A/N: Please review and send some stones my way if you like the chapter!
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4E 201, Somewhere in Eastmarch
Gerron Ironbreaker
"Can I be honest with you?" Gerron asked as he stirred the small campfire with his dragonbone sword, the embers flaring orange against the cool blue of the night.
The riverside whispered beside them, the waters gliding over stones with a gentle hiss. The sky above was vast and open, the twin moons of Masser and Secunda hanging high, casting their pale light across the snow-veiled tundra.
Serana, who had been tending to her gear in silence, looked up with a raised brow. "Of course."
"I heard your conversation with Kiera, back in the caves."
Serana stilled, her hands pausing over the leather straps of her cloak.
"I want to say—"
"Don't," she cut him off coldly. She turned away, her back facing him. In the flickering firelight, he saw her shoulders tense.
"I'm just saying," Gerron continued, voice softer now, "if you ever want to knock on Castle Volkihar and give your father a deserved kick in the arse, all you need to do is say the word. I'll help. I'm sure Kiera is the same."
He could see her fists clenched, the nails biting into her skin hard enough to draw blood.
"I'll… think about it." Her voice was quieter than a whisper. "Thank you."
Gerron gave her a small, warm smile. "You're welcome."
That night, he dreamed of another blue star, shining bright in the dark expanse of the night sky. A warmth filled his body when he woke up the next day.
It was mid-morning when they reached Kynesgrove, a small mining settlement that was often used by travelers as a stopping point before reaching Windhelm itself.
It was there that Gerron heard a familiar voice echo from the side of the path.
"Gerron!"
He turned and grinned as Ralof approached, clad in his Stormcloak armor and flanked by a few grizzled warriors.
"Ralof!" He greeted back as their hands met in a clasp. "I had worried when I heard of Windhelm."
"Aye." Ralof sighed. "I was unlucky—or lucky, depending on who you ask—enough to be out on patrol when it happened." His gaze shifted to Serana. "And who might this be?"
"This is Serana, a companion of mine. We're just making our way to the College of Winterhold."
"Lady Serana, then." Ralof greeted with a polite nod.
"Pleasure," she replied, keeping her tone neutral.
"It's funny," Ralof said, scratching the back of his head, "I was actually on my way to Shor's Stone to find you. The Jarl sent me."
Gerron raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Jarl Ulfric wants to meet, to make allies with you and the Dragonborn."
Gerron sighed, "Ralof, neither Kiera nor I have time to involve ourselves with the Civil War. At least not directly."
Ralof shook his head. "It's not about that. With recent events, Jarl Ulfric knows the dragons are a greater threat. He merely wants to speak with you, nothing more."
A frown appeared on Gerron's face.
"Look, I'm just the messenger. Windhelm is on the way to Winterhold anyways. If you agree, I'll send a rider ahead to let them know you're coming."
Gerron looked to Serana, who shrugged at him. "Getting help from a Jarl and the leader of a rebellion to boot might be helpful for the future. You already have a trade agreement with the Stormcloaks, don't you? We're stopping by Windhelm anyway, there's no harm in listening to what he has to say."
She's not wrong.
"Alright, we'll see what he wants." Gerron finally said. "Though what are you doing? There's about a hundred men here, you don't need that many if you're just a messenger."
"Aye, true enough. I've been given orders to protect Shor's Stone." Ralof said. "The worth of the town had escalated after becoming the main source of our weapons. When we heard you were the Dragonslayer, Jarl Ulfric bid me to help protect it, just in case the Thalmor wanted to do anything."
"The Thalmor?" Gerron's eyes widened. "You think they have something to do with the dragons?"
"If not them, who else?" Ralof snorted. "In any case, I'll send four men to be your escort. We've been keeping the road safe as we travel, but you never know with bandits these days."
Gerron nodded, "I appreciate it."
…
Windhelm loomed in the distance a few days later, its silhouette proud and unbending despite the visible damage. The main gate had been shattered, though it seems a replacement was half-way done being built.
