"There," Hother Blackwood said as he spotted the scouts returning through the darkness.
It was the dead of night, but the full moon hung bright in the sky, spreading silver light across the landscape and casting long shadows through the trees.
Edmyn Tully and Hother Blackwood, along with their most trusted men, waited in the shadow of a copse of trees, their eyes fixed on the narrow passage that led to the Bloody Gate far above.
In the distance, the Mountains of the Moon loomed like giants, their snow-capped peaks gleaming pale in the moonlight, the passes and valleys between them black as pitch.
"Let's hope we have more time," Edmyn said quietly. "The lords of the Bay won't arrive for another week."
"Bah," Hother said dismissively. "We won't need them to beat an army led by a kinslayer. The gods, Old and New, will be with us. The Nine Divines will provide us with greater strength as well."
Edmyn nodded but remained worried, his expression troubled.
The scouts neared their position, and Hother called out impatiently, "Well? What are you waiting for? Report!"
The lead scout straightened immediately. "Twenty thousand men have gathered at the Bloody Gate, my lords. They've begun their march down toward the Saltpans."
Hother laughed, slapping his thigh. "They will be in for a surprise then. Our numbers almost match theirs!"
"You forget the Grafton fleet," Edmyn said sharply. "They can land men behind us."
"We have the Ironborn," Hother countered. "Hoare's ships can deal with Grafton."
"Most of the Ironfleet is still in the Stepstones and also assisting the queen. We only have ten ships here."
He turned his horse and began riding back toward their camp.
Hother followed, his expression puzzled. "Why are you so worried, Tully? We're going to fuck those Vale knights right in their arrogant arses!"
"War is nothing to be jovial about, Hother," Edmyn said. "Men will die, our men, their men, boys who've never seen battle. Let us pray there is less loss of life on our end, and that this madness ends quickly."
Hother grunted at the response, falling silent as they continued their hours-long trek back to the camp.
Their army was spread across the fields south of the Saltpans, fifteen thousand men, with more coming. Campfires dotted the landscape like fallen stars.
They rode into the center, where Edmyn saw Lord Merrick Frey explaining something to a group of nobles and knights. They were gathered around what looked like long wooden staffs, ornately carved and topped with crystals that glowed faintly in different colors: red, blue, and white.
The weapons would give them an advantage. Weapons that could spit fire, ice, and lightning.
Only Merrick had used them before, against the Ironborn during the Rebellion. Edmyn knew the King had originally intended to have specially trained Spectres wield these staffs exclusively, but circumstances had changed. Now they were being distributed to trusted lords and their household knights.
Hother stared as Merrick demonstrated, pointing his staff at a barrel of water. He spoke a word, and ice erupted from the staff's tip, freezing the entire barrel solid in seconds.
The gathered knights murmured in awe and apprehension.
"Oh, those mountain fuckers are fucked," Hother said with savage satisfaction, a grin spreading across his face. "They're coming down here with steel, and we've got gods-blessed magic on our side."
Edmyn couldn't help but smile slightly at that, though his worry didn't fully disappear.
The Vale had numbers and strong positioning. The land they defended was flat, and the Vale cavalry could annihilate them if given the chance.
Edmyn hoped the staves would turn the battle in their favor.
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Odahviing flew through Aetherius, the Immortal Plane, the Far Shores as many named it, the former home of the Daedra and Aedra before the creation of Mundus.
It was a realm of searing light, golden and beautiful . Streams of pure magicka flowed like rivers, and the very substance of the plane seemed to sing with divine energy. Colors existed here that had no names in mortal tongues, and distance and direction were fluid concepts that defied understanding.
Odahviing flew through it, trying to find his master.
He could feel his Dovahkiin's presence, but he felt overwhelmed by the sheer vastness of Aetherius.
Odahviing felt like he was flying in circles, returning to the same points over and over despite choosing different paths. It was a difficult task. Paarthurnax had warned him of this. But Odahviing would see it through. His Thuri had called him, and he would answer. He would go to his master's side, wherever that might be.
Odahviing flew past spirits who avoided him with what might have been fear or respect.
Where are you, Dovahkiin? he thought.
Then he saw it: a dark portal opening ahead of him, a tear in the golden light of Aetherius.
Odahviing stopped and hovered near it, his wings beating slowly to maintain position. Upon further inspection, it felt like a portal to Oblivion rather than somewhere else in Aetherius. More specifically, it felt like it led to the realm of the Mad One.
Hmm. Drem? Should I accept this invitation? Odahviing thought. Could the Mad God know of my Dovahkiin? Is this a trap?
But Odahviing was a dragon, and dragons were not afraid of the Daedra. They were children of Akatosh, fragments of Time itself. The Daedric Princes might be powerful, but they could not truly threaten a Dov.
Odahviing folded his wings and dove through the portal, and within seconds he found himself flying over a beautiful garden: flowers that bloomed into butterflies, trees that grew downward with roots in the sky, and a sun and moon existing simultaneously in different parts of the heavens. And there, in the center of a clearing, stood the Mad One himself.
