TIRED, RETIRED - Retired to Skyrim 5

Zelda, in Falkreath

In the morning, Zelda found a man in the graveyard, standing over the vampire’s grave while muttering to himself. He was dressed in fine furs and he looked vaguely familiar, and he was suspicious enough that Zelda found herself sneaking up behind him.

“...So it is true…” he was mumbling, “I need to find some way to deal with him…”

“If you’re talking about the vampire,” Zelda said, perhaps a little more loudly than needed, “It’s already been taken care of.”

He jumped with a gasp, turning to face her with one hand clutched over his chest. “Damnit, woman, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Then what she said registered and his expression shifted. “What do you mean, taken care of?”

Zelda smiled. “It burst out of its grave in front of us last night, so I dealt with it.” She tapped her new boots together.

He gave them only a glance, starting to sweat. “‘Us?’”

Runil stuck his head out of the Hall of the Dead. “Zelda, is something--Dengeir? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, you’re the Jarl’s uncle?” Zelda asked. “My condolences. Are you well? You’re awfully pale…”

--------------

As it turned out, the vampire had been Vighar, an ancestor of Dengeir and Siddgeir’s family that their line had been charged with keeping sealed away in his grave. Getting even that much out of the old man had been like pulling teeth, and Zelda was honestly baffled as to why he was so resistant to sharing the information, especially now that it was a non-issue.

“A non-issue?” Dengeir asked incredulously. “There are now three people outside of the family who know about this shamefulness, and one of them actually lives in Falkreath!”

“Yes,” Zelda said slowly. “And if they had known about it beforehand, perhaps you could have ended the threat much earlier.”

“Bah!” Dengeir huffed and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t understand. If this information got out, it would ruin the family name. As much as I dislike Siddgeir, at least it’s still our family in the Jarl’s seat…”

Zelda’s expression turned hard. “I understand the need for reputation perfectly fine, Mr. Dengeir. But as ruler, former or otherwise, your first priority should always be to your people. If you have to take a hit to your popularity to keep them safe and prepared, then you take the hit.”

Dengeir scowled, but didn’t argue the point. Zelda could definitely see how he and Siddgeir were related.

“I certainly would have liked to know about the master vampire in my graveyard,” Runil said coldly. “What if Miss Zelda hadn’t been here? I haven’t seen battle in years, and Vinora isn’t a combat mage. If it had been only one or even both of us out there, I can’t say with certainty that we would have survived.”

Dengeir sighed, frustrated. “Alright, alright. I get it. What’s it going to take to make you lot keep quiet about this?”

Vinora snorted. “Honestly, all I want is passage out of this place. If you’ve got a fast horse, I’ll take it. You can even send a man to fetch it from Solitude afterwards. I just want to get home.”

“Done. Runil?”

The Altmer chuckled darkly. “Oh, we’ll be having words about that, believe me. A sizable donation, perhaps. It would be nice to get a second building out here, so Kust and I don’t have to share the same room.”

Dengeir groaned. “Wonderful. I can feel my wallet crying out already. And you, girl?”

“I really don’t know why having a vampire ancestor is such a big deal,” Zelda said. It was a real sticking point for her; this whole… ‘sins of the ancestors’ charade that Dengeir had going on. “One of my predecessors was a pirate, and nobody cared that her kids became nobles.”

“A pirate is a swashbuckling rogue with a twinkle in their eye and a penchant for bringing new and exciting goods into port,” Dengeir explained impatiently. “After enough time they’re a fun story to tell at parties. A vampire is a monster. You can’t romanticize a vampire.”

Vinora coughed into her hand, looking away.

“How did this even happen?” Zelda pressed, curious. “You said you were keeping him sealed away, so what changed?”

Dengeir shuffled, looking uncomfortable. “Someone stole the wardstone keeping him asleep. I don’t know how, I only noticed it this morning. It must have happened while I was getting dinner at the inn…”

“And then you were too drunk to notice it was gone when you got home,” Vinora finished sarcastically.

The Hylian’s ears perked up at the mention of a ward. “A wardstone, hm? How does that work? You said it was keeping him asleep, but can it do other things? What does it--”

“I don’t know,” Dengeir cut her off, looking disgruntled. “I’m no mage, girl. All I know is that it kept working as long as no one moved it. My home was built around it for that very reason.”

“That’s a shame,” Zelda said, disappointed.

The old Jarl gave her an appraising look. “You’re interested in magic then, are you?” He slipped his necklace off and handed it to her. “Could this buy your silence?” As she accepted it, he went on. “It’s enchanted, something I bought to deal with my health in my old age. It--”

“Ooh, interesting,” Zelda interrupted. “I’m new to this style of magic, but if I’m interpreting this correctly, it acts as a vitality enhancer of some sort?”

“I--yes, of some sort. It’s a health enchantment. If you wear it, you’re harder to kill,” Dengeir said.

Zelda slipped it on. “Oh, it almost functions as a temporary heart container. Maybe two.”

“A what?”

“Yes, this is fascinating,” Zelda said. “I won’t mention it to anyone, even if I think the secrecy is pointless.”

