Irileth folded her arms over her chest, statuesque in her pose. "You and your siblings should listen, for once. There's a reason you're not being allowed to charge head-first into the lair of those wretched beasts." He stared into her ruby eyes. She'd faced one and lived. He wondered if she was speaking from a will to protect Jarl Balgruuf - and by extension, his children - or from her own fears. Coward, he mentally spat. She blinked. "You think you're so above any of the men who have tried," Irileth began, "but let me tell you, many have died thinking they could take on the same challenge. You are still a boy, you're not yet-" "I'm an adult," Frothar corrected in a sneer, "I'm sure I could handle myself." "You're still a boy," Irileth repeated, slowing her words as though this would make him listen, "you may have come of age in your culture, but I have been all across Tamriel, and have seen plenty a traveler your age torn apart by the world. How many attackers have you personally taken down, on your own, whilst hungry and thirsty? How many days have you spent out of the comfort of your father's castle? How many hunts have you been on, or battles you've survived?" "Irileth," Jarl Balgruuf exhaled, "I think he gets the point." Irileth stepped back, steadying her breath. "My apologies, Jarl." "None needed," he murmured to her, before turning back to his son. "Frothar, Whiterun needs you. Our people need you. One day, you will be leading them, something you cannot do if you go chasing dragons and abandon them. These past years…" He trailed off, inhaled slowly, and spoke with a measure of stone in his voice that failed to rattle his son, "…the people of our Hold need to be able to rely upon a future leader, not watch him go running off after beasts and flights of fancy." "Wouldn't it serve better if I did kill a dragon? They'd know I'm strong, they'd know I'm reliable, then!" Frothar protested, expression betraying his frustration, brow lowered, eyes widened. "Father, let me show our people that I'm just as capable a warrior as you are! Ulfric's practically at our front door, surely this would-" "That's all, Frothar," Balgruuf leveled his voice as well as he could, but the agitation slipped in through every crevice between his teeth. "I will not have you stepping into this war, and I certainly will not let you go off chasing a dragon." Frothar narrowed his dark eyes at his father. His cheeks flushed in the heat of the braziers, and he hoped this did not indicate the blood boiling in his veins. He eyed Irileth and Jarl Balgruuf, and without a word, he turned on his heel and trudged up the stairs, far out of sight of his father and his housecarl.

Athenath stumbled. The world fell away and reformed under them, a new world, the same one, what did it matter? It swayed under his feet, the skies turned to melting gelatin, the clouds brandished heavy lights into their weary eyes. ------- As the world came back to him one piece at a time, he took in the sight before them. Emeros and Wyndrelis, poised in a standoff with the Vigilants. A faint, high humming thrilled the air, nerves spiking the hair on the back of their necks like an electric current run through the five at the statue's foot. Emeros gave one glance back at Athenath, Wyndrelis thickening a spark of magicka into his palm, blue against his fingertips. The Dunmer, too, turned his white irises back to the shorter of the trio, pupils landing dark, scrutinizing pinpricks against the Altmer's apprehension. Wordlessly, they understood. Athenath sprinted down from the statue's footing as lightning sprouted from Wyndrelis' hand, the sounds of battle raging above as they hopped from the stone down to another, until they landed squarely on the ground with a thud, the light of Meridia and the high-pitched whine it radiated calling to him. Pushing open the doors to the temple, they silently prayed to Mara, a plea of understanding. That she would show her compassion, and look down upon her devotee not with revulsion at the Daedric tampering in his fate, but with warmth, with love, with knowing how it was to be backed into a corner. The light of Meridia burned, the shadows split aside, and Athenath pushed forward into the ruined depths.

chapter 28

A foul air hung low around Athenath, thick in the darkness of the temple. Moss overpowered the stones, darkness shrouded in its blinding power, and the stench of decay wafted into the Altmer's senses. Athenath pressed their sleeve to his nose, forcing himself not to gag at the odor. He stepped forward, flinching as the noises of battle shredded the once-quiet air above them, using their sword to break apart spiderwebs that threaded through the temple's corners and crevices. The hair on the back of their neck prickled, skin bumping, spine aching with the all-too-familiar dread that sent a shiver down the column. The lit braziers up ahead offered both peace and terror. A presence had been here. The dark, then, seemed safer than the figure they knew lurked deeper in the temple. Still, he pushed one foot ahead of the other, against stone steps worn and slicked by the ages, into the depths of Meridia's temple, despite the chill radiating around them.

"Kill the Creature, Shed the Blood"

Frothar slashed away at the straw dummy before him, an intensity flaring in his eyes brighter than before, Nelkir's words ringing in his head. The promise of someone who could cover for him. It was almost too good to be true. The rumors perfumed the castle thickly of a dragon, nesting somewhere inside Whiterun Hold. Irileth had been debating the chance to dispatch a unit of guards to check it out, but Proventus and his father advised against it. His father. Frothar tore his helmet off and placed it aside. His father, who feared to lose him, an understandable fear. His father, who forbade him from getting involved in anything too dangerous, afraid to let Frothar out into the world, to watch his son get hurt, to watch his son burn up in the suns of the mountainous province. The Jarl, decorated war veteran, afraid to let Frothar so much as pick up a sword in the name of defending their Hold. He winced at the thought. Did Balgruuf not believe in him? Did the Jarl think he wasn't capable? Frothar had been trained by only the finest soldiers in Whiterun, from Great War veterans to young and talented people whose leadership was prized within the ranks of their guards. Irileth herself had tutored him in the art of wielding a blade, of stalking quietly, of keeping his head level, knowing when to stand down and when to fight. Yet even she denied him this chance to prove himself.