The scars of dragonfire lingered in blackened stone and collapsed towers. Yet the city still stood.
The Architect perk chimed in suddenly, telling him all the ways that the city could've been built stronger with the new repairs. He snorted at that. While Ulfric no doubt hired the best stonemasons and builders that Eastmatch could offer, their knowledge paled to what the system could make.
Looking around the pastures and the green fields on the side of the road, it seemed the one good thing about all this was that the farms outside of Windhelm were largely undamaged.
In any other circumstances, Windhelm would've proven difficult to siege. Built on the side of the mountain, only a single bridge served as the entrance point to the city. Any army would've broken at the chokepoint, but if they somehow managed to get past it, they never would've gotten past the sixty foot tall curtain walls and the numerous siege engines that line the battlements.
All of this truly only proved how dragons had ruled the world eons and eons ago. Only when men were taught the Thu'um by Jurgen Windcaller did they ever stand a chance against the rulers of the sky.
As they approached, two figures awaited them at the bridge, flanked by four members of the city guard.
A middle-aged Nord with a fur-trimmed robe stepped forward, Jorleif, no doubt—Ulfric's steward. He was flanked by Galmar Stone-Fist, lauded across Skyrim as Ulfric's right hand man. Broad-shouldered and grim, a bear pelt pauldron worn over his back like a cloak.
"Gerron Ironbreaker," Jorleif called out. "Welcome. I am Jorleif, steward of Jarl Ulfric. We're here to escort you to the Palace."
Gerron nodded and dismounted, handing his horse's reins to the stableboy. "Appreciate it."
He and Serana joined the pair as they walked through the gates into the ancient city. Stone buildings flanked the streets, many showing clear signs of recent repairs—wooden braces, scaffolding, patched stonework.
Galmar walked close beside them, keeping an eye on him the entire time. Gerron caught the glance and smirked slightly. Ulfric's right hand was probably trying to get a measure of him, sizing him up and down like a bear to prey.
He didn't know if it was due to his reputation as the Dragonslayer, or the fact that Gerron was one of the few people that was taller than Galmar. The man probably isn't used to meeting someone that could not only match his height, but stood even larger than he was.
The streets were quiet, not from a lack of people—but from solemnity. The dragon's presence was still fresh in their mind as many eyes tracked him and Serana as they walked.
"What can you tell me of the attack?" Gerron finally asked.
It was Galmar who answered with a gruff voice. "The beast came from the east without warning. Burned our fleet before we could mount a defense."
"And what of the dragon's color and the Thu'um it used?"
Galmar paused. "Blood red scales. A long, serpentine neck. And it breathed crimson flame. Moved faster than anything I've seen. Even blinked out of sight at times." Galmar looked back then with a raised eyebrow. "Why?"
Serana's eyes widened slightly beside him, no doubt having come to the same conclusion.
Gerron nodded. "You don't need to worry about it anymore. We killed that dragon a few months ago."
Both Galmar and Jorleif halted mid-step. He could even see the numerous civilians who were around, mouth wide after registering his words.
"You… what?" Jorleif asked.
Gerron continued with a smile. "Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm. That's what it called itself. It's dead now."
Jorleif's mouth opened, then closed again, stunned. "You speak the truth?"
"Aye." He confirmed before gesturing to Serana. "Serana was there as well. She was quite instrumental in combating the dragon's flames. And this armor—" He pointed to his newest creations. "—were created using the dragon's scales. Blood red, like you said."
The silence that followed was thick with disbelief… and awe.
Then, a huge cheer emanated from the surrounding people. The crowd that had gathered around them erupted in joyous shouts. Children darted between guards, trying to get closer.
'They had all lost friends and family when Caraxes attacked. Hearing that they were all avenged must have been relieving.'
Even Galmar seemed taken aback by the spontaneous gratitude.
