Whitest Man in Skyrim; Chapter 25

A/N: Might be a little rougher than usual? I'm not sure. I'll let you guys be the judge.

-(-)-

“Lydia?”

“My Thane?”

“Remind me on to look into buying horses or something. Somehow, tromping across Skyrim on foot in the middle of winter has lost its charm. Oh!” I snap my fingers as a thought strikes me. Or at least I try. Gloves are not optional in this weather and they get in the way. “Or maybe I could work on summoning a bigger Daedra as a mount! Would save us a lot of money.”

My housecarl gives me a look I can only describe as deeply perturbed. “I think that would be one of those cultural missteps you asked me to warn you about, my Thane. Also, I fear you might have forgotten about your other method of transportation?”

“I didn't so much forget as... Try not to think about it. I'm starting to realise how limited the utility of it is when I can't bring people with me.” I can go anywhere I've put down a teleport marker, but I can only take myself. I have permission to take a shortcut through the Shivering Isles, my companions do not. I'm not keen to test Sheogorath's mercurial nature twice to find out if he'd be cool with it. It's amazingly convenient for certain things, but getting to place for the purpose of killing shit? Not so much. I'm not a one man army (yet).

Maybe I should look into setting up a proper network of badasses to help me out? Whiterun and Winterhold I'm probably set for that by default with the Companions and the College. Riften if I start dealing with the Thieves' Guild. Dawnstar if I sign up with the Dark Brotherhood. Oh! If I sign up with the Legion and rise up the ranks I could probably just pick up a couple of legionnaires wherever I go. And then there's the Blades, they set up in the south-west somewhere I think? I don't actually remember.

Though now I do remember the Blades and I've made myself angry for a whole other reason.

Okay. Let's be fair about this. Things have been different here than in the game, that's well established by now. So just because Delphine was an unbearable obstructionist asshole before, that doesn't mean she will be that way here. Good sense is a thing that exists here. Sure, the Greybeards are dicks but they hate me by default so it's not really a surprise. The only reason they've helped me as much as they have is because it's a part of their doctrine they can't deny.

So... Okay. Keeping an open mind.

It's honestly disappointing to find Morthal. A place to stop is nice, don't get me wrong. But it's just how I remember it, even if it's a little bigger. The snowfall makes it look nicer than a swampside village otherwise would but...

“This is... Nice?” Brelyna tries not managing to keep the question out of it.

I sigh. “Welcome to Morthal. The swamp village with nothing in the middle of nowhere.”

“My Thane!” Lydia hisses. I follow her finger to an unimpressed-looking woman giving me the stink-eye. Oops.

“No, he is correct,” the woman says with bite in her tone. “There is nothing here for outsiders. Best to be on your way as soon as you are able. Maybe you could take the other one of your kind with you.”

“Our kind?”

“She means mages,” I clarify for Brelyna's sake. “Morthal is more magiphobic than most of Skyrim. The Jarl doesn't even have a court wizard.” I keep us moving, not feeling like giving that woman more attention than she merits. “We're not really welcome here but that doesn't mean we can ignore them. Let's find an inn, then see about meeting with the Jarl.”

-(-)-

It's been a... trying, couple of days. After booking rooms at the inn we went straight to seeking an audience with Jarl Idgrod. She's a frustrating woman in a way only old women who are done with everyone else's shit can be. The only reason I wanted to talk to her was so we could drop a teleport marker here. Why would she allow that, she asks. Dragonborn and such, I answer. Show me, she demands.

One day I'll have enough reputation that I won't need to perform like a circus animal before people take me seriously.

Unfortunately, while my performance proved I was Dragonborn, or at least as shouty as Ulfric, that 'wasn't enough to convince her' to allow me to put a marker here. No, if I wanted to put something down so I could get here instantly to protect them from a dragon attack, I had to do her a favour. In other words, she wanted to take me for a ride. Never mind the fact I'm only asking out of politeness. I could have just dropped the thing by the river and they'd have been none the wiser. But fine. Let's hunt some fucking vampires.

Which was exactly what we did. A day of investigating. A night of hide and seek with a ghost which was... far more depressing in real life. I asked Lydia about nordic burial customs, how to lay her to rest so she can pass on. She didn't know. Draugr were one thing, ghosts were not such common knowledge. Best we could do was speak to the local priest, bring him the coffin of the girl and hope he would know what to do.

More investigating of the woman I already knew was to blame. Breaking into her house, stealing her journal, keeping what's-his-name from killing himself on us with a calm spell, then bringing evidence to the Jarl. At which point she graciously let me drop a teleport marker, only to ask if I could oh, maybe deal with that little vampire problem. After all, I'm so invested in keeping Morthal safe.

At least she had the good grace to pay us for that part. Not just coin either. Also land. So now I get to build a castle on a swamp if I want. Well, funny as that might be, I'll probably build a laboratory there if I build anything at all. This isn't exactly the kind of place I want to live. But a place to put my mad magical science? Sure.