“Fine then.” Dengeir stood with a grunt. “Come on then, priestess. Let’s get you your horse.”

“Finally.” Vinora followed him out. “Thank you for your hospitality, Runil.” She paused in the door and turned to Zelda. “...Good luck, I suppose.”

“Safe travels,” Zelda returned.

After the door closed, Runil wiped most of the annoyance off his face and gave Zelda a smile. “You know, if you really want to learn magic, you should go to the College of Winterhold.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Skyrim folk aren’t too fond of magic, but that place is the exception. I’m afraid I was a battlemage in the old days, which meant I cared less about how the magic worked and more about what it did to my foes. If you really want to learn, the College is the place to go.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Zelda decided. “Do you have a map?”

“No, but it’s not hard to find. Just keep walking north and you’ll find a sign pointing you the right way eventually.” Runil grabbed her hand and shook it. “It’s been wonderful meeting you, young lady, if strange. I thank you for destroying that monster last night. The Gods have plans for you, I can feel it.”

Zelda’s smile turned lopsided. “They do, do they? I suppose I’ll see for myself.”

They said their final goodbyes, and Zelda finally left Falkreath, taking the north road before following the river east.

--------------------------------

Link and Jo’kir, in the Brittleshin Hills

“The wolves in this country are ridiculous.”

The moment they crossed the bridge out of Riverwood, a lone wolf had jumped them and Jo’kir had set it on fire. The animal hardly noticed, barely whining before continuing to snarl at them. Link broke its neck with the flat of his sword and then they started climbing the mountain path.

“They are ugly beasts, no?” Jo’kir said. “Shaggy and unkempt. I am not a dog person, as you might have guessed.”

“It seems like you can’t step foot outside a town without getting attacked by wolves,” Link continued, snatching a few red berries as they passed a bush. “Back home, they avoided people. A smart wolf was one that stayed far away from civilization.”

“Jo’kir would hardly call this land civilized,” he said haughtily. “But if one were to guess, one would say that Skyrim is a savage place. It has a reputation for brutality. The people are fighters, the animals are vicious.” His ear twitched. “And sometimes, the animals are fighters and the people are vicious. Like so.”

Jo’kir pointed ahead of them, where a lone tower leaned over the side of the mountain. Link’s eyes narrowed. “Monsters?”

“The worst sort of monster, yes?” Jo’kir paused dramatically. “Man.”

A rough-looking man in armor was resting against a tree. A woman with a bow paced back and forth over the bridge to the tower. Another in full plate sat at the top of the tower, staring off into the distance.

Link stared for a minute, then continued up the trail. “Well, I don’t fight regular people if I can help it.” He walked past a tree, and an arrow embedded itself in the trunk behind him.

“Alas,” Jo’kir said. “They do not share your scruples.”

Across the way, the archer lowered her bow with a sneer. “Aw, c’mon! Not even going to say hi?”

Link turned slowly to face her, looking exasperated. “Please just let us pass.”

“Haha! Scared, brat?” The armored man drew a greatsword that Link scowled at the sight of. It was poorly maintained--he hadn’t even cleaned the blood off it. “We’ll let you pass, sure. If you pay the toll.”

“Do you get much business out here?” Link asked suddenly. “The townsfolk tell ghost stories about the dungeon--”

“Barrow,” Jo’kir said.

“--so I don’t think you get much foot traffic out here.”

The bandit’s good humor dropped. “Yeah, well, what do you know?”

The archer nocked another arrow. “Okay, that’s enough banter. Hand over the goods or else.”

Link glanced from them to, presumably, the boss up top. She didn’t seem to have noticed anything. “Sorry, the store isn’t open yet. I’m still getting my supplies together, but if you really want I can sell you a dagger for a good price.”

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here. Let me make it clear.” The archer shifted, aiming between Jo’kir’s eyes, and let loose.

Link shoved him out of the way without looking away from the bandits. “This is your second warning. Let us pass, please.”

The bandits blinked and exchanged confused looks. “Uh, kid?” the swordsman started, “That’s supposed to be our line.”

“Forget it. I’ll take it off your corpse.”

Link sighed. Then a piece of curved wood appeared in his hand. Jo’kir jumped, but before he could ask what it was, the curved stick flew.

“Wha--” It knocked the bow out of the woman’s hands, then turned in a tight curve to smack her in the face once, twice, and thrice.

“What in Oblivion?” The warrior gaped, and then Link had suddenly crossed the distance to be in arm’s reach. Reflexively, he swung his greatsword, which Link ducked under, and then things happened very, very fast.

Jo’kir had been running over to help, but he came to a stop about halfway, brow furrowed as he attempted to process the order of events. Link had avoided the sword, and then just sort of blurred, and now the bandit was down on the ground, groaning. Scratching his head, the Khajiit could only respond with an “Um?”

Link shrugged. He inspected their foes’ weapons with noticeable scorn, then snapped them over his knee, one after another, keeping the arrows for himself. “Let’s keep going.”

Jo’kir put his axe away, looking over the bandits uncertainly. The archer made a pained noise. The cat looked at his axe, then hurried after Link.

