Chapter 7
- Location
- Texas
Chapter 7
Sundas, the 5th through Loredas, the 18th of Frostfell, Year 201 of the 4th Era
Sundas, the 5th through Loredas, the 18th of Frostfell, Year 201 of the 4th Era
While the caravan departed Whiterun promptly at dawn, they left slowly. They were far from the only wagon train departing, and it was also harvest time. The single road leaving Whiterun was clogged with wagons and people on foot. Daenerys took advantage of the slow pace to walk the caravan from front to back and acquaint herself with her fellow travelers. There were ten wagons in the caravan and about a dozen people walking alongside. Wagon Master Bjorlam led the way and his wagon had five people in the back. Seven of the wagons were carrying foodstuffs for winter: ground flour, salted meat, cabbages, leeks, gourds and such. Those wagons were being pulled by eight to ten oxen instead of the horses. She asked one of the drivers and confirmed her hunch that probably half the oxen would be sold and slaughtered upon arrival in Winterhold. One wagon was carrying nothing but ale. The final wagon belonged to Sagyval the spice merchant.
Sagyval's wagon was drawn by four horses and was smaller than most. His goods were all tied down and covered with tarps. He had two guards riding in back, both kept bows close at hand. The guards had a sense of alertness and restrained violence of seasoned warriors. Sagyval and his guards were all a little short for Nords and darker of skin. Sagyval himself had short-cropped brown hair and eyes so blue they were almost gray. He was clean-shaven, another clue that he wasn't a Nord. He was dressed for the road in common sturdy cloth, but he had a heavy gray fur cloak that appeared to be made from wolf pelts. Daenerys guessed he and his men were likely Bretons, a guess that was confirmed as soon as she heard his accent.
"I say, what's a lady like you doing walking alongside a caravan in Skyrim?"
"What?" She wasn't sure what to make of his comment, but her reflex was to deny. "I'm not a lady."
"If you're not a lady, I'm a half-giant." Sagyval joked. He had a pleasant voice, deep and smooth, but he spoke like a rake. "I make my living buying and selling, so I know how to read people. You have the carriage of a noble. Not to mention your hair. I can tell you did your own braiding. I'm sure you are used to having help, but even braiding your own hair, no commoner would take such effort unless it was for their wedding day. So, who are you, really?"
"Daenerys." She wasn't sure what to make of this merchant. He saw more deeply than even Delphine had, or perhaps he was simply more direct in sharing his insights.
"Daenerys," he scoffed. "No, too plain, too simple. Daenerys of what house? And where are you from? I've never seen a Nord with hair so pale. It's almost white. You're too fair of skin for Breton, and I've never seen a human with eyes that shade."
She certainly wasn't going to say House Targaryen. "Daenerys the Unburnt, if you must have a cognomen."
"The Unburnt..." He snapped his fingers. "You're the girl from Helgen."
Daenerys controlled her reaction. She hadn't intended to give away that connection. "I'm merely a hedge mage, travelling to the College of Winterhold to study magic."
"A hedge mage? I can believe that you know a little magic. That you intend to the join the College of Winterhold fits. However, you are not 'merely' anything Daenerys the Unburnt. There is room up here on the seat. Climb aboard, sit beside me, and we can talk. It's a long boring journey. I could use some pleasant conversation to pass the time."
Daenerys weighed this offer. There was no virtue in walking. Even if Sagyval only allowed her to ride today, talking to an obviously intelligent man was less boring than walking all day. Yes, he was insightful, but he had already linked her to the dragon attack on Helgen. She had few secrets left to hide that he could possibly unearth. No matter how perceptive he was, he wasn't going to simply discern that she could Shout or that she was from Planetos unless she gave it away. His eyes kept glancing downward. No doubt, he had an excellent view of her cleavage from up there on the wagon. Most likely, he was just seeking to get into her skirts. That was something she knew how to handle.
"I accept with one condition."
"And what is this one condition?"
"I prefer not to talk about my past."
Sagyval laughed out loud. "Well then, we will just have to talk about my favorite subject – me."
.oOo.
Riding beside Sagyval was certainly less tiring and more pleasant than walking. Daenerys soon found that he had been honest when he claimed that his favorite topic was himself. He was a Breton from Evermore in High Rock, the youngest of three brothers of a mercantile family. While he sometimes varied his route, he dealt with small luxury goods. He carried spices, rare wines, potions, ingredients, and such from the High Rock to Skyrim. This trip he had acquired some rare books that he hoped to sell at the College of Winterhold at a good price. In Winterhold he planned to load up on furs and ivory. Apparently, horkers were a much safer source of ivory than mammoths. By buying directly from the hunters, he cut out the middleman and would turn an obscene profit both ways on this journey.
As the day continued, she decided the man simply loved to talk. A simple question she asked about shipping turned into a long-winded explanation of the relative risks of caravans versus ships. While ships carried more cargo and travelled much faster, the seas of Skyrim were ravaged by storms and infested with pirates. Sagyval's eldest brother had disappeared at sea. He'd set sail from Solitude, and neither he nor his ship was ever heard from again.
Sagyval flirted with her in a manner that reminded her of Daario, full of confidence that he would eventually charm her balanced with a patience that did not expect her to be easily seduced. Daenerys found herself evaluating him as a possible lover. While she had received more than one proposition while working as a tavern maid, those had been Nords hoping for a simple tryst. Sagyval was interested in more than her body, although she certain he knew his way around a woman's body. It stirred her emotions and confused her. The memories of her betrayal at the hands of her last lover were still strong.
