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Chapter Text

     Green eyes, golden skin, tall frame, sharp build. Good traits of a good Altmer. Squared shoulders, thick tail, brown hair, horns flat to the head. Bad traits of a filthy half blood. A cross that shouldn’t be. A wretched dilution of pure, high quality, Elven blood. So well taught from youth, that Auriel can’t help but agree, despite carrying these such sinful traits. It’s hardly fair, he didn’t choose his mother to be a lizard, nor his father a traitor of what he could have been.  Argonians aren’t meant to dirty Altmer bloodlines. Keep your “Lusty Argonian Maid” fantasy to your fantasies. He was hated for a thing out of his control. Though through years of work, he’d gained a bit of respect. People talk about him behind his back, rather than to his face. Alinor was never going to be kind to him. He knew that the day he was born. That was all in the past now, wasn’t it? Auri-El had picked something for him, strewn him from the light of the Dominion. His bitterness was resigned. 

     In the back of a filthy carriage, horse drawn on rough roads, is not the place to be. Not in a province that scorned your kind. Not when being a Mer was the worst mistake you could have ever made. Not with a far-too-calm Nord in the garb of that stupid rebellion, thinking you’re a genetic oddity and a friend. Not when you’re told you sit directly next to Ulfric Stormcloak, who leads a group that wants you dead. Not when you’re Altmer. A Thalmor-aligned, better than most, half blood Altmer.

    “Hey, you, you’re finally awake.”

      It takes effort to not roll his eyes. So he puts no effort in. He’s been awake, the roads of Skyrim aren’t kind on his body. There are bruises on every part of him that has contact with the unfinished wood he’s stuck sitting on. He’s simply above talking to Nords. Much less Talos worshippers. Especially not Stormcloaks. In the past, he did question his fellows on that; Why does it matter? He no longer holds that hesitance, he hates Talos. Auriel hardly listens, nonetheless he catches the Nord’s name: Ralof. Ugly name. Fitting, he supposes. Non-compliance gives you stress lines. Even if compliance was a joke. 

…

    “Sir, I assure you there is no Talos worship here-”

    “Silence, Lizard.”

    “I’m not-!”

    “Silence.”

Silence.

      Anxious green eyes meet cold Justiciar armor. He sees his fear in the reflection off of that untouched gold. The mer below that armor has never even actually fought in it. That’s more disgraceful than his own mixed blood. Grabbed by his hair and dragged out of his caravan, manhandled to imminent arrest. Hot tears spring up and it takes much of his past training to reel himself in and settle for the cold expression he’s learned. 

     His face meets the hem of Justiciar robes, knees pressed to cold dirt that bites through his newest set of trousers. He feels the rocks scuff his freshly shined boots. He can smell the leather of his superior’s own. His hair, long, brown, beautifully taken care of, carefully braided, is tugged harshly. His head cranes up to meet greenish-gold eyes, stealing into his. His neck already aches. The Thalmor are less kind to Altmer prisoners. You’d think the opposite, but an Elf is not too kind on betrayal. So he is treated to righteous Mer cruelty.  

     A mocking tilt to his head.

     “You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people, what say you in your defense?” The hooded Justiciar mocks, pulling a sharp laugh afterwards. “No, no, I jest. Auriel, you’ve been arrested on behalf of the Thalmor, for accused Talos worship. And, personally, I wouldn’t put it above a lizard to be anything such as loyal to his own people. So you are arrested without trial, and are to be executed with haste.”

     “You know my na-” A kick to the back of the head quiets him once more.  He knows his place.

     “Who doesn’t know the black mark on Alinor’s perfection?” The Justiciar barks. Loathing woven into every word he speaks. But it’s a fair retort. Who doesn’t know him?

…

     He pouts the whole way to Helgen. The Justiciars cut his hair. He refuses, out of spite, to admire the forests around him. He knows what this is. He won’t avoid a quick death.  Auriel glares at everyone who’s just come to watch. Harder so at every soldier he sees amongst the common. He almost cries when he sees Elenwen. That conniving little- she was not here for the Nord. Their first class ride to Helgen slows to a halt before the keep, he can tell by the large tower, and the clearing made to just emphasize how small these prisoners are. The chopping block sits unimpressive in the center, and Auriel can smell the drying blood. It’s noon, the sun beats down and sucks the moisture out of everything. It smells like rot.  

     All four prisoners in the cart are instructed to get out. Ralof grumbles something bitter towards the Empire. Auriel scoffs. He’s far too worked up trying to be poetic. Nothing he has to say matters anymore.That Imperial, who he’d agreed with slightly more, if not for his utter lack of a spine, kept babbling about how he wasn’t  with them. Fool. They are called up by name and residence: Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead. Lokir tries, oh it’s almost admirable, tries to run off. The Imperial Captain has him shot down before he can make it to the gate. Then the soldier, who’d been reading the list, turns to him. He stares back.

      He's asked who he is.

     “Auriel. High Elf.  And, Argonian.” The mer bites out the last part. His tail sways in frustration. 

     “Both..?” The soldier who asked seems unsure what to do with that. 

     “Regard me as Altmer, Imperial.” 

     The soldier, Hadvar, nods. “You’re not with the Thalmor Embassy, are you? No, that can’t be right..” He almost laughs. Auriel shoots a sidelong glare in Elenwen’s direction. No, not with the Thalmor. Hadvar looks at his list of names. “Captain, he’s not on the list.”

     “Forget the list, send him to the block.” She seems quite bored, with her average Morndas of beheading people, traitor or otherwise.

     “I will make sure your remains are returned to Summerset Isles. Follow the Captain.” It is then that he is shoved into a line. Again, Ralof speaks. Ulfric gets himself given a little speech, the special guy that he is. There is a distant noise that is commented on, but not addressed. Some other heretic is called up, and somebody- probably Ralof, who won’t shut up, compliments his confidence. Ah yes, the ever impressive confidence of telling a priestess to shut up and kill you quicker. Sure. Auriel is called up next. Lizard. He’s tossed  to the ground again. Knees into earth softer than his arrest.  He feels the sand indented  where those before him have rested in fear. He has a cold will to not be absolutely terrified. A grimace. The sand is soft, not because it is warm, but because it is soaked with blood. He frowns but doesn’t protest when he is pushed onto the block. A scoff at the blood, sticky to his jaw. The Imperial General, Tullius, says something he refuses to hear. There was another sound- louder. Grating on his ears. 