He wanted to kill it. The thing had been terrorizing locals. This was his duty. As the oldest son of Jarl Balgruuf, he should be keeping his people safe, right? Surely this was how things went. This was his duty. But how to approach, how to take it down? Did he even have a real plan, or was this all folly? Frothar swallowed the ball of anxiety lodged firmly in his throat. He watched as the creature slumbered. He wondered if it would have been smarter to grab a bow and some arrows rather than risk it with a sword, but-

He didn't have time to think. The eyes of the creature, hearing a twig snap from a far-off deer - damned deer - thrilled open. The pupils, like slits, widened at the sight and then shrank into long, black lines. Frothar's own gaze went wide as he dashed behind a large stone, missing his death by mere inches as the beast spat fire in a way that sounded like screaming. He covered his ears, the heat searing through the rock, hotter than any summer's sun he'd ever known. He waited. The moment the dragon rose to the skies, he sprinted to another rock, watching as it flung another breath of fire at him, and ducked down low. Gods, what had he been thinking? He'd really been this stupid to march up the side of a mountain to fight a dragon wholly unprepared! He'd done this all for what? And now he was going to die here, he would die on this hill and it wouldn't be for anything or for anyone, just his own selfish fucking- The dragon landed, the ground shivering with the impact. The whole earth repulsed at the feeling of it's existence, the land quaking as the dragon tread one foot in front of the other, wings lightly rising, then lowering, sending waves of dry-sucking heat out around it. "You seek your death, little one?"

The words thrummed through Frothar's chest. Like hearing the sun speak, like feeling every lick of flames against his face. It burned from the inside out, the sound, the way they rattled through him. The words themselves burrowed into his lungs, and he clutched his sword tighter, his own throat closed in fear. Sweat poured out of him, drenching the back of his tunic, his blood racing in his ears so loud he could hardly hear, but the words… He could understand them. It was in no language he'd ever known, a language he would never be able to fully articulate, but it was not with his ears or mind he understood, but something far older. His heart raced, slamming against his sternum, breaths barely having enough time to lodge in his lungs before being pushed out of him again. "Do you come to die? Perhaps your bones will nourish me, child." Frothar knit his brow. His father. He thought of him. He thought of Jarl Balgruuf and how, no matter how many times Frothar proved himself again and again, his father would not let him out of his grasp. Whiterun needed a leader when Balgruuf was gone. It fell on the eldest's shoulders. It fell on his shoulders. It was his duty. Whiterun needed a capable leader, a good leader, a brave leader. He would not die a coward. At the least, he'd go down and he'd do it swinging.

Cycle of the Serpent, Chapter 28

A foul air pitched low through the corridors, thick in the winding depths of the temple. Moss overpowered the stones, shrouded in its blinding dark. The stench of decay wafted through the Altmer's senses. Athenath pressed their sleeve to his nose, forcing himself not to gag at the odor. Meaty and slithering, sweet like overripe fruit trampled under the foot of a count's horses. He stepped forward, flinching as the noises of battle shredded the once-quiet air above them, using their sword to break apart spiderwebs that threaded through the temple's corners and crevices. The hair on the back of their neck prickled, skin bumping, spine aching with the all-too-familiar dread that sent a shiver down the column. The lit braziers up ahead offered both peace and terror. A presence had been here. The dark, then, seemed safer than the figure they knew lurked deeper in the temple. Still, he pushed one foot ahead of the other along the well-worn stones, creeping low as to not draw the attention of whoever - or whatever - had contaminated the temple of Meridia. A burning ache at the back of his throat caught them as they continued forward, caution in every shallow breath they nearly feared to breathe. Guilt should be for later, he told himself, but it threatened them now in here, the guilt of aiding a Daedric Prince. Was what the Vigilants said true? Was this doing the bidding of something that would merely toss them aside when through? It's not like he had a choice. They hadn't seen the light, the Lady of Infinite Energies, the way she hovered as a bright and shining beacon in the skies above Solitude. And Athenath, unfortunately, had. Still, it did little to stop his hand from clutching the amulet of Mara beneath his clothes.

[....] He lowered himself once again, creeping towards it, and picked the lock with ease. For a moment, they were glad that Emeros and Wyndrelis were above, fighting off the Vigilants. It saved him the embarrassment of the other two pointing out the door to the half-distracted Altmer. Then, shame filled his face with red, as he wrapped a hand around the lever. He shouldn't rejoice their absence right now. They were up there, fighting off the Vigilants so that Athenath had a chance to investigate the temple, as they all wanted to. Who knew how the battle above was going? Who could say if his friends were dead or alive? Athenath stifled the thought, smothered it deep until it choked out. There was nothing saying that his friends weren't alive and waiting for him. They had to have hope.

[....]