But with all of that out of the way...

“Hnnn!”

It's a good opportunity to just relax and have a lie in with my little elf girl.

“Nnnn, Mister Casey, that's cold...” she complains, pressing her naked body harder against me.

“Sorry,” I offer sheepishly, letting go of my cooling cantrip. “Guess I got carried away. The way you snuggle into me for warmth is so cute.”

“Well since you woke me up you can make it up to me,” she cooed, sliding down my body to take me inside her again. I hadn't even realised how wet she is. My hand comes up, thumb brushing against her nipple as I draw the heat out of it. “Ahh!” she squeals as she tightens around my shaft.

I lean up to capture her nipple with my lips, flicking my tongue against it to warm it up again. “I'm starting to think you just figured out you liked this kind of play.”

“The... The contrasts,” she pants as she rides me, “They might be a little stimulating,” she admits coyly.

“Well, if we're trying new things...” My hand moves down her body, fingers softly playing over the top of her slit.

“What are you–?”

Tzzt!

“Eeee!” Oh! That's a new squeal, her cunt clamping down hard, her juices squirting on my crotch.

“Oh? Did she like that one?” I ask teasingly.

“W-Warn me next–!” Tzzt! “Ahhh!”

“I think we just learned something about you, Brelyna. Of course,” my hands move up to her chest, “It's far too early to call it conclusive. More experimentation is in order.”

-(-)-

The vampire lair we cleared out served as a decent landmark for the direction we needed to travel. Ustengrav is located just on the eastern edge of the marshalnds. Oh! Actually it's about halfway to the land Idgrod... gave me... She gave me land exactly on the border of the Pale, didn't she. I think I'm starting to hate that woman, though maybe that's just my general annoyance at everything building up and being directed at an easy target. I mean it's not like the old crone will care if I liker her or not. And right now the feeling is mutual.

In any case, one trek over a bit of half-frozen marshland later and we are on our way down into another tomb of... Half-dead bandits and mages.

“This is not what I was expecting,” Lydia says as she mercy kills some poor sod in roughly sewn furs. “Why would these people have come here? And why slaughter each other?”

“Well these are pretty clearly necromancers,” I note as I flip one over with my foot and gesture at the skull painted on his robe. “Or particularly angst-ridden teenagers.”

“Oh, that would explain their presence here!” Brelyna exclaims. “The exact specifications of the ancient undead found in nordic burial mounds are a subject of rigorous study by Conjuration scholars! Master Gestor once gave us a fascinating lecture on how ancient necromancers would remove the front section and the stem of the brain in an effort to...” She trails off as she looks around, seeing Lydia's look. “... Never mind.”

“Well, you're not wrong,” I shrug. “Though I suppose that doesn't explain the bandits.”

“Perhaps they aren't bandits?” Lydia suggests. “Maybe they were hired for protection by the necromancers but... Got into a disagreement.”

“Optimistic, but possible,” I admit, “Though... Now that I think about it, I'm not sure the answer matters beyond satisfying our curiosity. We aren't here for them. They came here, turned on each other and then they all died, accomplishing nothing. And conveniently they even did so in a tomb. No niggling concerns of giving them a proper burial to worry about.” I see Lydia and Brelyna exchange a concerned glance. “What?”

Another exchanged look and by silent agreement it's Brelyna that speaks up. “You just... You seem a little agitated, Mister Casey? Maybe we should take a break!”

“In the corpse-filled room?” I ask bitingly, only to see Brelyna flinch at my sharp response. “Oh. You... I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. Maybe I am a little out of it,” I admit as I return to picking the bodies clean of valuables, what little there are.

“My Thane?” Lydia tries, “Casey? Perhaps it would be a benefit to speak of what troubles you? I am sworn to carry your burdens...”

My head turns to regard her with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you keep saying that?”

The housecarl shrugs. “It seemed to make you happy when I said it before. And while this may not quite be what I expected that oath to mean, I am glad to fulfil it.” A gauntleted hand rests on my shoulder. “Please, my– Casey. I am here to serve, in whatever manner you need.”

I push away the corpse I was patting down, rising to my feet before looking through the next room. “Well I guess if you're asking for me to whine about my selfish problems.”

“Every person's problems are selfish problems, even the selfless ones,” she states as she and Brelyna follow me in. Brelyna moves ahead to check the room over before I get too far. After her object less in not touching things, she's demonstrably better at it than I am. “So yes, that's exactly what I'm asking you to do.”

I follow my apprentice with my eyes as she darts about the room. Better safe than sorry. “I'm... I guess I'm just frustrated at being so blatantly led about by the nose by everyone I meet. No... More I'm angry at myself for obediently going along with it.”

“You think you should have denied Jarl Idgrod? Or the Greybeards?” Lydia asks without accusation.

