Two Days Later
What could be said about the Snow Elves’ capital, Falmenor?
Beautiful.
Elegant.
Magnificent.
And a whole host of similarly fitting epithets.
Built near the geysers of what would one day become Eastmarch, it enjoyed a climate warm enough for proper agriculture.
Considering that food was often the most valuable resource even for the already prosperous and highly capable Falmer, it was hardly surprising that the family which had first claimed these lands had eventually become the royal house.
“Mmm…” I hummed thoughtfully as we passed through the city gates, taking in the scenery before me.
The problem was that…
it was all too impressive.
The walls were sturdy, magically reinforced, and filled with firing positions for archers and mages alike.
Which meant Ysgramor and his warriors would have to arrive in such overwhelming numbers that they could break through even defenses like these.
But…
I still had my doubts.
There was no way a mere band of Vikings could bring down such an advanced civilization and wipe it out so completely that virtually no trace of it remained above ground.
There had to be someone else.
Someone else who would fight alongside them against the Snow Elves…
But who?
“…I expected a stronger reaction from you,” Vaisy remarked as she walked beside me, her perfectly sculpted figure drawing no less of my attention than the beauty surrounding us.
Because puberty.
The shameless little bastard had struck again.
“It’s beautiful, majestic… and surprisingly warm.
I like it,” I replied simply, idly admiring the elegant white-stone buildings around us.
How barbaric would you have to be to destroy beauty like this so completely that not even its ruins would survive?
Truly, I was beginning to dislike the people of Atmora.
To dislike them in the way a man might dislike his own people while knowing all too well their flaws.
Unfortunately, I doubted the elves and the newly arrived humans would ever find peace.
Both sides needed the same land to live on.
And there simply weren’t that many places in Skyrim suitable for growing the food everyone depended on.
Every one of those places was already occupied by the Snow Elves.
“You’ve got a rather gloomy look on your face…” my distant cousin observed, as perceptive as ever.
“Do I?” I asked, adding a touch of skepticism to both my expression and my gaze.
“I wonder why.”
“How should I know?
You’re the one who should tell me.” The white-haired cutie threw up her hands, her own face twisting into a skeptical frown.
“I don’t know either,” I replied with complete honesty.
Because I genuinely didn’t know what had brought on the feeling—whether it was the realization that this place would one day be destroyed, or that this was where humanity would reveal its most barbaric side.
Yes, my former race was every bit as multifaceted as the elves, but…
right now, the face it was showing was one I wanted to fight against, not for.
So if a conflict really was coming, I’d already chosen my side.
Yes, in the canon, the elves may have massacred a single human settlement, though the circumstances surrounding that incident were murky at best…
But in retaliation, the Nords nearly exterminated an entire people, slaughtering even those who had nothing to do with it, while condemning the Falmer who remained in Skyrim to a fate far worse than death.
“You’re in one of your melancholic moods again, Feator,” the elf remarked once more, making me blink and shake myself out of my thoughts.
“I suppose I am…
So let’s continue our training.
I’d rather be as prepared as possible for the Initiation and the Pilgrimage,” I suggested, earning an approving look and an equally satisfied nod from the ever-diligent Vaisy.
***
The next few days blurred together into a cacophony of forgettable aristocratic receptions, Father’s thoughts on the people from the north—whose existence had now been officially confirmed—and endless training sessions with Vaisy, during which I put my increasingly powerful fire magic through its paces.
For the time being, the familiar divisions into Destruction, Alteration, Conjuration, and the rest simply didn’t exist among the elves.
Instead, magic was divided into far more narrowly specialized disciplines, and the variety of spells exceeded what had been shown in the games by at least an order of magnitude.
But none of that mattered compared to what awaited me today.
The Initiation.
The Pilgrimage.
It went by many names, but the meaning was the same—it was the trial one had to complete in order to become a full-fledged knight-paladin of the Temple of Auri-El.
I wasn’t taking it alone.
The candidates would enter one after another, and unlike me, they were visibly nervous while desperately trying to maintain an air of dignity and composure.
It looked amusing, but in truth, the matter was deadly serious.
Anyone who failed the Initiation—the Pilgrimage—and returned would be regarded as…
something akin to a leper.
Weak of spirit.
Unworthy of standing beneath the light of the progenitor of all elves.
“Why are you so calm?” one of the elves taking the trial asked, clearly puzzled by how unconcerned I seemed.
“A well-bred Snow Elf introduces himself before asking questions,” I pointed out, taking the opportunity to study the elf, who looked a few decades older than I was.
About fifty years old, perhaps.
But his eyes…
his eyes belonged to a fifteen-year-old boy.
“S-sorry.
I’m just nervous…
I’m Gelebor.” The elf introduced himself, immediately stirring a whole storm of conflicting emotions within me.
Like me, he wore nothing but boots, trousers, and a belt with a scabbard.
That was one of the requirements for the Pilgrimage.
Seeing dozens of bare-chested guys…
Yeeeah…
At least the girls improved the view somewhat, wearing nothing over their chests except simple breastbands.
“Feator,” I introduced myself in return, doing my best not to betray the suspicions suddenly filling my mind.
“I apologize if this sounds rather sudden, but…
you wouldn’t happen to have a brother named Vyrthur, would you?”
“…Did he get himself into trouble again?
If he did, I’m sorry.
Whatever happened, I’ll make it right,” he asked, wearing the expression of a man resigned to his fate.
“No, no…
It’s just…
I’ve heard stories.” I gave him a crooked smile, unconsciously copying one of Vaisy’s rare facial expressions.
“Ah!
For a moment there, I thought he’d gone and…” My companion shook his head.
“Still…
why are you so calm?
Even my overlyconfident brother is worried sick over there…”