“So, ah, what was that piece of wood?”

“It’s called a boomerang,” Link said. “And thank you for reminding me.” He held out his hand and the weapon returned to his hand from wherever it had been, causing Jo’kir to double-take.

“It’s an impressively unorthodox tool. An interesting use of magic.”

“Oh, it’s not--” Link stopped and inspected the boomerang more closely. “Actually maybe it is magic. Huh.”

“You didn’t know?” Jo’kir was incredulous. “How could you not know? There’s no other way for it to change its course mid-air like that!”

“It’s never crossed my mind to question it before.” Link shrugged, putting it away. “It’s useful and they keep turning up, and I always had more pressing matters to deal with. I got lucky with this one, actually. Sure, it doesn’t kick up tornados--”

The cat man stopped, bewildered. “It what--”

“But it’s not one of the ones that only hit one target before returning, those ones suck.”

Jo’kir strode in front of Link and pointed an accusatory claw at him. “You are being purposefully oblique!”

Link gave him what he probably thought of as a mysterious mentor smile. Jo’kir thought he looked annoyingly smug.

As they climbed the Brittleshins they’d crossed the snowline, and the wind was kicking up minor flurries. It couldn’t quite be called a snowstorm, but it did affect visibility. Now, the barrow loomed over them.

“I wonder what the dungeon will be like. Ice?”

“Why would there be ice in the tunnels? Most of it is underground.” Jo’kir shook his head.

“Well of course. It’s a dungeon.”

Jo’kir threw his arms up in dismay. “You keep using that word. Khajiit thinks you do not know what it means.”

“It’s really simple,” Link said. “It’s usually a great big underground structure with a mild-to-moderately complicated layout and doors locked by puzzles, and they always have a theme to them. There’s a big room at the end with a strong monster guarding… something.” Link gestured vaguely. “And you typically get an item at the halfway point that’s necessary to finish the gauntlet.”

The Khajiit squinted as he absorbed that. “...Well. I don’t think you’re going to find all that here. Once again, this is a city-sized mausoleum that time has buried.” He paused. “Why call it a dungeon? A dungeon is a prison.”

“I don’t know when that became the term, it just is. And I think we should wait and see.”

They walked up the stairs to the main platform. Three more bandits, dressed mostly in furs for warmth, noticed them and immediately attacked.

This time, Link stepped aside and watched Jo’kir fight.

The cat clashed against a short man with a mace. He managed to knock it aside with his axe and then buried his weapon in the man’s thigh. His leg gave out and he fell, bleeding. The next fighter swung a warhammer, but completely whiffed. The weight of the hammer threw off his balance, and Jo’kir retaliated. First he kicked the man’s knee in, then bashed his head in.

Link nodded at his form. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but he was gratified that he was at least trying to take Link’s lessons to heart. Jo’kir would get better with time.

Next came the archer. Jo’kir grunted as an arrow sprouted from his shoulder, but he impressed Link by powering through and bringing up his other arm. A small ball of fire shot out, hitting the archer in the chest and knocking her off her feet--and off the barrow.

Link clapped. “Not bad.”

Jo’kir looked disgruntled at the praise, but accepted it. “But of course, I am a natural,” he said lightly.

“Do you want help with the arr--Oh, I guess not.”

The cat gripped the arrow by the shaft and ripped it out, arrowhead and all. Then, while Link watched wide-eyed, he surrounded himself with a white light and his wounds sealed themselves up without leaving a scar.

Link stepped back, reevaluating things. “...That’s handy. What else can you do?”

Jo’kir smirked. “This one favors fire, but any mage who cannot heal themselves is a fool in my eyes.”

“I always try to keep some healing items on me, certainly,” Link agreed. They turned to face the doors to the Bleak Falls Barrow. “Ready?”

“It would be pitiful to turn around now.” He shivered. “And get out of this cold…”

Link actually laughed at that. “Cold? At least you’ve got fur! Come on.”

----------------------

The first stretch of the dungeon was… boring, in Link’s opinion. The entrance hall having two big pillars right in the middle wasn’t a very attractive design, as it prevented them from seeing across the room and taking in the full scale of the hall… but on the other hand, maybe that was the point? It was more defensible that way, he supposed. Still, it didn’t do much to help the two living bandits sitting around the fire. They were down and out before they even knew what hit them.

“You’re always gonna find chests in a dungeon,” Link said, pointing out the wooden trunk in the corner. “Sometimes they have helpful items, like a map or a spare weapon, but sometimes they just have money.”

“...It is locked,” Jo’kir reported. “And sadly this one has no lockpicks.” He tilted his head. “Link, you are a blacksmith, yes? Have you any tools that I could use?”

“Well, I have these lockpicks,” Link said, a set of four appearing between his fingers.

Jo’kir stared at him, then accepted the picks wordlessly.

“Alvor insisted that they were useful to have,” Link added while Jo’kir worked. “Everyone needs them, and they’re cheap to make since you always have little leftover bits after forging. I don’t have a use for them, though.” He chuckled. “I can’t even use a key without breaking it.”