     SLAM.

     Rubble flicked across Auriel’s face. His head was angled to the side, away from the crowd. His eyes strained against the sudden heat in the air. He felt that. Auriel’s body lurched uncomfortably into the block, rubbing against his neck. A stormcloak soldier exclaimed likely the most obvious detail about the whole ordeal:    

     "A dragon!"

     Yes, you dolt, everyone in Helgen could see the massive scaled creature, claws through tough stone bricks like it's no more than stale bread. Its body is larger than any one of these houses, and its serpentine neck is elongated like it rules the world. Auriel suspects it might. Black scales, chipped from battles thousands of years prior, reflect almost no light. Leathery looking wings almost block out the sun. The beast's horns look knife sharp, and they’re twisted almost like a crown. The way they curve is particularly intimidating. Auriel, who was directly below where the thing is perched can only do so much as have his face calm. Inside, clear by his heaving chest, he is panicking. He has absolutely no chance of survival here. It would take a miracle. He’d need a prophecy.

     Or a little bit of staring at the dragon and his 'get the hell up and move!' Sense kicking in. He jolts up, tripping over his feet. Having his hands tied isn't very helpful, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Auriel just runs, stumbling from lack of balance. The dragon taking off from the tower almost knocked him backwards and into the fallen corpse of the man before him. But he manages, and is quickly intercepted by Ralof. The Nord said something, but Auriel didn't hear it; the dragon breathed fire onto a nearby house with an ear splitting roar. He follows Ralof reluctantly, his tail flicking nervously at the idea of trusting a Nord, no less a Stormcloak. A bad idea, since that skeever-for-brains asks him to jump out of a hole in the wall. Of a crumbling tower. Into a  burning house. It’s at least 12 feet down. He can't argue though, until that damned dragon breaths flames into said hole in the wall and almost kills him. 

     "You're absolutely beyond insane, if you're asking me to jump THIS!" He exclaims, gesturing at the large gap. 

     "You'll make it, just go, damn it, before that thing comes back and decides Thalmor Lizards are it's taste!" Auriel almost slaps him, but opts for reluctantly flinging himself out of the window. It goes HORRIBLY.

     His face catches on a burning rafter and splits open over his left eye. It misses his actual eye, but it hurts. He slams uncomfortably into the floorboards. He can feel hot blood spill sluggishly. Luckily,because it's so nightmarishly hot everywhere, it manages to close up faster than usual. Not healed by any means, but it's oozing rather than streaming over his skin. It hurts, and there is so much blood. In his eye. He can feel it in slow, sticky trails down his face and neck. He can only smell iron, which is better than burning flesh. He just gets up and runs, despite the bleeding. The prickle of heat of his bare arms distracts from the pain. And when given a choice of who to run off with, he picks the sane looking Hadvar this time. And an Imperial guarantees him a better chance of survival. 

     Hadvar waited restlessly in front of the door, dragging him inward. Auriel would think it rude, were he not focused on keeping himself alive. They stopped just inside the keep, time that Auriel took to calm himself back down, to actually pay attention to his surroundings. 

     The air in the keep was pleasantly cool and damp on his face and arms. Every inhale made him dizzy, as his lungs adjusted to the changes. He felt sick, his limbs tingled, now that adrenaline was slipping away and blood moved back through his veins normally. He knew he swayed on his feet, as Hadvar steadied him with hot hands on his arms. Auriel flinched away, trying helplessly to focus his vision. Was it panic or pain that had his nose stinging with the threat of tears. He couldn’t hear. Were his breaths coming in short? Was he still standing? Hadvar cut the ropes around his wrists, which immediately went up into his hair. Usually, he fiddled with his braid. But that was gone now, wasn’t it. His voice sounded broken when he realized. He was unsure if it was blood or tears dribbling down his face. He didn’t know when he came back down, his head had been pounding and his blurry vision didn’t allow him to remember the time passed.

     “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it. Gods, was that really a dragon? We should keep moving. Grab what you can, I’m sure there’s something laying around here for you to use.” Auriel took a shuddering breath in, feeling his feet around like a newborn foal. He clenched his hands over the cold stones in the wall, desperately seeking something solid to keep himself tethered. It wasn’t often that he felt so lost. The last time, well.. It was too long ago to remember. He found a couple iron swords, which he set down on a table for after he’d gotten better armor. He found a chest, pushing it open to find some Imperial light armors. It hadn’t changed much since he had to learn its appearance. Auriel fumbled with all the straps, but he got it on over his itchy tunic. Same with a helmet and boots. Unfortunately, no gloves or gauntlets. His hands would forgive him. The twin blades were strapped to his waist, and he gave Hadvar an affirmative nod. He grabbed a small stack of coins on a table, and shoved a potion into the bag on his hip that came with his armor. The city was too destroyed to salvage, bandits would overtake the ruins. He was allowed to take what he needed. 

     It was a lot of fighting through Stormcloaks. He got more potions, and some lockpicks. He got a warhammer- iron- and a weak looking bow. With that bow, he shot a bear- he thought to sell the pelt later. He would need coin to stay alive. He pushed through a cave exit, which was highly convenient for him, and came out somewhere outside of Helgen. Hadvar was with him, looking disheveled and nervous. He hadn’t noticed the imperial following him the whole time. 

