escaped my hand, ending them. I wasn’t even thinking when it happened. It was raw emotion, raw pain at the prospect of losing her.” He looked right at Grulmar at his last words and the Orc looked away suddenly uncomfortable.

   

  “That’s a tuskin’ joke.” He balked.

   

  The Altmer’s eyes narrowed. “Now you are doing yourself a disservice by playing dumb—which we both know, you are not.” Äelberon frowned and his face became strange. Not his famous lecture face, but something else. Something a bit darker. “I figured out something at the Forge.” He began.

   

  “What?” Grulmar sneered.

   

  “I could smell the leftover charge, the Magicks in the air. Oh, but there were plenty of mages in there you may argue, but no, this was fresh, young, and unpracticed. And… the Bleak Walker’s sword was too far away from his body—not even the explosion from that bolt, which was very clever, may I add, would have tossed the weapon that far. But I know what can. A spell. You cast a Telekinesis, right? Ripped the sword right from his hands. My guess is that it happened right after he killed Dec.” Grulmar wanted to say something, but Äelberon didn't let him. “And then I had a wee chat with my dear friend Urag about Fellglow Keep. He saw firsthand how you managed to release some sort of an aura that made the conjurers see things. Things that weren't there. Things that frightened them—“

   

  “What the tusk do I know about these things?” the Orc interrupted him, getting back on his feet and kicking snow in frustration. “I'm no tuskin' mage!” He turned back to Äelberon and put a finger on his temple. “What if it was that other guy who has decided to make a home inside my head? Huh?”

   

  Äelberon released a chortle. “Oh, I doubt that. And you are just avoiding the truth.”

   

  “That's because I'm not a mage!” Grulmar shouted at him. “I'm just me, alright? I doubt there's somethin’ like fate or destiny wantin’ me to be one.”

   

  Those eyes snapped in the starlight and Grulmar had a bad feeling. Äelberon then clapped his hands and jumped to his feet. He was moving faster. His eyes blazed. “Well, then. Let play a game of fate. Want to take a bet? I rather enjoy gambling?”

   

  “I'm no tuskin' Argonian with gamblin' problems,” Grulmar sneered. “What's yer game, Shiny?”

   

  The big Altmer gestured to the three large, triangle-like pillars of stones they were standing next to. “You have heard stories about these stones, yes? I was introduced to them when I first arrived in Skyrim. Do you know what they are?”

   

  Grulmar sneered again. “They´re just stones. Nords tend to make even stupid stones into somethin´ more than what they are.”

   

  “Hmph, what a little sceptic you are. Of course, they could well be just stories.” Äelberon admitted, nodding his head. “They are still interesting though. These ones in particular are called the Guardian stones. Sort of like they have other stones in their charge. You have the Warrior.” He pointed to the one nearest to the river bank. His hand then moved to the one he had been reclining against. “Mage.” The Altmer’s hand finally gestured to the one to the Mage’s right and, he smirked. “Thief. There are quite a few others. Thirteen in Skyrim. It is said that they bring luck, or a sign from the gods, or even blessings. And some say that they shape fate, showing a path to those who are lost in the sea of possibilities—“

   

  “Mumbo jumbo,” muttered the Orc.  

   

  Äelberon snorted and Grulmar was really not liking how his eyes were lighting up. It was like the tusker was playing cards, badly, on purpose. Letting everybody know he had the winning hand. “I didn´t expect you to believe that. But there might be an ounce of truth there, don´t you think? Every story has a little bit of truth in it, so why not this one?  I have seen those stones light up and you cannot deny magic, right?” He eyed the Orc. “Right?”

   

  “Sure fine, yeah there’s magic.” Grulmar conceded.

   

  “I’m getting hungry and want to head home so I’ll speed this up. Nords believe that the Heroes of old could use these stones to change their fate, their destiny. They also believe that they can show one´s true destiny.”

   

  Grulmar frowned at Äelberon and then at the stones. What a load of bullshit. Talkin´ stones or whatever. “Destiny my arse,” Grulmar growled. “Piss in its eye. That why ya brought me here?  Brought me to freeze my arse off? Thank ya very much.”