“Ha.” The chest popped open. “Hm… An iron sword and… fourteen septims.”

“There you go. Weapon and money.”

The hall after the entrance was long and winding. Whatever branching paths it had once had were lost to collapses, and all the containers they found were empty. Jo’kir scolded him for digging in burial urns, but whatever organs they once held weren’t even dust anymore. Jo’kir didn’t seem to take that as reassurance.

In an effort to distract himself, Jo’kir pointed out something odd. “It is interesting, yes, all the roots on the floor. The mountain had no trees I could see--though I admit it was not something I looked for.”

“They could be some kind of subterranean vine,” Link offered. “Zelda would know more about that. Or she wouldn’t, but she probably would.”

Jo’kir frowned in thought. “A vine that grows only in caves? How would it propagate? Does it not need sunlight, or fresh air? No, these are definitely roots, and they are still alive, so where do they lead from…”

“Zelda would love to talk to you,” Link said, sounding fond.

“This Zelda, she was the woman with you at Helgen, yes?”

Link nodded. “She’s a scholar like no other. Every time I meet her she’s invested in a different topic. This time around she seems to be into magic specifically, but she’s been into plants before.” They turned a corner, and saw a short staircase leading down to a door. Link stuck an arm out to stop Jo’kir in his tracks.

“What is--”

“Shh.” Link pointed through the door, and they saw another bandit standing around. He was more heavily armored than the ones they’d seen before, so they snuck down to either side of the entrance.

Jo’kir watched the bandit, who was looking around with a look of concentration that seemed ill at ease on his face. There was a conspicuous lever in the room beyond, and a gated entryway at the other end. The cat glanced at Link, but his expression was unreadable.

The bandit moved to pull the lever, and a hundred darts shot from every direction, killing him almost instantly.

“Idiot,” Jo’kir hissed, standing out of a crouch. “It could not be more obviously a trap.”

Link grunted an agreement. “You’d be surprised. You see it all the time. The skeletons of explorers long past who made a mistake.” He kicked the corpse over so they didn’t have to see his face, then grabbed the still-burning torch and put it away. “Sometimes it’s the only warning you get that something in the room might kill you. Others,” Link finished, pointing at the bandit, “you have to wonder what they were thinking.”

“Or if they were thinking,” Jo’kir muttered. He looked around. On the wall over the portcullis, were two stone heads with animals in their mouths. A snake, and a whale. The broken stonework between them told him that one was missing, and there was a similar head on the ground with another snake. On the left side of the room were three obelisks set in spinning platforms, engraved with the visages of animals--a snake, a hawk, and a whale. “The fool. The solution is easy.”

“Hm,” Link said, sitting on the stairs up to the loft level. He watched Jo’kir rotate the plinths until it matched the pattern.

The Khajiit pulled the lever and, being the cautious sort, jumped out of the way just in case he was wrong. Thankfully, he was correct and the portcullis lifted without fanfare. “Ha. Easy.” He turned to Link with a smirk, only to drop it when he saw the boy’s smug look. “What?”

“Well, would you look at that,” Link said, standing. “A door that was opened by solving a puzzle.”

Jo’kir scowled. “Yes, well. One hardly calls that a puzzle.”

“Uh-huh.”

They walked into the new room. Jo’kir stood at the top of a spiral staircase leading down, while Link inspected the table in the back.

“Amazingly well-preserved book, here,” Link noted. “Thief, huh?”

“Ooh, that is a good book,” Jo’kir said. “It is the second in the series though.” He leaned over to look down the middle of the stairs. “Perhaps the claw thief left it there? Wait.”

Jo’kir’s eyes widened and he leaned back just as an enormous rat scrabbled up the central column and threw itself at where his face had been. Link was next to him in a second and smacked the rat into a wall. Two more ran up the stairs, directly into a burst of flame from Jo’kir.

“Wretched skeevers.”

“Been a while since I saw giant rats.”

At the bottom of the stairs was a table and hall leading ever further down.

“Oh ho, a scroll.” Jo’kir palmed it and then inspected the bottle next to it. “Do you favor poison any, Link? Khajiit prefers not, it is annoying to get out of my fur.”

“I’ll take just about anything,” Link said, pocketing the bottle. “You never know what might be useful. What’s on the scroll?”

“Fireball,” Jo’kir said gleefully. “It is a spell this one has not learned yet, but oh how he wishes to.”

“Well, great! How long will it take to learn?”

Jo’kir looked at him, confused, then realized what he meant. “Ah, no. This one would need a spell tome or a teacher for that. Or a few months of self-study, but why start from scratch when someone else has done the work?” he mumbled to himself. “No, a scroll is… it is a single use of the spell described on it.”

Link looked at the scroll with interest. “How does that work?”

“Well--”

“Hello? Is… is someone coming?” a voice called. “Is that you Harknir?”

The two of them exchanged looks, then hurried down the hall. There were a lot more spiderwebs this way, bigger and thicker than the cobwebs seen so far.

Link stopped at a turn and pointed ahead at a particularly dense cluster of webs. Over a dead end. “There’s a chest under that.”