     “Is it still following us? We should lay low for now, in case it comes back.” He offered Auriel a soft smile, which was given a pained scowl in return. “Come here, friend. Let’s clean you up.” He approached slowly. Auriel leaned away gently when Hadvar’s hand reached out to hold his face steady. Something about not wanting to be touched by a lesser race. Not his fear of vulnerability, he didn’t have one of those. Cyrodiil was not nice about voices, assuming that’s where the imperial was from. That or Hadvar just got really unlucky. Anyways, he does a fast job of pouring some water on a rag and wiping Auriel's face down. He feels less hot and sticky out of the keep, so he supposes he can't complain too much about a human man touching him. He sighs, and runs a hand through now short hair. He thinks to keep his hair short now, it would help hide his identity. Not that he was hard to find. He hoped the injury over his eye scarred smoothly. He valued his appearance.

     Hadvar gestures for him to follow, promising that he’d get aid from his uncle. He needed it, regrettably.  For now, he just walks, a step or two behind Hadvar. He said he'd take Auriel to his hometown, Riverwood, and see where to go from there. Now, Auriel did not really want to be a fighter, but he didn’t have much of a choice from here, having the Thalmor as an enemy had a few notable downsides- fighting to keep living or hiding indefinitely were your only chances of survival. He knew what happened to the unfortunate chumps who were captured by high Elven supremacists. He himself was slightly lean at the waist, that's the elf, but he is broad. And tall. He can't help but admit he looks like the fighter type. He is not. He is the type to lounge about and stare obviously at Dunmer men, and shyly at the women. 

     They make an uneventful walk to Riverwood. The roads in Skyrim are never safe, but it is generally safer to walk during the day. He's been in Skyrim before, the only real threat in the woods are.. well the list is long, he admits. But most of them are only a threat at night. They made it quickly to the town, where Hadvar carefully led a still silent Auriel to the Blacksmiths shop. Alvor was your typical nord, which caused him to eye Hadvar curiously. He’d been sure the man was from Cyrodiil, but perhaps not. Auriel tried not to stare at the obvious muscle in the middle aged man's arms. A bad habit. He gets some armor, zones out through some probably important conversation, and gets snapped back to reality when he's told to go somewhere. 

     "Huh?"

     "Go to Whiterun- the Jarl needs to know about this."

     "Oh uh.. okay? I could do with more glory."

     "Is being a messenger boy glorious?"

     "I'll just do something great on the way."

     "Whatever you say, boy."

     Yes, whatever he says. Auriel feels a bit ruffled by Alvor not immediately telling him he's right. He supposes he shouldn't expect much from an arguably attractive Nord. If they're pretty, they probably aren't the most reasonable. Except for himself. And maybe a few other people. He's proven himself wrong yet again. 

     Auriel does as any glory seeking Elf would- snoop around the town. It’s an impulsive habit from snooping for Talos worship. He encountered what some may call a love triangle. It was more of a love arrow, two men after the same lady. Idiotic nord man versus some Bosmer named Faendal. He would love to make a Bosmer's day worse, but Auriel doesn't like the nord, Sven. He hands him a letter, one he wrote himself to try and make his muse hate the competition. Trying to sabotage something that should come naturally. Auriel is always one for watching people do poorly, but he doesn't trifle with love. He has some morals. So he takes Sven's note to the girl, and reports his findings. 

    "Mh, excuse me? I have something that may interest you. Sven, that.. interesting looking nord down by the entrance of your town? He wanted me to give you this." The girl- Camilla, tilted her head curiously. Her jaw dropped at the spitting contents of the letter. “Oh- right. He said for me to tell you it was from Faendal? Not that I know who that is, but I pity him.”

    "This… Sven wanted me to think this was from Faendal? I- I’m sure he’d want to thank you for doing this for him. He should be just outside the town, by the mill." Auriel almost giggled. He adored getting things for doing nothing. 

    "It was my pleasure~" He purred, a content smile melting over his face like it was always there. Never one to deny himself a reward, Auriel goes to find this Faendal. Based on his minimal knowledge of Skyrim, he assumed he was towards the center of the province- in Whiterun hold. That would make it likely that Faendal is the only Bosmer in the town. They were more common in poorer towns. Altmer- Like himself, were far more prevalent in the richer cities. Except for Windhelm. He made sure to know where he was unwanted. 

     Auriel found Faendal crossing a small bridge with an armful of firewood. Hm. Attractive young mer. He looks about Auriel’s age. Auriel was 200 now, what.. middle aged? Hardly. He rolls his eyes and engages in regretful conversation. No matter. He gets a hefty sum of coins and leaves, footfalls heavier than usual. 

     His snooping wasn’t over. He walked absently back into the small shop where he’d met Camilla. Auriel had walked in on her and her brother arguing the first time, and was fully intending to figure out why. 

     The door pushed open with a soft creak. The wood beneath his hand is a reminder that he was really there, warding off the tingly feeling that had reached his fingertips. It was cooler in the shop now, probably due to the ice wraith teeth that Camilla was crushing on the alchemist's workbench. Her brother, Lucan, was counting the pitiful number of coins on the counter. Her brother was the one Auriel wanted to talk to. Emotional- perfect for worming answers out of.

     “Lucan Valerius, yes?” He didn’t bother to say hi. Lucan looked up, flashing an ugly smile that Auriel wished he hadn’t seen. 

     “That’s me, yes. You were in here earlier, to talk to my dear sister, right? Came back to buy something?” He leaned on his elbows and tilted his head. Auriel stepped forward hoping his disgust wasn’t too evident. Not that he really cared.