Serana just released a wistful sigh as she became the center of attention. A woman clutched Serana's hand, whispering thanks. An older man wiped tears from his beard before lifting up his bottle of mead, "For my son!"
For Windhelm, the dragon had not only taken lives—it had stolen their pride, their safety, their sense of invincibility.
Now they had it back.
After several minutes, Jorleif cleared his throat and gestured forward. "If you'll follow us… the Jarl is waiting."
Gerron and Serana shared a look. Then, without another word, they stepped forward, following Jorleif and Galmar up the stone stairs, into the ancient marble halls of the Palace of Kings.
…
4E 201, Hall of Vigilants
Isran
Isran frowned, his amber eyes narrowing as he gazed out the narrow, frosted window of the Vigilants' Hall. A blizzard had begun to settle over the northern hills again, snow pouring down from the slate-grey sky in sheets, but it wasn't the storm that disturbed him. Something crawled at the edge of his senses. A prickling on the back of his neck. An old instinct he'd never learned to ignore.
He forced himself to look away and focus on the matter at hand.
"I appreciate the invite, Keeper. But what do you want? Tolan tells me you want to cooperate," Isran said curtly, arms folded, his back ramrod straight against the wall.
Keeper Carcette sat behind her desk, her hands folded with deliberate poise. "He speaks true. We've recently discovered troubling news regarding the vampires."
"About Harkon's court, right?" Isran muttered darkly. "Yeah, I've heard."
She nodded. "You were right, Isran. We ignored the signs for too long, dismissed your warnings as paranoia. But we're seeing it now. We've confirmed the Court of Volkihar is stirring—and they're preparing for something larger."
Isran didn't gloat. There was no satisfaction in being right when it came to vampires. Just grim vindication.
"You won't hear me say this often," Carcette continued, "but I won't ask you to rejoin the Vigil. You were right to leave. A dedicated force to combat Harkon's threat…We need the Dawnguard."
"I'm still putting things together," Isran grunted. "Fort Dawnguard is in disrepair and I barely have fifty men to my name."
And even then that was an understatement. Disrepair was the kindest thing he could say about Fort Dawnguard since it could barely be called a castle. While it had the makings of a strong keep, the decades of abandonment had left it broken. He's making an effort to fix it, but the coin required wasn't cheap.
Carcette gestured to his gear. "Your weapons and armor say otherwise."
"That's only because of Gunmar." Isran snorted, gesturing to the red-haired nord, who gave Carcette a grin. "A good smith and has a mind for nordic runes. Sorine's the one who crafted our new crossbows. Piercing, fast-loading, and powerful enough to put a bolt through a vampire's heart before they can blink. I'd wager you should outfit some of your Vigilants with them."
"Truly?" Carcette's interest piqued. "Then perhaps we can work out a trade agreement. You need proper resources to restart the Dawnguard, and the Vigilants could always use some better arms."
Isran stifled a sigh. Truth be told, he disliked this side of leadership. Point him to a vampire coven and he'll be the first to charge every time. But thinking of trade, coins, and ledgers made his head spin.
Well, that's the whole reason why he brought Sorine here in the first place. The Breton woman had a much better head for numbers than him. A quick glance had her nodding smoothly, already pulling a journal from her belt pouch. "I'll handle the details."
They continued sharing information then, as Carcette explained everything the Vigilants knew of Harkon. The whole Serana business was a surprise, and it irked him slightly to trust a vampire's word on this. But even he would admit that the presence of an Elder Scroll meant things were more pressing than expected.
"Elder Scrolls can only be read by Moth Priests," he muttered, recalling fragments he had read from a dusty tome long ago. "Whatever the scroll this Serana had must've been important if her mother kept it away from Harkon for this long. We need to know what it says."
"Serana had said that the prophecy involves blotting out the sun somehow, though we don't know exactly how that's going to be achieved." Carcette tapped her chin. "Most Moth Priests never leave the Imperial City. I heard a scholar came to Skyrim from Cyrodiil recently. Might be worth looking into. I'll give word to Kiera as well. She spent the better part of her life in Cyrodiil, perhaps she has contacts that can help."
