Late Merethic Era.
More than 4500 years before the birth of the Last Dragonborn.
Falmeret / Skyrim.
The next day.
Feator Kaslana.
Shit-shit-shit!
Why are the Snow Elves so unlucky?
Who’s in charge of Lady Fortuna around here, the one who’s turned her back on us?
No, honestly, her backside is nice, plump, fitting our situation, but still!
Eh, I don’t remember.
Otherwise, I’d find a couple of temples and give their priests a kick to get them to contact their heavenly master.
Okay.
Enough.
Stop having a meltdown over nothing.
Auri-El hasn’t abandoned us yet; the God of Time himself is with us.
So let’s keep working.
So, what do we have?
A number of studies on the Eye of Magnus were successfully evacuated, which the royal forces and the tower’s mages handled with the utmost delicacy and caution to prevent it from exploding.
Amazing caution for such, I’ll be honest, my proud kin, but that’s good.
They didn’t repeat Ancano’s mistake from the game until he himself came along.
The bad thing is that the research is clearly incomplete and generally small.
The unhurried pace of the long-lived played its part here.
Some of it was also destroyed by the dragons when they wrecked the Tower, probably even sensing part of the Aedric Energy emitted by the Eye.
And some…
Some is now with Ysgramor’s people who have occupied Saarthal.
That performance made my eyes pop out of my head.
There were several hundred elves there!
A whole research group and their royal guard, and all that wealth didn’t suffer at all from the dragons!
If it weren’t for the last member of the royal family — the crown prince — I and the Temple would have pocketed all of this long ago, but…
How was it almost completely destroyed, with only a few scholars managing to escape, huh?!
Even against several thousand people, their forces were enough, if not for victory, then for almost everyone to escape!
“The situation is difficult,” Vaysi agreed with my stunned silence, accompanying me as always.
And as the Temple’s captain, she was now commanding the Knight-Paladin reinforcements alongside me.
Reinforcements that didn’t make it in time.
Reinforcements that now had no one to go to.
“I don’t even have enough swear words to describe the situation,” I said, massaging my temples, more than certain that I looked terrible right now.
A face pale even for a Snow Elf, week-old bags under my eyes…
If it weren’t for my firmly established habit of squinting in the presence of any subordinates or elves in general, the people would definitely have figured out that we were screwed on all fronts.
“Our forces are insufficient to retake Saarthal and the Eye.
But, Feator, we need to regain control of Magnus’s Artifact,” my darling stared at me with a question in her blue eyes.
Eh, there’s absolutely no time for a wedding…
Later.
Everything later.
“Even though the mages aren’t being twisted like last time, because our researchers stabilized the protective circuit that the people broke, but…
People could break it again.” “Unlikely,” I shook my head, thinking about how to justify my knowledge of the canon.
In it, Ysgramor just buries it.
Amazing logic for a human…
Ahem.
I’ve really given in to the atmosphere of sarcasm towards humans that spontaneously arose in the Temple after the dozens of settler ships that arrived before Ysgramor’s return.
Who, judging by that strange helmet my scouts reported on, had become King of Atmora.
“…they also had mages, as it turned out.
Weak ones, but still,” I reminded, recalling the words of the surviving archmages from the tower.
“So they were affected too.
And surely even more have arrived with them now.
No, this Ysgramor of theirs, whom the royals didn’t finish off back then, won’t go for that.” “You trust their unity too much.
They live…
so little.
So they must do a lot and do it quickly.
Without thinking,” Vaysi expressed her point of view with doubt in her voice, to which I just chuckled.
“Just like us now, right?” I jabbed right at the weak point of my darling’s position, who still hadn’t fully purged the underestimation of the human race from her head.
Arrogance towards my former kin has always been the scourge of long-lived and powerful races everywhere.
But if my current race were to lose it, or almost lose it…
O-o-o-oh, that would be an extremely, extremely interesting social experiment.
One that benefits me, because it’s easier to face threats together.