“Yes,” I answer automatically. “No. No, that would be stupid. Gods, why did I even say yes? That isn't like me at all.” I'm not that kind of person who just defies for defiance' sake. Maybe if I have a good reason but even then I'd be arguing my case. Just telling someone 'no' isn't really something I do.

“And yet you said it all the same,” Lydia observes. “You agreed with the reasons for their actions but not with their methods then?”

“It doesn't make sense. I came here to help. On the macro scale to get the Greybeards to play ball but just coming here meant I could put down a marker. That I could come here to help.”

Lydia nods. “And then Jarl Idgrod took advantage of that.”

“By getting my help!” I immediately counter. “She used my offer of help as a means to get me to help in other ways! She manipulated me to get me to do the exact same damn thing I came here for, so why the hell does that piss me off so much?!” The end of my rant is punctuated by Lydia's sudden chuckle that she covers with a hand. “What's funny?” I ask with narrowed eyes.

“I am sorry, my Thane,” she says as she lowers her hand to reveal her smile. “It's just, are you that unfamiliar with feelings of pride?”

“Pride?” I echo, honestly confused. I know what pride is. Well, obviously I know what it is but rather I know what it feels like. “This isn't pride, this... Oh. Oh, you mean that kind of pride.” The kind where you feel like you're worth more than others. “No, I'm not so familiar with that.”

“Truly?” my housecarl asks, perplexed. “I apologise for this, I mean no offence, but... Are you sure, my Thane? You have been acting as though you know the feeling well since I first met you. Of course, you are the Dragonborn of legend so while such a feeling of superiority is natural, it must be tempered with patience–“

“Wait,” I cut her off. “That. What you just said, what was it?”

“You have acted superior since we met?”

Okay, that's not what she said before but, “Because I'm the Dragonborn.”

“Yes, but that is why you must–“

“No, no, no no no no no...” At first I intend to correct her but then the weight of the realisation falls on me and all I can do is repeat the word. “I'm an idiot! I'm an IDIOT! How did I forget something that important!”

“M-My Thane?”

I whirl on her. “Lydia, what is a Dragonborn?”

“My Thane I'm not... The Dragonborn of legend has the power to slay dragons with their shouts and devour their souls?”

“Yes!” Gods, it all makes sense now! “Because the only way to permanently kill a dragon is to take its soul. And the only ones who can do that are those with a dragon soul! Literally the spirit of a dragon! Lydia, you only met me after I was revealed as the Dragonborn! No wonder you think I'm a colossal asshole!”

“Uhh...”

“Oh, don't get me wrong, I am an asshole a fair amount of the time but one thing I'm not is a raging egotist!” The wide grin of my epiphany thanks to figuring out why I've been so pissy for the past month is nice. But now I'm realising what that conclusion really means and my smile drops. “I... I wasn't a raging egotist. But now I am, aren't I? There's no going back. And it'll only get worse as I collect more dragon souls.” I swallow thickly, trying to clear the lump in my throat. “We need to get this done. I need to talk to the Greybeards again.”

“... If that is what you think is best, my Thane,” says my housecarl. “Though even if I don't quite understand what the problem is, I will be by your side no matter what.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, this is an ancient burial tomb. There will be draugr. Perhaps it will help your mood to work out some frustrations? No one will raise objections to us returning the dead to their rest.”

“That... That does sound like it might be cathartic, yes.”

-(-)-

There were a great many undead. And it did feel good to smash them all, even if my smashing was a little less direct than Lydia's.

Strangely enough, I actually had some fun when it came to traversing the tomb. In the game, this one was singularly designed to be a kind of playground for using the shouts the game would know you have. And since this is basically the Greybeards' testing ground, the same applies in real life. Hopping from pillar to pillar twenty feet up in the air was a rush. Whirlwind Sprint is significantly more controllable, thankfully. If it wasn't I would have slammed my face into stone at fifty miles an hour more than once. Another word wall was found, copied, and a word downloaded into my brain.

I could have done without the flame traps that were a nuisance for Lydia, never mind more fucking giant spiders. Though with all of the extra (literal) firepower we can bring to bear, these ones went down far easier than the one in Bleak Falls.

Down and down and down we went until finally we reached bottom.

Where my fears are confirmed.

I can't see to the far end of the chamber, though I bet Lydia and Brelyna can. So I can't see from here whether what I think is there will be there. What I do see are statues. Statues that have risen out of the water. Statues that had risen long before we got here.

My breathing is deep, and slow, as I walk across the bridge of the final chamber. Walk to the burning firelight of the candles on the other side. Candles that surround a plinth decorated with dragon imagery and, strangely enough, Daedric runes instead of dragon script.

And on top of that plinth is not a horn, but a note. With a shaking hand, I take the short piece of rolled parchment, unroll it, barely glance at the words before handing it to Lydia.

Seconds pass. “Casey–“

“The person who wrote that note has made a severe mistake. We are going to go inform them of that. Now.”