Sheogorath.
Odahviing landed near him. He stared at the Daedric Prince, his eyes unblinking.
"Oh! Oh, oh, oh! I knew you couldn't resist!" Sheogorath said gleefully, dancing over to the dragon with exaggerated prancing steps. "A dragon! In my realm! How delightfully unexpected! Or was it expected? I forget which. Both? Neither? The cheese will decide!"
"Cease your foolishness and tell me why you have invited me here, Mad One."
"As much as I would like to entertain you like this," Sheogorath said, his voice suddenly becoming more lucid, "I believe it would be better if my... other side... spoke with you. The sane one. Well, 'sane' is such a relative term, isn't it?"
Odahviing watched as Sheogorath transformed before his eyes.
The Mad God's form shifted, becoming female, taller, and darker-skinned. The mismatched clothing became golden armor. The Staff of Madness became a sword at her hip.
A Redguard, Odahviing recognized.
The woman finally spoke, looking up at Odahviing.
"What is this?" Odahviing asked. "Who are you?"
"Sheogorath, of course," she said. "Oh, you mean what I look like now? Well, this was what I looked like before I... became him." She took a deep breath "Let's not talk about that. It's rare that I can take this form."
"Hmm," Odahviing rumbled. "I ask again. Why have you brought me here?"
"You're looking for the Dragonborn, aren't you?" she said directly.
"Geh. Yes. Do you know where he is?"
"I know very well where he is," she said, "because I am the one who rescued him. He now lives in a new world, free of the horrible fate that awaited him in Nirn."
Odahviing's eyes narrowed. "You took him? Why? All believe he is dead. As did I, until I heard his call."
"Oh, I know how it works, dragon," she said, her voice bitter. "Heroes chosen to defeat the great evil threatening all of Tamriel. Used and discarded."
She began to pace.
"The Eternal Champion who defeated Jagar Tharn. The mysterious Agent who caused the Warp in the West and saved all of Nirn from the Numidium. The Nerevarine..." She paused. "Heroes who were discarded after sacrificing so much for all..."
She looked back at Odahviing.
"I know it very well myself...."
Her voice grew softer.
"The fate that awaited your Dragonborn was a horrid one. So I saved him. Perhaps it was my oath as a Blade in my old life. I had failed to save Martin, and I did not want to fail another Dragonborn. So yes, I took him and gave him a happier ending."
"I see," Odahviing said slowly.
"I do not even know what will happen to the next poor bastard," she continued, almost to herself. "Someone will have to stop the Thalmor and their stupid plot to break the Towers, and I am sure he will be discarded as well after... well, if he is successful, that is...."
"What?" Odahviing said, genuinely shocked. "Wo lost ont? The Towers are in danger?"
"Do not worry about that," she said quickly. "There is a reason why some of my siblings are very interested in the new world the Dragonborn now inhabits. They sense opportunity there. In a way, I saved that world by bringing the Dragonborn there. His presence also protects the inhabitants from them to some degree...."
"Beh," Odahviing scoffed. "You and your kind are no match for us Dov."
"I am sure that is what you believe," she said carefully. "But there are some weapons that can be used against you, aren't there?"
"Daar los neh. There are none," Odahviing said with absolute certainty. "Only a dragon can permanently kill another dragon."
"You have much to learn of what happened after your fall during the Dragon War."
"This event was also wiped away during a Dragon Break, so no one in Tamriel now would know of it. The records of it were erased, the memories scattered across different timelines. But I remember. Sheogorath remembers everything."
She gestured, and images began to form in the air around them.
"In the early First Era, during the height of Dwemer power, Clan Kragen in Skyrim found themselves in a prolonged and brutal conflict with the Nordic kingdoms. The war had reached a critical turning point when the Nords united under a Dragonborn chieftain named Hakon Dragon-Tongue, who commanded not only mortal armies but also the loyalty of several dragons who had survived the Dragon War and chosen to side with mortals."
The images showed a powerful Nord warrior, his voice shaking mountains, dragons flying at his command.
"The Dwemer were on the verge of total defeat. Hakon was so powerful that their tonal weapons, their constructs, their mechanical beasts, none of it could stand against him. He was breaking their holds one by one, and the dragons with him were burning their cities."
"So, to defeat him, the Dwemer broke their own sacred rules. They looked to the Daedra and stole from Hermaeus Mora, and found the dark knowledge needed to create the ultimate weapon against the Dovah."
Odahviing scoffed at that.
"The result was the Voknau. The Brass Dragon, a mechanical monstrosity powered by a massive soul gem. A gem that held thousands upon thousands of souls. Some say the creators sacrificed themselves for its awakening. A weapon designed not just to fight and defeat dragons, but to truly kill them."
"Qostiid!" Odahviing snarled. "This blasphemous thing is no match for the Dovah! We are fragments of Aka-Tusk, children of Time itself!"