     “Maybe.. I’ll admit my motives aren’t purchase related, though. I walked in here earlier and never got to talk to the owner of the only general goods store in town. But you were in a bit of an argument w

Chapter Text

Auriel had already deemed himself not a man of hard endeavors. The ache in his bones solidified that. He was from Alinor, a temperate, warm, glorious island. Skyrim was cold. He grimaced as snow squished under his foot. He found the strange crunch annoying. It was equally, if not more so, unpleasant that the wind always seemed to be blowing here. It nipped at his face and bit the tips of his ears.
He rounded a corner, thoroughly upset at the fact that he’d let himself accept this. It wasn’t worth what.. the 200 gold he’d be getting? He should be getting upwards of 400 for something this dumb. Around this bend he saw a tower. It wasn’t impressive, but it was there. Honestly, he would have just walked through if he hadn’t faintly heard a voice on the wind.
“Stupid boss.. makin’ us camp up ‘ere in the cold. Ain’t even got trade through ‘ere. ‘E don’ know a damned thing ‘bout the routes we should be takin’.” Auriel grimaced. The voice of the unintelligent. He crouched next to a rock, and tilted his head against it to catch his breath.
It wasn’t ideal, but he thought he might be able to shoot them down with his bow. It’d been a while, but perhaps he could hone his skills again. Since he’d be hiding from the Thalmor, and they were better fighters at a close range.
He drew his bow, a flimsy thing, and knocked it with some iron arrows he’d gotten back in Helgen. The wind whipped snow across the large space between himself and the bandit. It took a while to see the man.
Auriel focused, he had to, and aimed his bow. He dearly hoped he still had the talent of his younger years. It wasn’t a hard shot, the nord was a wide, brutish man. Large, slow moving. The arrow whizzed away from him, slotting straight through the man's eyebrows. The crunch of iron shattering bone echoed. So did the soft thud of his body hitting the floor.
A duo of bandits emerged, all nords. A woman in fur armor was easily shot down. Their archer, however, had seen him. Soon enough, arrows were barely missing his face. He sighed. This was not ideal. Crossing his bow over his shoulder, Auriel ran down the sheer cliff slope. He hadn’t noticed that the mountain path he was on would suddenly drop off like that.
An arrow hit his shoulder, not getting stuck, but denting his armor and impacting hard enough to hurt. He hissed.
“Damn it.” Auriel’s voice was tense. He almost slipped on the crumbling stone bridge into the tower. For as much adrenaline was in his veins, the fight was quick. He ran up behind the archer and knocked him over the table. It creaked uncomfortably under the new weight atop it. Auriel ran his sword under the leather armor and into the ribs of the bandit he fought. Warm blood spilled over his blade and to the floor. It started as a rush of blood, but rapidly turned to a sluggish river of the sticky substance.
He grimaced, wiping a speck of blood from his cheek. He had to huff snow to get the heady scent of blood out of his nose. Auriel quickly looted the bodies, and the one chest in the place. He got some coin and steel arrows, an upgrade from the softer iron ones he carried. But he kept both, just in case.
The cold bit through the scales on his tail, an unwelcome reminder of the thing. It felt heavy. And he himself felt sluggish. Downsides of being semi-cold blooded.(His blood retained heat longer than the average argonian, but didn’t stay warm.)
Auriel turned the corner as best he could for all the ice on the paths, and came upon a building of nearly incomprehensible size. Obviously, logically, he’d seen larger structures, but this was.. compact. Old. Ruins, yes, but stable. He’d never seen such large structures that were simply a ruin of the past. The implication of the size of this crypt in its glory days was admittedly scarier than the current visual before him. He couldn’t deny the thrill that it sent through him.
He was rudely interrupted by an arrow whizzing past his head. “What-” He’d only barely managed to lean out of the way. More bandits. By Auri-El… He hissed and darted behind a rock. Shabby hiding spot, but an arrow couldn’t pierce through a solid boulder.
“Where’d you go… I saw you…” They sounded like a skooma addict. Auriel rolled his eyes. Lucky for him, his internal body temperature was currently so low that his breath was making only a faint puff of smoke in the air. The bandit rounded the corner, only to have a sword rammed through his chest. Auriel had to curl up to the body reluctantly for warmth. He did the same with the other bandits hanging around, and then to the bandits inside. That was harder, two of them, one of him, in a silent chamber that should echo his every step.
“Fire!” Auriel grinned, trudging over and collapsing near the fire. He groaned, feeling the chill slowly dissipate from his veins. He laid there for almost an hour- those bums in riverwood could wait for their stupid claw. Once he felt warmth return to his chest, and energy reentered his body, he got back up and started moving again.
The whole thing was mostly the same- bandits, which turned into these freaky ancient looking corpses that were alive again. Draugr, if he remembered his lessons on Nordic culture. Not that it was an interesting lesson, but he could appreciate a lengthy past and the merethic era generally. They spoke a dead language to him, haha. Dragon, he guessed. Most Draugr were semi-important to dragons and that was why they’d been retained after death.
This was fine and dandy until he came upon a spider. A large spider. A giant spider. Auriel hated spiders. Too many legs and too many eyes, plus they’re always stupidly big in Skyrim. But this was pushing it by a lot. And there was a Dunmer caught in some webs that was screaming at him to kill the spider.
“Get it away from me! Get it away!” Auriel was compelled to let the spider eat him. “Keep it away from me!” Jeez he’s loud.. “Don’t let it get me! He-!”
“Shut up! By the gods, let me focus on the spider in front of me and stop blabbing my ear off!” Auriel shouted from across the room. The Dunmer shut his mouth. It was an annoying fight besides that, poison was painful and kept getting in his bad eye. But he managed to kill it. When the thing fell, he took the venom with him, and walked over to the elf strung up in webs.