“How can you tell?” Jo’kir asked. He couldn’t see a thing.

By way of answering, Link hacked the webs apart with his sword, revealing the treasure underneath. “Experience.”

“Listen, I know I ran away with the claw, but I need help!”

Jo’kir’s tail lashed. He burned the webs blocking the way onward and they stepped into a room covered in white thread. Massive egg sacs, previous meals wrapped in silk, and, at the far end, a dark elf bound in place.

The dark elf looked surprised to see them. “What? Who are you? Nevermind, free me before that thing gets back!” He looked up, nervous, prompting the adventurers to do so as well. There was a great hole in the ceiling letting natural light in.

Link put one hand on his hip and another over his eyes. “That looks suspicious.”

“...Something is going to come out of that, isn’t it?” Jo’kir asked flatly.

“You’re learning!” Link sounded far too pleased by that.

“What are you two doing? Get me out of here!” The light from the ceiling darkened. “Oh no… Not again! Help!”

From the skylight, a massive frostbite spider, the biggest Jo’kir had ever seen, descended to the floor. It spat at them, and Jo’kir snarled when the venom got in his fur. He built a firebolt in his hand and threw it directly into the monster’s eyes.

“Does that tunnel go all the way to the surface, you think?” Link asked, unbothered by the giant spider. “It looks like moonlight. Is it night already?”

Jo’kir tuned him out and stuck his axe into the spider’s leg joint. It shrieked in pain. Thankfully, it was apparently already injured, and it really didn’t like the fire he was spraying it with, so the battle was not as hard as it could have been. Quickly enough, it collapsed, cooked in its own carapace.

“Thank you for your assistance, oh great teacher,” Jo’kir snarked, wiping off his weapon.

“I’d have helped if you needed it.” Link shrugged. “You didn’t need it.”

“Yes, your confidence is touching. Truly, I am bolstered by your faith in me.”

The dark elf coughed. “You killed it, good. Now cut me down before anything else shows up!”

Oh, right. Him. “First things first, Dunmer,” Jo’kir said, walking up to where he was bound. “Where is the claw?”

“The claw? What claw?” he asked, feigning confusion.

“The one you stole from the general store in Riverwood, which Khajiit has been tasked with retrieving.” Jo’kir let some flames build in his hand, holding it slightly too close to the webbing for comfort.

“Oh, that claw,” the elf said, all smiles. “I’m afraid it’s in my pack, and I can’t get to it right now, obviously. If you cut me down already, I can give it to you.”

The Khajiit huffed, then stepped aside to let Link cut him down. The sword was better suited to slicing, after all.

The instant the dark elf was free, he dropped to the floor in a roll and took off running. “You fools! As if I’d ever share the treasure!”

“Hey!”

They ran after him, but he was too fast and kept pulling ahead. Through the halls he weaved, jumping over obstacles without needing to look at them. “You’ll never catch Arvel the Swift, you pitiful--”

Arvel the Swift stepped on a conspicuous button on the floor, and a spiked gate swung around at speed, killing him instantly.

They jogged to a stop over his body.

Link shook his head sadly. “What an absolute waste.”

“Here is the claw,” Jo’kir said, pulling it out of the elf’s bag. “Now only the Dragonstone is left and we can leave this musty place.”

“Hey.” Link tapped the golden claw with his knuckle. “Looks like we just found that item I mentioned.”

“What item--oh,” Jo’kir rolled his eyes. “Please, it is just a shopkeeper’s knick-knack. It is of no greater importance than that.”

Link kicked the dead body. “This guy seemed to think otherwise.”

“And he was clearly an intelligent and reasonable man. This is why he ran into a death trap.”

“You’re going to have to get used to this sort of thing, Jo’kir. There’s always a minimum of five dungeons to go through, usually more.”

Jo’kir scoffed.

“No, really. And this is only the first one, it’s the easiest.”

“Really now?” Jo’kir asked, annoyed. “Who is going around arranging dungeons in order of difficulty based on when I specifically am going to enter them?”

“Gods, usually--”

“Gruuuagh…”

Link froze, eyes wide. The look of what was unmistakably fear on the previously-unshakeable swordsman made Jo’kir pause as well, and they finally took stock of their surroundings.

Previously they’d been too focused on Arvel the Swift’s chase to pay attention to where they were, but now they saw that they were very clearly in a proper catacombs. Bodies in varying states of decay lined the crypts. Some were barely even skeletons anymore, but most were freeze-dried mummies, shriveled and made featureless by the passage of time.

“Volaan…”

Link’s head swiveled, and his sword appeared in his hand. Right next to them, one body was less decayed than the others, and still wore armor.

Slowly, with the grinding of long-motionless bones and loosening caked-on dust, the body turned its head to face them. A ghostly blue glow filled its eyes.

Link gasped softly. “Redead?”

“Dir volaan!” The zombie suddenly shouted and swung itself out of the recessed wall. It charged at them with a broken sword, shouting garbled words.

Link let out a wordless shout and just… he just tore it to absolute pieces.

Jo’kir backed away, eyes wide. The zombie had no blood to spray, but that didn’t stop bits from going flying.