   

  The Altmer sighed and rubbed his eyebrows. “Well, I am hungry so why don’t you at least give a try? What is there to lose?” Aelberon raised his shoulders. ‘You have no idea where you are heading, where to go next. You are lost, Motagiik.” He pointed at the stones. “This might show you a possibility. But you do have a free will, a choice. You don´t have to go down that path ever, or you may choose to go down it eventually.”

   

  Now ya are goin´ all mystical on my arse, Shiny? But...Grulmar sighed, ya might be right. I don´t know where to go next. What to do next. Grulmar shrugged. “Alright, whatever.” He looked at the stones and chuckled. “Why don´t ya show me first if it really works, eh? If they light up I might give it a spin. But I´m tellin´ ya, if they start talkin´ or somethin´, I´m out of here.”

   

  “As you wish, Motagiik,” Äelberon made a little bow, as if Grulmar was suddenly his master.

   

  “That´s the second time ya called me that,” Grulmar grimaced. “What does it mean?”

   

  The Altmer walked towards the Warrior Stone and chuckled. “Figure it out.”

   

  “Tusker…”

   

  “Ah, the very first one. I remember you well, Warrior.” The Altmer touched the Warrior and it lit up, a column of light shooting towards the sky. Grulmar didn´t really expect it to work, but apparently it did. The Altmer then walked towards the Thief, touched it and then he touched Mage, and all the tones lit up in succession. Äelberon turned to Grulmar and raised his eyebrows. “Well?”

   

  “Eh. I think ya broke ´em, Shiny,” Grulmar scratched his forehead. “Is that supposed to work like that?”

   

  “Not really, but they are not broken. I am the Dragonborn, I am tied to destiny regardless. So, I think these stones treat me differently. Either I can change my fate as I want or, and more likely the case, my fate is the same no matter what choice I make. I have touched many of these stones in my time in Skyrim and even more like them in Cyrod, and always, they would grant blessing, or light up.” His look became introspective. “In the beginning, I was sad about it, but I am alright with it now.” Aelberon gestured to the stones. “Your turn. Go ahead, make a choice.”

   

  “Ha! Maybe I can touch them all and I’m Dragonborn too!” Grulmar quipped.

   

  “I’d love the help.” Äelberon laughed.

   

  “Tusk ya, Shiny.”

   

  “That’s what the pot of honey is for, Gru. You ought to know that by now. Better hurry, Borgakh is probably worried sick her little warrior is nowhere to be found.”

   

  Grulmar frowned at Shiny’s dig, but he nodded. “Alright. Ya sold me on it. So, what´s it gonna be? If the Thief lights up I´m goin´ back to the Guild, stayin´ on the same path as I was up until now?”

   

  “Could be,” the Altmer shrugged and then he grinned. “But if the Warrior lights up you´re going to join Companions!”

   

  “Over my dead body,” Grulmar snorted. “Not interested in bunch of tuskers making an anniversary out of everythin´. If it´s Warrior then I´m goin´ south, to Cyrodiil.”

   

  “´Bloody Oblivion why do you think I am leaving tomorrow for Ustengrav? I am not even celebrating my birthday with them this year. I am pretty sick of the anniversaries myself and I’m the Harbinger.” Äelberon laughed. “But alright. If the Warrior lights up, you are going to Cyrodiil. But if the Mage answers, you are going to College of Winterhold.”

   

  “College my arse,” Grulmar murmured and stepped to the Thief. “We both know how this is goin´ to end up,” he extended his arm and touched the stone. “This one will light up and I´ll go back to—“he continued but stopped when the stone remained the same. He touched it few more times, even kicking it once, but it didn´t answer. “Shit!” Tuskin´ stones. Mumbo jumbo bullshit. He turned around when he heard the Altmer laugh hard at Grulmar’s display, but he noticed out of the corner of his eye that he was now emptying his pipe and picking up his pack, moving it away from the Mage stone.