“Don’t leave me here, for Arkay’s sake!” He snapped.
“You bring Arkay to plead for help from someone who doesn’t worship him. How silly.” Oh it felt good to have this kind of upper hand again.
“Let me down, Lizard!” Oh? Auriel grabbed his face, and removed his helmet.
“Do I look like a Lizard to you?”
“The tail-” His hold tightened.
“-Means nothing. Regard me as one mer to another.” He felt anger seep into his muscles, twitching to break this Dunmer’s jaw. He put his helmet back on. “Where’s the Golden Claw?” That got a reaction.
“Let me down and I’ll tell you.” Pathetic work.
“No, you have it, don’t you? Give it over. I’m being paid to get this thing, and I’m really not looking to run your pockets to fill my own.” This was taking too long. He hated dealing with the other races- so unreasonable.
“Well how am I supposed to do that from here? Cut me down, or you’ll never get the claw!”
“By Auri-El, shut your mouth. I’ll cut you down.” Auriel hissed. “Tell me your name first so I can curse you when you lie.”
“Arvel.” People have the stupidest names.
“Well… Arvel. You’d better give me what you stole.” He was highly skeptical. Arvel didn’t respond, simply grunted indignantly. “I’m going to find a dagger. I think I passed one back there.” Auriel walked off, easily finding an iron dagger just outside the little area the spider was in. He returned and carefully cut some of the thick webbing around Arvel. It took the Dunmer about two seconds of being cut down to shout in triumph and scurry off.
“You bastard!” Auriel shouted after him. He heard the gurgle of draugr- ancient Nords who’d been granted renewal of life by the dragons as a service to them. They protected the burials, of course. But more importantly, they got in the way. This time around, they’d taken to dying via their own traps, and killing Arvel as they went. “Run through the notoriously booby trapped crypt they say- Run carelessly into a catacomb, they say. Do favors for the less fortunate, they say.” Auriel groaned bitterly to himself as he picked off the last few undead and nudged them off to the sides. While he wasn’t above reaching elbow deep into an urn for a few coins- he was certainly above putting his claws anywhere near the rotting, mummified flesh of a draugr. The warhammer and bow that'd flung themselves into the wall? Well, the dead thing wasn't touching them anymore, so they were free to take. Goodbye, iron sword, farewell hunting bow!
Arvel wasn't rotting yet. Auriel could loot a fresh corpse. They were still arm- he could pretend he was pickpocketing a sleeping person. It didn’t take long to find the hefty gold claw in his knapsack. How he ran with it was beyond him. What he came upon was a room- dumb, by the way, with a puzzle. Or so he assumed.
There were three pedestal type structures in front of a lever. All with animal symbols carved into each of its three sides: a whale, a snake, and a hawk. Luckily, the puzzle was easy. Above the door, on the wall, were two human faces with the same animals carved into their open mouths. The third had fallen to the floor- made evident by the identical face that was in a pile of its own rubble nearby.
“Hmm. What a coincide-ah!” Auriel leapt back. There'd been a man. Hiding. Sort of. A bandit, but he was lurking off in the dark. He'd chosen right then to lunge out at the mer taller than him by at least a head. “You imbecile!” His feet fell harder than expected on the old stone, as he pulled out his new(old) warhammer. By the gods it was hefty. But it did the job- he slammed the thing into the bandit's side and heard the ribs crack. “Eugh.. pathetic men. So easily harmed.. I wouldn't let my ribs be broken..” He found himself believing poetry was easy as he cracked the blunt warhammer down over the man's unfortunate skull. Blood splattered.
The immediate wave of metal that hit his nose was.. becoming normal. No less disgusting. Auriel returned to solving the puzzle, and scurried from the room as fast as he could. Mockery or not, he hated killing.
The rest of the dungeon was simple- until he got to The Room.
To put it simply, this place was.. small? But impressive. A stone platform stood opposite where he entered, with a sarcophagus, some tables, and a few urns sat. On that very same platform was this large wall structure, not even to the ceiling, that had carvings on it. A dead language, perhaps. Not one he easily recognized though it seemed familiar. A rapidly running stream cut the land between him and this platform apart. A bridge and logs seemed the best ways across.
Auriel tried to take in the scene optimistically.
“Something is going to escape that coffin thing.” he glared at it as he made his way towards the wall. It beckoned him. And so did that saucy little chest that was sitting nearby. He tried to give the very obviously a trap a wide berth, but he only managed to fish a necklace out of the chest before he heard the lid pop off. “Divines give me peace.”
“Unslaad Krosis..” The draugr, evidently stronger and intending to guard the tomb, gargled.
“You'll find that I have no idea what you just said to me, creepy corpse thing-” Auriel retorted, narrowly dodging a powerful swing. “You should really-” The warhammer made contact with rotten flesh, “learn-” he rolled out of the way of the creature's powerful voice. “How to regulate your temper!” Auriel smashed the ancient metal into the draugr, who was snarling and gurgling at him. He ran back towards the stream to put some distance between him and the draugr.
“Qiilaan us dilon!” Auriel didn't have a nearby gibberish translator, so he took the garbling as a threat. He drew his bow and aimed awkwardly for his approaching target. The long distance back and forth went on for some time, till the living corpse was knocked over and Auriel could afford to slam down his warhammer. The body fell far heavier than he expected- maybe something to do with what looked to be a stone lodged under its armor. Auriel forced himself to check. His face contorted into confusion,
“What in oblivion is this?” He scoffed. “A heavy rock? Oh. A carved heavy rock. I'll sell it in Whiterun.” He put the stone into his satchel and returned to the big wall. A sort of power flooded his senses- he was just trying to pick up loot.. No matter. Auriel didn't linger much longer, and scurried out of the barrow.