The draugr, for that was what it was, Jo’kir remembered now--the draugr realized it was out of its depth very quickly, but by the time it started trying to flee it didn’t have legs anymore. When it died, Jo’kir almost felt sorry for it.

Link stood over what now could only loosely be called the body, breathing heavily.

Hesitant, Jo’kir put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you… alright?”

The boy in green took a long breath, and then let it out. “Yeah, I’m good. I just really hate redeads. Or, whatever that was.” He kicked the head down the stairs. “What are those things?”

“They are called draugr.” Jo’kir knelt down and pulled some coins from its armor, grimacing at the texture. “They are a strange form of undead native to Skyrim. Books I have read say that they are the result of a failed ritual to extend one’s life that forces the soul to remain trapped in their body after death.”

Link shuddered. “They did it to themselves?”

“Allegedly.”

“Awful.” He grimaced at his sword, rubbing a finger along the edge where he had chipped it against the armor. “I went a bit too hard there…”

“Paak…”

Three more started climbing from their alcoves, including one that looked bigger and stronger than the rest.

Link scowled. He picked up the fallen one’s broken sword and held it in his off hand. “Of course. I hate undead.”

“Well, there is good news,” Jo’kir offered, spell in each hand. “They burn very good.”

-------------------------------------------

To Link’s immense relief, draugr were not even half as dangerous as redeads. Once he realized that, he let Jo’kir deal with most of them. The majority of draugr went down in flames, and the one or two that could stand up to that met the Khajiit’s axe.

Not to say that Link did nothing. There were a lot of draugr, and Jo’kir struggled with more than two of them at once, so Link helped where he had to.

The crypts turned into caves almost seamlessly, where cave-ins became regular walls. Draugr stepped out of coffins, Jo’kir burned them to death, and the two of them had a shared moment of bafflement when they found the bones of some poor soul who thought it was a good idea to go mining in this place.

The waterfalls were nice, and Link wondered out loud about this place where the cave reached the surface and if the skeletons at the bottom were unfortunate mountain climbers who didn’t watch where they were stepping. There were a lot of chests for Jo’kir to pick through, and Link pocketed whatever he didn’t want.

After the cave turned back into hallways, and after clearing out a more elaborate room of undead, Link decided to take a short rest.

Zelda probably wouldn’t have approved of where he got the firewood, but eh. She wasn’t here.

Jo’kir helped Link pry up another board from the makeshift walls surrounding the loft, and they settled back down on the ground floor. The cat lit the campfire for him, and Link propped up the pot over it.

After some prodding from Link, Jo’kir cast frost on the inside of the pot, which melted from the fire, and repeated it until Link judged they had enough water for a soup.

“Hm…” While waiting for Link to finish, Jo’kir pulled out his steel axe to compare it to one he’d pulled off a draugr. The ancient weapon was a little heavier, if he was any judge, and almost looked more like stone than metal. And a heavier weapon meant more force, right?

“It’s about the same,” Link said, not looking up from the pot.

“Eh?”

“The axes, they’re about the same.” Link set his stirring spoon aside and dropped a handful of small tomatoes in. “The draugr axe looks like it might have been better when it was new, but time and corrosion mean its edge is dull, and trying to sharpen it too much is more likely to break it.”

“Oh,” Jo’kir said, disappointed. He put the old one away again. When he looked up, Link had an interesting flower in his hand that looked like red lavender, and was crushing it to sprinkle into the soup. “What is that?”

“Red Safflina.” Link stirred it again and took a sip. “How do you feel about spicy foods?”

“Khajiit prefers sweet to spicy, but I’ll try anything once.” Link poured him a bowl before taking one himself, and Jo’kir, without a spoon, elected to simply lap it up with his tongue.

It was good. “This is very good,” Jo’kir said. It was hot, but not unpleasantly so, and warmth spread through his body, pushing back the chill that pervaded even this far underground. It was almost like standing under the sun in the desert again… “This is very good. Are you sure you wish to be a merchant and not a chef?”

Link hid a smile behind his bowl. “It’s not that great. It’s only soup. If I had a real kitchen I could really do something.”

Jo’kir finished his bowl and went back for seconds. “That… what did you say? Safflina? It has a real kick to it.”

“It’s helped me keep warm on cold nights,” Link agreed. “I prefer the peppers, myself, but I didn’t know if you’d enjoy that. Those ones almost set your tongue on fire.”

Jo’kir set his bowl aside, already finished, and tried to decide if he wanted a third. “How much of that do you have, by the way? You are able to do the party trick like Jo’kir, yes?”

“The what?”

He pulled out a potato. “You know, when you--”

“My inventory, gotcha.” Link nodded. “Yeah, it's really useful. I’ve got a few dozen of those flowers and their cousins, why?”

“Well, Jo’kir was suggesting that as a merchant, you could make a few septims, yes?”

Link snorted dismissively. “For those things? That’s silly. Why would anyone pay for something when they can go out and pick it off that… ground… hm.” Except they couldn’t, could they? Did the things in his pocket even grow in Tamriel? Let alone Skyrim?