That’s an axiom.
“Enough already…
I understand…” this darling blushed slightly, making me admire her once again.
Cutie.
I love her and I’m not ashamed of it.
“So we don’t repeat the mistakes of the king’s forces, and we start doing what we have more time for than humans — thinking,” I continued to quietly promote my own ideology, which would allow the Snow Elves to survive and get through all of Tamriel’s crises.
Maybe the God of Time saw something in me and gave me his power?
Saw that I could help his faithful followers, who are mostly the ones who survive?
Interesting, I’ll have to think about it in my spare time…
Though, when will I have that?
After all, our dialogue is currently being heard by the paladin lieutenants; they’ll chat among themselves, the content will leak to the rank and file…
And then further through the Temple.
The grapevine among the few, but sometimes bored, elves is developed ve-e-ery well.
I didn’t say anything rash, just my ideas…
are new.
Not exactly reformist, but the emphasis is on what was already in the teachings of the Chantry of Auri-El, but wasn’t highlighted more than other points.
I had years to develop an ideology and work it out to the smallest detail, so let’s work.
Work, and work again.
“Whoa!” I jerked sharply on my horse, picking out from the orderly rows of firs a figure that was clearly not elven.
The prince doesn’t have the spare strength to monitor allies, so…
Snatching a dagger from my belt, with famous elven precision I hit the vague figure right in the arm, making it crash into a snowdrift.
The world slowed down.
I sped up.
Reflexively using the River of Time, I practically leap from the saddle, pushing off it slightly as I jump, and landing successfully, I almost instantly continue my run to the target.
The man, and it was a man, had barely managed to get out of the snow, only to get a poke in the forehead with the back end of my flamberge, his eyes wide open.
I hit accurately, but hard, so my former kin almost immediately falls unconscious…
Into the same unfortunate snowdrift.
Although…
No-o-o…
I don’t want to call these Vikings my former kin.
Too many cultural differences, and probably biological ones too.
Look how huge he is!
He’s two meters tall!
Almost an Altmer, honest word.
“Northern men make bad spies.
Their southern kin are a bit smaller…” my darling murmured thoughtfully, examining the shaggy barbarian with interest.
“Still better than Altmer,” I snorted, meeting unanimous support from the assembled officer corps.
Altmer were universally disliked.
Even by other elves.
That’s why they had fled them in their own time.
Us, the Chimer — the future Dunmer — and the Dwemer…
The Snow Elves, by the way, left because of a religious conflict.
The Altmer believed and still believe that purity of blood would bring them closer to Auri-El and the other gods, while we believed in purity of spirit.
And the latter seems to me the more logical theory — after all, who but the God of Time would care nothing for the material, for that which vanishes under the pressure of merciless time?
A small application of Regrowth magic, and the half-baked spy was peeling his eyes open.
And immediately bulging them at the sight of so many elves before him.
O-o-o-oh, what a range of emotions played across his face.
From surprise to hatred, which instantly poured from his mouth: “Cursed elves!
Bastards!
Vile traitors!
Kill me, and I’ll go to Sovngarde with honor!” The strapping lad immediately tried to tear his bonds, but in vain — they were magical, and of a level that could hold even a Dremora — a type of local high demon, if you took the Princes for gods or kings.
Fortunately, over the years I had learned their language.
“Only those who die in battle reach Sovngarde, as far as I recall your beliefs…” I began, exaggerating slightly, since the criteria for entering that Aedric afterlife varied greatly among humans.
“Let’s see if you get there after poison.
Or when you die of hunger and cold…
Or if your immortal soul, your very essence, ends up trapped in a stone by us…” The man fell silent at once and grew a bit frightened, clearly sizing up the expression on my face.
I was too tired to be delicate.
Besides, we had martial law here, effectively, and he was a bona fide enemy spy.
It would be too good for him if we treated him with respect.
“What do you want, vile elf, who wishes to deprive me of Sovngarde?!” the bearded, long-haired man hissed, quieter now.