"It could even mimic the Thu'um," she said.
"Impossible," Odahviing snarled.
"Through tonal architecture, through manipulating the underlying tones of reality itself, it could replicate the effects of dragon shouts."
She met his eyes.
"But what made it truly dangerous, what made it a weapon that could threaten even the mightiest Dov, was that it could absorb dragon souls."
"Het!" Odahviing roared.
"Quite possible, I'm afraid," she said sadly. "The Brass Dragon was unleashed against Hakon. And it killed him. Absorbed his Dragonborn soul, something that should have been impossible, something that violated the very laws established by Akatosh. But the Dwemer had found a way, with Mora's help."
The images showed a terrible battle: a mechanical dragon fighting against living ones, against a Dragonborn who unleashed shout after shout, only to watch them matched by tonal manipulation.
"It killed several of the dragons who served Hakon as well. It even helped the Dwemer trap other dragons for their experiments. Some of the Dovah ended up imprisoned in Blackreach. I believe the Dragonborn killed one of them when he ventured there."
She paused.
"If not for the Dragon Break that followed, these events would be as widely known and discussed as the Numidium. But the Break erased them from most timelines, made it so that it never quite happened and yet still did."
"And it came into the hands of Hermaeus Mora," Odahviing said slowly.
"Yes. Hermaeus claimed the weapon for himself. He could never use it in Nirn, of course. But in this new world, he could finally unleash its terrible power...."
"Zu'u fent nis. I must go," Odahviing said, his voice carrying urgency. "My Thuri needs me. Bring me to him, Mad One. He needs me at his side if he is to face this abomination."
"Are you certain you wish to go to the Dragonborn's side?" she asked. "The journey is... irreversible in some ways."
"Geh. Yes. I am certain," Odahviing said without hesitation. "Now bring me to him."
"Very well," she said solemnly. "But know this: only your soul shall arrive in this new world. Your body will not survive the crossing. The physical form you wear now will burn away in the transition."
Before Odahviing could respond or reconsider, she raised her hands and transformed back into Sheogorath's maddened form.
"GOOD LUCK, DRAGON!" Sheogorath cackled. "Don't scare the locals too much! Or do! It's more fun that way! AHAHAHAHAHA! Snort! Cheese for everyone! Or no one! Depends on the weather! HAHAHAHA!"
Odahviing's body was pulled into a portal.
As he traveled through it, he felt his physical form beginning to burn away. His scales, his wings, his claws, all of it dissolved. The pain was immense but temporary. What remained was his eternal dragon soul, his essence, the core of what made him Odahviing.
I am a DOV. This cannot end me.
The portal opened into a very dark and shadowy realm. Odahviing's soul, blazing with golden fire and radiance, lit up the entire place like a second sun being born.
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"Well, there it is," Jace said as the ship stopped some distance away from land.
Harald stood at the bow, watching the two towers before him rise against the sky. One was the Hightower itself, that massive ancient structure that dwarfed everything around it, with its blazing fire at the top, a beacon that could be seen for leagues in all directions, guiding ships safely to port. Beside it stood the Citadel, considerably smaller but still imposing in its own right.
His heart was still heavy from what Hermaeus had revealed to him.
A weapon Mora had been able to bring to this world. A weapon supposedly made by the Dwemer specifically to fight a Dragonborn.
It was here, Harald concluded. Perhaps inside the Citadel itself.
"Why have we stopped?" Harald asked.
"Oh, this ship will be spotted by the harbourguards if we get any closer," Jace said casually, leaning against the railing. "Pissed them off once. Well, more than once. Several times, actually. There was an incident involving the harbor master's daughter, some stolen wine, and a rather unfortunate misunderstanding about whose ship was whose..."
"You could have mentioned this before," Harald said dryly.
"What, lose a chance to get the gold you offered me?" Jace grinned.
"I will row to shore then," Harald said.
"Already waiting for you," Jace said, gesturing to where two of his crew had already lowered the rowboat into the water. "I'll wait for you here if you want."
"No," Harald said, pausing as he prepared to climb down. "If you wish, return to the Stepstones. Help me in keeping my newly won islands safe and piracy-free. Perhaps it is time you turned to a more honest living, Jace."
Jace was quiet for a moment, his usual joviality fading.
"I'll... think about it," he said finally. "Honest living. Strange concept for someone like me. But I'll think about it."
Harald nodded and climbed down into the rowboat.
He took up the oars and began to row toward the shore. Behind him, Jace's ship began to turn, preparing to move back out into deeper waters.
The city of Oldtown grew larger and larger as he rowed forward.
The Order slept, not knowing their enemy was at their gates.
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The woman was the Hero of Kvatch, the protagonist of Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, who eventually ended up mantling and becoming Sheogorath.
Harald v. "Urrax" will have very catastrophic and permanent consequences for the world.
Like... parts of Westeros are gonna to break off.
It begins in the next chapter and that will be posted at the beginning of next month.