…Fifty safflina wouldn’t carry him very far. That was barely enough spices for one well-stocked kitchen… and the red ones would probably be in high demand in this frostbitten land… How did these things grow?

“Do you know how it works?” Jo’kir asked curiously, pulling Link out of his thoughts. The Khajiit was idly ‘tossing’ his bowl back and forth by making it appear from one hand to the other.

“Hm? Oh, no. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Link waved it off. “Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.” At Jo’kir slightly dejected look, he added. “But if you want, I bet Zelda would be interested in discussing it with you.”

“Zelda this, Zelda that,” Jo’kir mused. “You mention her often. Are you sweet on her or--”

Link laughed. He laughed long and loud even while he was bottling the remaining soup and packing up his supplies. Only after extinguishing the fire did he stop, wiping a tear from his eye. “Ohhh… Hah. Yeah. Anyway. Let’s move on now.”

“...” Jo’kir followed him up the stairs and across the bridge, disturbed. That laughter hadn’t been normal. “Was it that funny? What did I say?”

“Don’t worry about it. And hey, look.” Link pushed a set of double doors open to reveal a long, ornate hallway. Carvings lined the walls between stone arches, each of a powerful figure surrounded by what looked to Link like a burial scene? Not important. At the end of the hall was a complicated door consisting of rotating rings and a very odd-looking keyhole.

Jo’kir frowned, running a hand over the slots in the center circle before coming to a realization. He pulled out the golden claw. In the claw’s ‘palm’, or maybe its wrist, there were three symbols matching the ones on the rings.

He scowled. “Don’t say a single word,” he said, not even turning to see Link’s victorious grin. He arranged the rings to match the claw, and then inserted the key into the hole. The door clunked and thudded, and then slowly slid into the ground.

Behind it and up some more steps was a large cavern, supported by pillars carved from natural stone columns. In the center of the room, a freestanding curved wall faced a lone coffin. The wall was covered in carved runes, dominated by an image that Link couldn’t decipher at a glance.

The bottom half of the wall was filled with text from a language that looked more like claw marks than anything else. Link could only tell it was text at all due to how the symbols repeated.

“Well, that’s a boss room if I’ve ever seen one,” Link said. “Still trying to say it’s all nonsense now, Jo’kir?”

…

“Jo’kir?” Link looked over at the lack of response and discovered the Khajiit looked dazed, almost like he was in a trance. “Oh, that’s not a good sign.”

Still, he didn’t stop him when the cat walked forward, almost robotically, until he was standing in front of the strange text.

…Link grimaced, bringing a hand over his ears. He couldn’t hear anything, but it was like an… itch? A whine? Both? Whatever it was it was right on the edge of his ability to perceive and it was a disquieting sensation.

Whatever was happening, the moment ended and Jo’kir jerked, falling two steps backwards before catching himself. “What just--?”

Behind him, the coffin burst open, and the biggest draugr they’d yet seen climbed out.

“Daanik Kendov! Daanik Dovahkiin! DIR!”

Before it had even finished standing it swung a massive greatsword, so cold that mist followed in its wake.

Jo’kir yelped and ducked just in time to avoid losing his ears, only for it to put him at the perfect height to get kicked in the face. He scrambled away to get his bearings, and thankfully the draugr was still slow enough that he didn’t lose his tail either.

He was having a little trouble, so Link pulled out a slingshot and fired a rock at the draugr’s helmet, which stunned it long enough for Jo’kir to get back to his feet and in a fighting stance. When the draugr came to, the first thing it saw was a firebolt bursting in its face, but that didn’t stop it from bringing its sword up to block Jo’kir’s axe.

“Fus… roh DAH!”

With a cry that made Link flinch, the draugr shouted pure force that sent Jo’kir staggering. But he recovered admirably, and after the split second required to pull the scroll out and activate it, threw a fireball that hit the draugr’s chest. This time, the fire caught, and once recovered the draugr attempted to extinguish itself by pressing its icy blade against the flames, but that only left it open for Jo’kir to strike it in the neck, and it fell over, dead.

Jo’kir stood there, breathing heavily. He glared at Link. “A little help would have been appreciated.”

“You did pretty good by yourself,” Link praised. “Good job fighting that strong monster guarding the treasure at the end.”

“Alright, fine,” Jo’kir said. “It’s a dungeon. Happy?” He searched the nearby chest and pulled out a heavy, intricately-carved stone. Jo’kir inspected it with a frown. “Interesting… This looks almost like a map of Skyrim…”

“And there’s more of that text on the back,” Link pointed out. “So this is the thing you needed?”

“Yes, the Jarl’s court wizard thinks it will help with his dragon studies…” Jo’kir sighed and put it away. “This one hopes it was worth all this trouble. Now… how do we get out of here?”

-------------------------------------------

Zelda, North of Pinewatch

Skyrim was a delightfully wild place, Zelda was finding.