My gamble on their superstitions about us had paid off.
Wonderful!
“Knowledge.
Let’s keep it simple — you tell me everything you know about your objectives here and everything you know about the current situation in Ysgramor’s camp.” I laid out the offer, and seeing the Atmoran’s jaw drop, I kept talking in the same breath: “In return, I’ll guarantee you an honorable death in battle with me.
With a cursed elf…” I snorted, to the amusement of the other assembled officers.
“And if you tell me everything, your kinsmen will also die in battle, not from poison.
After all, what can we do…
We pathetic snow elves will have to resort to treachery again to match you mighty humans…” There was so much sarcasm in my speech that even my barbaric interlocutor caught it, scowling angrily.
But I had lifted the spirits of the paladin-knights, which had fallen somewhat after the news of Saarthal’s capture.
“How do I know you won’t deceive me, elf?!
You already treacherously deceived Ysgramor and his sons!” The ancestor of the Nords finally put his gray matter to use, but I wasn’t born yesterday — I had an answer ready for that too.
“I’ll give you a weapon and remove your bonds.
And you’ll start talking.
But if you decide to deceive us, just like one of us…” I began to warn him, but I could see in his eyes he wouldn’t deceive us out of spite.
Too proud, like an elf, too full of his own honor.
He didn’t want to be like his hated enemies.
Well, now they were definitely sure Ysgramor had told the truth about Saarthal.
Tsk-tsk.
Bad.
“Then we’ll bind you again and strip your furs, so you freeze to death in agony.
Do.
I.
Make.
Myself.
Clear?” “Clear,” he grunted.
“Untie me, elf, and return my sword.
Then perhaps I’ll tell them in Sovngarde that I met the one honest elf…” Stepping back a couple of meters and signaling to the other paladins, I snapped my fingers, dispelling the Alteration spell, and tossed the Atmoran his greatsword at his feet.
“Talk,” I said, drawing my own flamberge.
“Well, I’ll atone for this in Sovngarde, but listen to me, honest elf…” And the man really did tell me everything calmly, leaving me with mixed feelings.
He had kept his word, and yet a spy should hold his tongue until death…
As for the information…
It was hot indeed.
Ysgramor had decided to hunt giants — giants who had noticed the large crowd of people settling near the humans’ rebuilding Saarthal.
And naturally, they wanted to feast on both the people and their provisions.
Naturally, the Atmorans didn’t like that one bit.
Ysgramor himself, along with his closest men, had gone to deal with the largest tribe.
Nearby, as it happened.
And he had sent watchmen in different directions to be warned of approaching giants or elves.
But they were already underestimating us, having defeated those in Saarthal.
Especially since some bastard had told the humans that we had suffered heavily from the dragons — dragons that they also had, but…
they hadn’t really interfered in the civil war that had been going on before.
On the contrary, they had flown off somewhere to the east.
Hmm…
Akavir, maybe?
They lived there too.
Well, that’s for later.
Perhaps the most important thing he said was that they had filled in that damned sphere.
The nameless Atmoran was quoting Ysgramor, and given that he clearly wasn’t lying…
Wonderful.
Wonderful.
I hadn’t screwed up that part of the canon with my actions.
“I know nothing more.
And I’m not afraid you’ll attack my king,” the watchman declared boldly, gripping his sword tighter.
“He’s killed dozens of you, and he’ll bring you down too, honest elf!” “My name is Feator of House Kaslana.
Pass that name on to your gods,” I couldn’t resist a pompous little phrase.
The situation was just too perfect for it!
“And mine is Bjorn Thorvaldson, called the Bear’s Roar, of the Five Hundred Companions!” the proto-Nord responded without a second thought, matching my grandiosity.
Holy simplicity, honestly…
I didn’t kill the enemy charging at me right away, deciding to assess the approximate level and fighting style of the warriors who had come with Ysgramor.