   

  “Alright, Cyrodiil it is,” he came to the Warrior and touched it. And again, nothing happened. “Malacath take ya, ya tuskin´ piece of bullshit rock!” he growled at it.

   

  “Only one option left,” Äelberon remarked in that sing song tone of his that made the Orc want to punch his face.  

   

  “Tusk ya,” Grulmar replied. “What if that one doesn’t light up either?”

   

  “Then it will be up to you to decide your fate,” Äelberon shrugged.

   

  “Lovely.” He stepped to the Mage and sighed. Alright, ya piece of rock. Listen carefully. If ya light up I´m goin´ to trim yer stony ass. I´m not a mage material, ya tusker. He reluctantly touched the stone and he clenched his jaws when the stone answered and lit up. He heard Äelberon explode in a big belly laugh and Grulmar suspected he knew all along it would happen.

   

  Well...fuck. 

   

  

   

  

   

  Ladies and gentlemen, kids of all ages...Yes, it's that time of year. Finally! Chasing Aetherius...finished! Phew! What a ride that was.

   

  First we would like to thank everyone that was reading, that stayed with us through the long and dark chapters, with light of silly jokes shining through the cracks. Thank you, readers, for your attention, patience, support, praise and constructive criticism.

   

  Special thanks goes to Phil, for his neverending support, and just for being an awesome guy that sadly can't say no when two writers decide to annoy him like a married couple on marriege counselling.

   

  Another thank you goes to Teineeva, because he often got caught right in the middle of our arguments, but he played it well to keep his head still attached to his body, so kudos, matey! And thank you for your support too!

   

  Also big thanks to Lis that I could work with her on this and also thanks Karver for being so awesome and handsome (yup, I did it, someone has to)

   

  But back to the matter at hand. CA finished. Wow! Have you counted the words? 216,627 Just for some comparison I looked at one of the fantasy books I've read, the famous ones for their wordcount.  Fellowship of the Ring has 187k words with whole Lord of the Rings having. 473k First book of Game of Thrones has 284k, first book of Malazan Book of the Fallen, Gardens of Moon, has 209k and thelongest Harry Potter book, Order of the Phoenix, has 257k.

   

  Those are some serious numbers and we certainly didn't expect the story would get so big. It's actually funny, you know, because way at the beginning we were thinking about story which would have 50k-75k words max, but with each chapter it was just getting bigger and bigger (Lissette Long-Chapper anyone?)

   

  Chapters themselves range between 10000-20000 words in general. The longest chapter was Chapter 9, with 26125 words and it was fully written by Lis (Figures…) But no, seriously, she used that chapter to write NaNo and just this gave her half of the word count she needed, while I wrote around 2000 words tops for that chapter.

   

  So...wow. Even while I'm writing this I'm still quite shocked at what we achieved here. We won't win novel of year, neither we will get the most likes here, but we achieved that for ourselves. And what we achieved? Biggest collaboration story on this site, ever. Through sweat, tears, blood, plenty of arguments, lots of broken pottery and dozens of empty bottles...we did it.

   

  But how did it started? Hehehe. I guess it was back when I finished reading Book 1, Part 1 of Straag Rod in late 2015. I mean, that's when me and Lis started chatting together, about writing and stuff. I was writing Cursed Tribe back then so we talked a lot about our stories and such. I think it was in late April of 2016 when I told Lis that I actually can't imagine another Dragonborn in my story than Albee, so - and I think I was quite bold back then - I asked her if she would be ok if I started writing in her universe. “My characters would just play second fiddles to Albee, mostly just see some crazy Dragonborn from distance and such,” were my words if I remember it correctly.

   

  Then came January and AMOSS, where Lis helped me with my Short Story (not so short, 25k words…) and that it didn't take long until we started to think about story where our characters could have some fun together. (Yeah, fun. Sure, that certainly went well.) And on June 2nd first chapter of Chasing Aetherius was posted.

   

  It was a bumpy road, we certainly took our time to put it together, but still...Over 200k words in half a year? Damn. We put everything we got into that story. We had a blast, we had arguments, I think Lis even cried once… But we did it.

   

  Thank you! Cheers!