Chapter Text

Auriel was exhausted. Adrenaline did not last forever. Actually, it wore out halfway down a mountain. His feet ached, but he pressed on. Money was no joke.
“Lucan.” Gods, even he could hear the rasp in his voice. “Lucan I got the claw.” He pulled the golden claw from his satchel and set it down on the vendor's counter with a thud.
“You found it?” Lucan laughed. Awkwardly.“Strange... it seems smaller than I remembered. Funny thing, huh? I'm going to put this back where it belongs. I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me and my sister.” Auriel thought the claw was too big. Lucan was quite insecure. But he couldn’t complain when a sack of 400 gold was pushed into his hands.
“Of course, friend. If you need me, I'm sure I won't be difficult to find.” He hummed, and slipped out of the shop. He came back moments later to buy some bread.
Auriel ate quietly as he walked towards Whiterun. He needed to go there, and so he would. Maybe more gold would be involved. No matter. On foot, the trip took him the rest of the night. He slept outside, near the horses, when he eventually found the stables. Then he made his way inside.
Whiterun was about as busy as he guessed. The streets weren't lined with people upon entering, but there were a fair few people there once he made his way into the open market. Four stalls, selling food, armor, jewelry, and more food.There were also other stores in the building opposite the stalls. A general goods store and an apothecary. He deemed these of no importance to his cause, and pushed towards the building that towered above the rest of Whiterun.
Auriel got stares, obviously. Halflings are usually killed at birth. Eyes on him were unwelcome but not unexpected. Especially beast folk. He ignored them, though.
He couldn't ignore the.. disgraceful statue, though. A monument of heretical ideology, accompanied by a stout man who screamed far too loud about his faith. How had Elenwen let this go unnoticed? The man said something about Elves, and Auriel almost demanded that he be arrested. He definitely turns on Heimskr quickly, wide eyed with anger. But he stays quiet. Though full of rage, he seethes in silence on his way up to Dragonsreach.
His anger is subdued once inside the great building. It would be impolite to be bitter in the company of a Jarl. Perhaps his anger was now replaced with the same anxiety he felt at his arrest.
Authority really reminded him that he truly was just a scrawny little Half-Elf. He'd barely gained any muscle from his little walk, just a soreness. Auriel felt like prey, though the abundance of maids and warm faces lifted the edge.
Auriel’s tail bumped against a chair, drawing attention to him. He couldn't go one second being out of the center stage? He shuffled away from the chair and strided up to the throne. No Jarl.
"What.. where in Auri-El's name is that man..?" Auriel grumbled. Yes, named after a God. The Chief Aldmeri God. So graciously used against him. Damn his father and his surface level knowledge.
...
"Oh yes, Auri-El is one of your gods, maybe he'll become something of legend if we name him as such!"
"Darling.. I fear he might be scorned for it, he's a disgrace to my people-"
"Do not call my son a disgrace."
There was a tense pause, Aryanwen's face scrunched in resigned worry, her husband’s face defensive.
"The people will see him as nothing but."
...
His mother had some sense, she was right. Aryanwen, the idiot she was for bedding a lizard, knew her people. She knew the Aldmeri Dominion, she was well aware that Auriel would be treated like scum. It wasn't wrong to try to instill the child in Argonian Society, but Thalmor soldiers found out and brought the infant to Alinor, where he was raised after far too many arguments about him being killed. No, this did not affect him or his security in himself in any way. He was very confident and loved himself quite enough. He didn't have to prove himself to everyone he met, he just wanted to make sure that they truly understood his obvious superiority.
Auriel turned to a strong Dunmer woman, who'd been eyeing him like a lion for the few minutes he stewed in memories.
"You there, Dunmer. Where is your Jarl?" She turned on him, cautionary red eyes quickly scanning him for any sign of threat. She didn't relax in the slightest when she deemed him not an issue, but her tight shoulders pushed back. Her posture straightened, and she regarded him calmly.
"Jarl Balgruuf is busy. Is your need for him urgent?" He groaned.
"Divines bless me.." Auriel sighed, and looked impatiently at the Dunmer. "I have information regarding the safety of Riverwood, and I was instructed by the citizens of said small town to come to the Jarl and aid them." He prided himself in that sentence. Being a Thalmor Justiciar for a century made you quite good at formal conversation. Oh he sounded so formal and important. The Dark Elf paused, her lips pulling into a thin line. She turned to a guard and snapped at him to fetch the Jarl.
"He will see you momentarily. You better not be lying. I'll slit your throat."
"Yes, yes, of course, I'll hold you to that.” he shifted from foot to foot, before speaking up again.”How did a Dunmer come to be a housecarl..?" Nords weren't exactly... fond, to put it softly, of Mer, especially not Dunmer. "Grey-skins" they were called. Dunmer weren't the most classy of Mer, nothing compared to Altmer, but still. He could admit even the cousin race to his own was not deserving of the treatment they got.
"Balgruuf and I share a battle bond. We met as youths, and forged our friendship in the fires of war. When he became Jarl, I insisted on serving as his protector. He had no cause to argue." Auriel nodded. Irileth eyed him suspiciously. "And how did a Thalmor siding fool like yourself end up doing errands for small towns?" Rude.
"I am not.. Thalmor siding." She gave him a disbelieving look. He shot her a pointed look back. "How do you know what my allegiances are?" He tilted his head up and away. She snorted at him and shook her head. Insolent Dunmer, did she know who she was talking to? ... Perhaps she did. Auriel opened his mouth to respond, but the voice of a Nord cut through the tense air.
"Irileth? Who is this?" Auriel whipped his head to the side, locking eyes onto the source of the voice. Before him stood an average looking Nord man. Blonde, blue eyes, equally blonde beard. He was wearing expensive looking clothes. And a circlet of some sort. Gods above that man looked tired. He should sleep more.(Auriel wasn't one to pray to Daedra, but he hoped Vaermina put him to sleep for a good while, to get his youth back. Though Vaermina might just plague him with restless sleep and nightmares.) Irileth shrugged at presumably Jarl Balgruuf.
"Young man-"
"Mer." Auriel snapped over her. "And I'm 200."
"Adult Mer," She rolled her eyes at him. "Who says he has important information regarding the Dragon attack at Helgen." Balgruuf grunts as he sits on his throne. He stared at Auriel, who stared back, unimpressed.
"I would say I do have important information. I was there, I was under attack by that danger to humanity." Auriel shook his head, faking some form of sad emotion. "I got this nasty scar from it.." He gestured to the scabbed over gashes on his face. Balgruuf seemed sympathetic. "It flew towards Riverwood, and they're so.. vulnerable. It spoke, too, so it must have thought- I mean, they ruled over the world millenia ago. It was horrible, so many lives lost at Helgen, and that was a walled fort." He was being a bit dramatic, Irileth was eyeing him suspiciously. Auriel eyed her back. Balgruuf muttered something, shaking his head in worry. He dismissed Irileth for something, and she walked off begrudgingly.
"I'll send out men to Riverwood, thank you, sir." Balgruuf sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Balgruuf then asked Auriel to come see the court Wizard, Farengar. Said he had something for the Elf to do. Farengar Secret-Fire, the horribly unimpressive Nord mage, stood in all his boot-licking glory surrounded by research. Auriel looked in bored disapproval upon the mage, who turned up to lock eyes with the halfling. He seemed a bit surprised, and exchanged some words with the Jarl before turning to Auriel.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there." Auriel felt his brain dry out as the man spoke. He blinked slowly at the pale skinned man before him, thinking that this guy looked distinctly like he never left caves full of frostbite spiders for more than a day a week. He exhaled in frustration, not at all happy he had to keep talking to this guy.
“Listen just.. Where am I going? What am I fetching?” Farengar grinned, and it might’ve been one of the uglier things he’s had to see. He had weird facial hair that made him look simply creepy, and his slimy sounding voice didn’t help much. The Nordic accent did nothing to cover his weird drawls and bad attempts at humor. His blue robes were hooded over his face, making him just look odd and slightly off putting rather than mysterious.
"Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?" Auriel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Farengar proved to be someone he never actually wanted to talk to. Ever. “Please stop liking that.. You creep..” Auriel thought to himself as he grimaced.
“So…” He hoped he didn’t sound too uncomfortable, “What do you need me to do?” He really hoped it wasn’t some wild quest that’d take him ages to do. He brushed some dust off of his armor as Farengar got increasingly more excited about the subject. The mage managed, somehow, to stay controlled and professional, but the giddiness of anyone this invested in dragons was clear as a well casted magelight.
"I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself." Auriel hummed at this, well that made life easy. He had that thing. Probably. Stone tablet in Bleak Falls Barrow? In the main chamber? Well well well, he had a tablet, made of stone, wiiiith some carvings on it, that he found in the aforementioned crypt. He pulled his bag off his shoulders, dug through it, and pulled out the stone. With his bag back on his back, he held it out.
“This thing?” It was snatched from his outstretched hand, and inspected thoroughly. Auriel huffed at the frantic display. So rude, for no reason. He was an Altmer, and an ex Thalmor Justiciar, and should be treated with respect! He clicked his tongue, reminding himself to forget his involvement with the Thalmor. He was better than them, too. Besides, he didn’t have many good memories from back then.