This one might not be Ysgramor’s best warrior, but being half a warrior myself, I knew perfectly well that the differences from elite fighters wouldn’t be that drastic.
Besides, they don’t let just anyone into the Five Hundred Companions.
Judging by this Bjorn’s words…
I dodged a swing of his greatsword and made a dangerously precise but lazy lunge toward the Atmoran.
…So, according to his words, the legendary Companions were some kind of elite unit of Atmoran warriors, led by a Harbinger, who was usually appointed by the King of Atmora.
That meant they weren’t literally the entire army of the arriving people.
There were about three times as many ordinary warriors.
Well, in theory.
My involuntary informant could be wrong.
The ancestors of the Nords didn’t even have a proper writing system, let alone arithmetic.* * — this is for context, to show how much the Atmorans were really barbarians in canon, by the way.
Only Ysgramor himself, based on elven writing, invented his own runic alphabet.
Meanwhile, in our fight, I was making full use of my mobility and the Atmoran’s clumsiness.
Judging by the pleased faces of my officers and the rank-and-file paladin-knights, they took it as mockery of a laughable enemy, but I was somewhat above that kind of self-affirmation.
And I was understanding the Atmoran fighting style more and more.
I might even publish a manual on it later.
“Honest elf, fight fair!” the northerner roared like an enraged bear, swinging his rail even more furiously.
“I’m an elf — it’s not in my racial nature,” I couldn’t help a cheerful snort, once again ducking my head out from under a horizontal sweep.
“And you people from Atmora — is all you can do brag about strength?
I’ve heard that among your gods there are those distinguished by wisdom and cunning!” “The lot of weaklings and old men!” the watchman growled back in displeasure, still unsuccessfully trying to swat me with his club.
“Overconfidence has ruined many, and race doesn’t matter…” I muttered under my breath, spinning the flamberge in my palm and stepping away from a horizontal swing almost leisurely.
“What are you muttering about, elf?!” the warrior, sweating from exhaustion, shouted at me.
Assessing his condition, I immediately realized he had nothing more to show me in this fight, so I decided to end it on a note of absolute superiority.
Time to fully restore my subordinates’ confidence in their abilities against the Atmorans.
“That,” I replied laconically, transitioning into a calculated attack.
The warrior, not expecting it, let a lunge through to his thigh first, leaving a serious gash, and then another to his cheek, dodging only by instinct.
He hacked at me diagonally in a frenzy, trying to cover as much space as possible with the swing, but I sharply and boldly ducked right on the spot, and another deft lunge traced a wound across the Atmoran’s side.
Look at that blood gush!
With a growl, the ancestor of the Nords charged at me, paying no further attention to it.
Amazing pain tolerance and faith in reaching Sovngarde, and therefore no fear of death.
But that wasn’t enough to outweigh years of my training.
I had wielded a blade in times when he wasn’t even born.
After all, I was already a distinguished pensioner of sixty-five years, heh-heh.
“Wh-what?!” my opponent was quite surprised when, instead of dodging, I met the blow of his greatsword with my own weapon…
and threw the Atmoran himself back.
Where did that strength come from?
Where did the wood come from?
Well, besides the fact that Snow Elves were by no means scrawny weaklings, considering how much our paladin armor weighed.
Besides, to some extent, battle mages could strengthen and fortify their bodies with magic.
At most by a third, and it consumed a huge amount of magic, but the possibility existed.
Besides, I immediately removed the enhancement.
I had already surprised this Bjorn.
And surprising him meant defeating him.
I knew that from personal experience, in both variations of being a participant in that saying.
“Khh-rgh-rgh…” the proto-Nord wheezed, choking on his own blood from the throat pierced by the tip of the flamberge.
“Sweet dreams to you too,” I nodded, and turning around, I called out to my precious and the other paladins: “Vaysi, we have the human leader, possibly a capture — to horse!” After all, even if I didn’t intend to kill the ancestor of Skyrim’s kings, I still needed to talk to him about life and the state of affairs.
At least try, at least try.