That name again. Kiera Fendalyn and Gerron Ironbreaker. Two names whispered across taverns and holds as Dragonslayers. He didn't realize Carcette actually knew them. Wait, wasn't the Keeper's full name Carcette Fendalyn? Were they related somehow?
"What about Serana?" he asked flatly. "Can she be trusted?"
"She has given us no reason to doubt her," Carcette answered. "She came willingly, shared knowledge of Harkon's ambitions, and trusted us enough to speak of the prophecy."
Tolan chimed in, voice firm. "Your prejudice may be blinding you, Isran. She hasn't harmed a soul, and without her, we wouldn't know half of what we do now."
He clenched his jaw, still doubtful. Trusting a vampire didn't come easy. Not after what he'd seen. But… maybe this one was different.
"If you want to meet her yourself," Carcette said, "Gerron is heading to the College of Winterhold. She's with him. It would be good for you to meet them—see for yourself."
"…I might just do that," Isran admitted, rubbing his chin.
The ground shuddered beneath them then—like the earth itself groaned in protest. Papers and inkwells trembled on the desk as the glass panes of the windows rattled. A booming roar ripped through the Hall that sent everyone stumbling. It wasn't a dragon's roar nor that of a great beast—but something… wrong. Unnatural.
"What was that?!" Sorine shouted, stumbling to her feet.
Isran was already halfway to the door, his hand glowing yellow by instinct. Carcette, Tolan, Gunmar, and Sorine followed close behind as they burst out of the chamber into the main corridor. Aldis was already there with several Solitude guards along with Agmaer, weapons drawn and caution in their eyes.
"Keeper, what is happening?" Aldis questioned.
Before Carcette could answer, a second quake shook the foundations, this one louder.
They reached the courtyard, where snow had begun to whip violently sideways. Soldiers and Vigilants were scrambling and shouting. Trying to take control of the sea of tents that rippled and buckled beneath an unnatural wind.
Isran turned to look up the hill, only for his eyes to widen in disbelief at what he saw.
At the far northern edge of the Vigilant's grounds, atop the snow-covered slope above the encampment, space itself ripped open. A massive rift swirled into being—a jagged, flaming maw of red and black that pulsed with energy.
A ring of daedric metal, glowing with malevolent runes, rotated around a churning vortex of flame and shadow.
"What in Oblivion is that?" Captain Aldis cried, stumbling back.
Dark, twisted silhouettes emerged from the maw—clad in charred armor and wreathed in fire. Clawed hands. Horned helms. Eyes that burned like coals.
Isran's heart dropped.
"Stendarr protect us…" Carcette whispered, barely able to speak. "It's an Oblivion Gate."
Dozens more creatures poured through, shrieking and snarling in Daedric tongue—swords drawn, flames erupting from their palms. Some flew on wings of shadow, others dragged chains behind them as they surged forward.
Isran's eyes turned steely as a warhammer made of golden light appeared on his palm.
Carcette was only half a second slower. "Vigilants! Solitude Guard! Form a line!" She roared. "DEFEND THE HALL!"
…
AN: Man, writing this chapter was great. Isran is a surprisingly fun character to write the POV of.
A lot to unpack here. Gerron and Serana meet Ralof on his way south to Shor's Stone and were told of Ulfric's recent plans to combat the dragon threat. Gerron was skeptical, but was willing to hear him out.
Now, Isran and Carcette talk business as well as make plans to read the Elder Scroll. Only for an Oblivion Gate to open right in their backyard. Calixto and the Mythic Dawn make their public appearance.
These next few chapters are all gonna happen in a relatively short amount of time. I'd like to reiterate that everything written is limited to the perspectives of the POV character, thus everything is subjected to unreliable narrator.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 41 should be available by the time this chapter was posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!