"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You already found it! You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me." Auriel couldn’t help but preen at the praise from this strange little man. He hummed in thanks, though he really didn’t want to thank a nord. Upon handing the stone to Farengar, Irileth shouted something about dragon sightings, telling the mage to follow her, and also requesting Auriel’s presence.

“There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here. But I haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. As a token of my esteem, I instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please accept this gift from my personal armory.” He almost sighed. He was so sick of being told what to do. How would him being there even help? He saw the dragon, he didn’t fight the thing, damnnit! Fighting a dragon would get him glory, shove it to the Thalmor. But not if he died. Then he’d be dragon food, which is decidedly worse than not getting glory. He was handed some crappy imperial armor, which he tossed into the water outside of Dragonsreach at his nearest convenience.
Auriel relented under the scrutinizing gaze of Irileth, by Auri-El she was scary. He walked a walk of imminent doom and shame to his family all the way down to the Western Watchtower, grumbling and moping the whole way there. He almost fought Irileth, when she scolded him for his “Mammoth dung” attitude. Irileth had spent some time motivating her men, which Auriel took to lead ahead and make it to the tower early. When he got there, the watchtower was in ruins. He could only imagine that the building had been quite useful, when it wasn’t burning and losing structure. Auriel guessed it’d be left in ruin as a sort of historical monument. Stupid Nords and their stupid honor. He thought to himself. Made no sense to keep a useless watchtower out of sentiment. In the Aldmeri Dominion, they rebuilt anything that’d been in ruin. To some extent. Thalmor troops didn’t try anything on Aldmeri owned territory in Valenwood or Elsweyr. Which wasn’t Elsweyr anymore. But Auriel hadn’t cared much for what the Dominion did with Khajiit. He stared at the ruins, ignoring the pang he felt in his chest. What were the last moments of the soldiers who died like? It was not what they wanted, that much was true. He suspected two or three men were dead at the hands of the dragon that had attacked. The first one dead was maybe thinking about mead, or when his shift would end. Not of his family, or his honor. The second perhaps prayed, and wished his closest a long life, while he burnt alive. It was one thing to die in battle, Auriel knew those men died fighting for a cause, thinking of their friends and family. They died for something. Not.. like this. War was hardly an honorable thing, he’d seen the fields after a battle. But they died for a reason. Perhaps a futile one, but they died with a fire in their bones that not even war could crush. These men died wondering if they’d arrest another sweetroll thief. He pushed it down. He only felt bad because he imagined them as Elves, yes. That was it. Not because he felt compassion for others. That’d be weird.
“Watch out!” Auriel snapped out of his muddied thoughts to sidestep a beam of fire. He’d narrowly missed a death similar to the men he was just thinking of. Irileth had shown up, she was the one who yelled at him.
“By Xarxes will, I go down memorable..” Auriel grimaced, drawing his bow. He hadn’t used a bow in a while, he hoped he still held onto his training. He missed most of his shots at the dragon. It wasn’t nearly as large as the one at Helgen, but it was large. It roared, and Auriel could make out its name. Mirmulnir. How did he make out its name? A mirage of roars forming a tangible name on his tongue. It sounded foreign. “Mirmulnir..?” He let it roll out of his mouth. The dragon above roared in response.
"You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor." Mirmulnir shouted, as he razed fire over the guards. Never in their lives had they seen such a beast. Auriel scrambled for the watchtower. He wasn’t a warrior! A justiciar, someone who was told things and talked about it. He argued and knew magic. Yes, he was also taught how to use weapons. Didn’t mean he had the skills to fight a dragon! Auriel tripped over another guard. He didn’t feel worthy. He felt like a worm, to this wyrm. He laughed to himself, paranoia creeping up his throat in the form of bile. He threw up on the stairs, and staggered as he pushed forwards. He was not at all prepared for this fight. As he reached the top of the crumbling stone tower, he stared at the dragon. He felt a calling, akin to when he approached those weird runes in Bleak Falls Barrow. Fighting that draugr death overlord thing had been terrifying, so he just assumed the runes that he’d read were some ancient tribute to the guy. I mean, the word force had stood out to him, he assumed that’s what the wall had been chanting. Just in whatever forgotten language the runes were written in. So why did he feel that tug to the dragon?
“I am absolutely not brave! Why’re you talking to me?!” Auriel exclaimed, drawing his bow. He landed an arrow in the beast’s wing joint. It screeched, spitting fire at the poor mer. It hurt so bad. His skin remained unscathed, somehow. He yelled in pain. “Ow! What was that for!?” He was a bit mad now. He had gotten some decent weapons in Bleak Falls Barrow, namely a decent bow and some arrows, paired with a heavy Nordic looking Warhammer. Ancient Nordic. He hefted it off of his back and ran down the stairs of the tower. A few guard arrows forced the thing to the ground anyway. With some random adrenaline rush that he didn’t stop to question, Auriel slammed the thing down over Mirmulnir’s skull. It recoiled, hissing. Then its jaws snapped forward to retaliate, crushing his ribs a bit. He smashed its jaw with the blunt warhammer, then again over the nose, and a final time between its eyes.
“Dovahkiin, no..” Mirmulnir growled, as the life faded from its large eyes. Slowly, scales started to sizzle, skin flaking. It began to burn, a horrid stench of charred flesh that lingered only for a moment as it went up in flames. Auriel barely heard the sound of the guards’ shock. Twisting lines, glowing, blue and orange and white, pure light, poured into him. He felt his chest grow tight, a pain that had him doubling over. He gasped, though it sounded more like the snarl of a dragon. From his knees, Auriel looked up at the flame bleached bones of Mirmulnir. He heard a loud chant in his ears, then a sound akin to wind. It left his head pounding, and soon all he could hear was heartbeat and blood rushing. He coughed, trying to rid his lungs of whatever that was, to no avail. Gloved hands fell into the sand dusted grass below him. Something deep inside him, that he couldn’t identify, roared in a primal, ancient sort of greed he’d never before felt. Like his soul itself had consumed all that was Mirmulnir, taken his name and knowledge, his flesh and organs, his thousands of years. This dragon was subservient to the one in Helgen. It was a fact he had no evidence for. This dragon had been a monster, and had returned with the one he encountered just days ago. Never dead- which was important for some reason. Though the knowledge didn’t leave him, he felt that consumed essence escape the claws of whatever laid in the writings of Auriel’s making. Irileth, once again, shook him from his stupor. She grabbed him roughly and tugged him to his feet. He wobbled slightly.
“Dovahkiin…” Auriel spoke softly to himself. It was a title awarded to him by this dragon. He knew not what it stood for. He pressed a breath out through his teeth. Looking up at Irileth really brought him back, even if her red eyes reminded him of Mirmulnir. A guard stole his attention, blabbering at him directly. Through his adrenaline crash, and the now prominent pain in his body, he managed to collect a few things from this guard:

He was “Dragonborn” Or Dovahkiin in dragon tongue (makes sense now)
He could Shout (Tried. Very scary. Only staggered a guard? Loud. Fus means Force.)
Somebody knew that he’d killed Mirmulnir, only known to him because the ground genuinely shook with the force of a house crumbling, and very loud yelling in what he now assumed was Dragon (Draconic? Dragon tongue? The Voice?)
He should probably go to Balgruuf again, cause the dragon is very dead now.
Auriel sighed, resigning to the fact that his fourth realization was probably most urgent. He ignored Irileth’s chatter about not believing him, in regards to the whole Dragonborn thing, trudging up, all the damn way, to Dragonsreach. He pushed past some townsfolk, not really caring for their disgruntled comments. His legs ached as he walked up the stairs to Dragonsreach. So many stairs… He almost tripped over his tail as he shoved the heavy palace doors open. Honestly, it was a blur. Despite the walk being almost 20 minutes up, it felt like a blink of an eye. He’d moved on autopilot, steps assured as the ground under his feet. Sounds had turned to white noise, the only thing he was aware of, really, was his sight. Even that was subconscious; Auriel simply moved out of the way of things in his way. He came to when the temperature of the air changed- Dragonsreach was cooler, less humid. He looked around, taking note of the few maids. Then he walked towards the tables, only now scooting the chair he’d hit earlier back into place. His eyes landed on the throne: no Jarl. Auriel groaned.
“This is nonsense.” He spat to himself. He leaned on a post, and waited for a few minutes. Eventually, the Jarl did show his face, coming to sit with a huff in his throne. Aufriel strode up to him, prepared to speak. Balgruuf got there first.
"So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?" Balgruuf seemed to already know, that much was obvious by the expectant look on his face. Auriel nodded. His armor was confirmation enough, the furs under his iron plates were singed at the end from Mirmulnir’s fire.
“It’s dead now. And apparently I’m Dragonborn.. Whatever that means.” The Jarl hummed, lips forming a thin line. He thought over the fact for a moment, speaking in an annoyingly hushed voice about that earth shaking Shout that Auriel suspected half of Tamriel heard.The mer strained to hear what Balgruuf was saying, but only caught little bits of things. Eventually, Balgruuf looked up, running his fingers through greying blonde hair.
“If you are Dragonborn, then the Greybeards will want to see you as soon as possible.” Is what the Nord finally settled for actually pronouncing. And of course, it was something that made zero sense. Auriel had briefly heard of the Greybeards, but if they wanted to see him, where in Oblivion was he meant to go? Balgruuf clearly caught on to the bitter confusion on Auriel’s face. “They live in a fort on top of the Throat of the World. The 7,000 steps is the only way up, so you should make your way there with haste. It starts off near Ivarstead, for reference. Northeast of Helgen.” He did end up marking Ivarstead on Auriel’s map, who was particularly grumpy the whole time, till he got outside of Dragonsreach.
“Get a mer arrested, and suddenly he's walking the whole province of Skyrim.” Auriel rolled up his map and shoved it into his bag. He stopped by one of the stalls to stock up on food, and once more to check the prices of horses. Too expensive for him. So Auriel began to walk.