Hyrule was an old, old kingdom. Over the many long years the towns had shifted, borders had been redrawn, cities had crumbled and been rebuilt, and there were no true “wild” places left anymore. Oh, yes, there were spots that hadn’t seen Hylian habitation in centuries, but a determined man with a shovel could pick any random spot in the entire kingdom and beyond, and if he dug straight down for long enough he would eventually find the ruins of an ancient city. History may forget where Kakariko was a thousand years ago, but the land did not, and anyone with a spiritual bent to them could feel it.

Skyrim was different. Zelda couldn’t quite explain how or why, but the land felt different. Younger. She had been attacked by starving wolves three times since leaving Falkreath less than two hours ago, and this was a well-traveled road! It was thoroughly refreshing.

Currently, a large fish with sharp teeth and sharper scales was attempting to crawl out of the water to bite her. It successfully leaped out of the shallows but fell a foot short of reaching her and flopped there uselessly.

“Oh,” she cooed, crouching down to pat it on the side. “You want to kill me so much~~...” She threw it back in the river only for it to launch itself back at her. “Poor stupid thing…”

It was fascinating, really. The animals in this country not only didn’t seem to fear people, they actively sought them out to hunt. It was very backwards from what she was used to. She wondered if anyone had done a study as to why.

The fish managed to flop back into the water on its own, and rather than continue to fruitlessly attack her it swam away. Finally given up?

The sound of splashing informed her otherwise, and Zelda cast a floating light to see the commotion.

“Link?” Her old friend bashed the fish with a shield hard enough to send it flying out of the water, then waded to shore. “Going for a morning swim?”

“There’s not enough bridges,” Link said. He turned to face the river and helped a displeased, familiar face up onto shore. “Wow, you look madder than a wet cat.”

“Aha, aha,” Jo’kir snapped. “It is to laugh.” He shook the water out of his fur and started wringing out his robes. “Khajiit will need to fix his stripes again, an entire week early.” He rubbed his face, and indeed, the blonde markings came off easily.

“I see you found a shield.”

“Got it off a zombie, so it’s not great.” Link gestured to his companion. “Jo’kir,” he said, ignoring the cat’s grumpiness, “This is Zelda. Zelda, Jo’kir.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you properly,” Zelda said, holding out a hand. Jo’kir took it, bad mood not enough to excuse a lack of manners, and Zelda sent a rush of heat down her arm and up along his.

Jo’kir let out a surprised noise as all the water in his fur and clothes was suddenly ejected, producing a cloud of mist a few feet behind him. He patted himself down, then relaxed. “Ah, so you are also full of tricks like that one. Jo’kir shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I like to make a good first impression,” Zelda responded.

Link, still sopping wet, held his arms out in a silent request.

Zelda regarded him coolly. Then she turned to continue along the road, ignoring him.

Jo’kir burst out laughing at Link’s face. “A wonderful impression indeed! I like you already.” They followed her, Link grumbling good-naturedly.

“So, what have you been up to in the past week?” Zelda asked.

“Training a hero, doing a starter dungeon,” Link said casually.

“I am not a hero,” Jo’kir protested quietly.

“Well, I killed a vampire last night,” Zelda said. Link raised his eyebrows in response. “It’s true, I didn’t believe it at first either. One of the local gods asked me to.”

Link didn’t respond outside a nod of acceptance, and the two of them settled into a companionable silence while Jo’kir tried to puzzle out whether she was being literal.

They walked through the early morning. They passed a ritual circle on the roadside, and a bone hound tried to attack them before Link completely destroyed it without him or Zelda seeming to notice, leaving Jo’kir in the awkward position of apologizing to the thoroughly cowed conjurer who had summoned it.

A little further up the road, they encountered an Altmer milling around, wearing black robes. He perked up a little when he saw them, but once they got closer he frowned in disappointment.

“Do either of you know where I might find a… statue of Talos, near here?” he asked. From the tone of his voice he sounded displeased to be talking with them.

“Talos?” Zelda repeated, then blinked. “Oh, is he one of your gods?” Jo’kir choked.

The Altmer looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “He most certainly is not. What rock have you been living under? Nevermind, I’ll find it myself.”

To his obvious distaste, they ended up walking in the same direction anyway, so all four of them were together when they met a series of log steps up a hill. The Altmer climbed up them without a word, and they followed, Zelda following an invisible pull.

At the top of the hill was a natural stone plinth with a statue of a warrior arranged on top. Two priests and a handful of Nords in farm clothes were arrayed in front of it, and the Altmer was giving them trouble.

“I knew I’d find you, filthy heathens!” he sneered, lightning in each hand.

“Excuse me?” Zelda asked.

“Not now, half-breed, unless you want to die as well!”

One of the priests readied a mace, but Zelda simply huffed. “I suppose if you’re going to be rude.” She snapped her fingers.

The elf loosed his spells, but a blue diamond appeared around him and reflected it. For a split second electric death ricocheted inside the prism before hitting a viable target, and when she lowered the shield the Altmer fell to the ground, twitching.

Zelda felt a wave of amusement from the small shrine in front of the statue and smiled brightly. “Enjoy your sermon, everyone.”

Jo’kir looked from her, to Link, then back to her, and groaned. “Oh no, you three are all just like each other, aren’t you?”

Zelda felt bad for laughing. Not that much, though.