However, even if she could bring herself to trust Sagyval enough to let him into her bed, it would be very foolish. Her courses had returned since she arrived in Skyrim. That meant she could conceive again. There were possible ways around pregnancy. She could try to time her cycle, but that was far from certain. There was also a potion known as Diabella's Tears that would stop a pregnancy. However, Diabella's Tears weren't cheap. The potion was also a mild poison that would leave her sick for days – assuming she could even bring herself to take it. After having lost Rhaego to the treachery of Mirri Maz Duur, even the thought of killing her own babe made her sick to her stomach. Unfortunately, she faced the same risks as the vast majority of women on both Planetos and Nirn – taking a lover meant risking the possibility of pregnancy. She liked Sagyval. She enjoyed his attentions, but she didn't want to marry him or bear his child.
Despite her conflicted emotions about finding Sagyval attractive, Daenerys enjoyed his company. While he didn't directly ask her about her past, he did work in little questions, like if she had ever sailed on a ship before. It was clear that he enjoyed the mystery of her past and still expected to unravel it. If she didn't come from a world beyond his experience, he probably would have coaxed the clues out of her.
On the second day out from Whiterun, their caravan encountered a man dressed as a jester whose wagon had broken down while transporting a coffin. It was almost time to make camp and their wagon master decided to stop early so they could help the jester. Cicero, as the jester styled himself, tried to entertain the caravan while three wagoneers repaired his cart. He failed miserably. The way he referred to himself in the third person and joked about his dead mother wasn't at all funny. However, it was his eyes that bothered Daenerys the most.
Sagyval seemed to agree with her intuition. He motioned her back from the crowd of wagoneers that the jester had attracted. "Daenerys, don't turn you back on that one for an instant."
"I knew that already." She found herself drawing closer to Sagyval anyway. "There was no laughter in his eyes."
"No, he has the cold dead eyes of a killer. There are men who kill because they must. There are men, especially Nords, who go berserk in battle. Then there are those who enjoy the kill. I'd bet my cart that this 'Cicero' is such a man. Would you make your camp by mine tonight?"
"I will, but for protection. I'll have my own tent and my own bedroll. Don't be getting any ideas." Her attempt at humor fell flat. Sagyval was right about Cicero's eyes. They reminded her of Arya Stark, the face of a little girl, but the eyes of a killer.
.oOo.
Fortunately, Cicero was heading south and did not join their caravan. The next day brought a lecture from the wagon master that they would be passing to the east of the giant encampment of Blizzard's Rest. He warned everyone that if they did see a giant or mammoths to stay far away and give no cause for them to attack. He emphasized that both giants and mammoths were peaceful unless provoked. The warning was probably unnecessary. They saw no giants, only mammoths, and those from a great distance.
The real danger came shortly after they passed Blizzard's Rest. A distant roar from somewhere north of them cut across the sounds of the forest and interrupted her conversation with Sagyval.
"What was that?" asked one of Sagyval's guards. "Didn't sound like a troll."
"Dragon." She knew the roar of hunting dragon very well and it sent shivers up her spine.
"Are you certain?" asked Sagyval.
"Yes! I'm certain!" she snapped back. Then she raised her voice. "Dragon! Everyone get your wagons off the road and into the trees."
Panicked cries of dragon went up and down the caravan, much too loud for her liking. She was already jumping down and hastening into the woods.
Sagyval jumped down, took the reins of his horses and followed her lead. "Will this work?"
"If we're lucky," Daenerys whispered. Her heart was beating fast. She didn't like the feeling of being prey. The dragon at Helgen had saved her, but this was a different dragon. "Dragons hunt by sight, not scent. A wagon train moving on a road can be seen from miles away in the air. Scattered among the trees and not moving, we're much less obvious. He may pass us by."
Sagyval nodded to his guards. "Go help the others and pass her wisdom along to the wagon master. I'd rather some fool didn't draw a dragon down upon us."
When she had encountered the dragon at Helgen, he had almost overwhelmed her by his mere presence. He had been ancient and powerful. That stood out in her mind even though her memories of that time were confused. This dragon also had a presence, but he was a mere child in comparison. Still, even a young dragon was deadly. She was weak. She could survive dragonfire, but if he found her, he would rend her with teeth and claws.
Another roar rang out. He was louder, growing closer, and more triumphant.
"He's spotted something."
Sagyval stared at her. "How do you know?" he whispered.
"I was at Helgen," she lied. Now was not the time to explain that she knew dragons. Even if she could explain, she was more concerned about whether she was going to live to see tomorrow.
The dragon roared a third time with the thrill of the hunt as he passed by at some distance from them. The trees hid him from view, but some people in the caravan still cried out foolishly in fright. Fortunately, the dragon didn't even change his course. He must have spotted other prey.
Daenerys almost collapsed in relief, but she quickly rushed out to the road trying to catch a glimpse of the dragon while orienting herself. He was heading back the way they came, but a little to the west. She caught a glimpse of brown wings in the skies. "Blizzard's Rest. He's heading toward the giant encampment."
"Then it didn't see us?"
"If he did, he didn't care. Mammoths and giants are much more visible from the air than wagons hiding among trees. He found better prey. I expect he'll find plenty to sate his appetite. We should get moving regardless – just in case he decides to come back."
Sagyval looked at her, and this time she saw calculation in his eyes, like he was sizing her up for sale. "You know more than you're letting on."
Daenerys shook her head. "I prefer not to talk about it."
.oOo.
Sagyval treated her differently after the dragon attack. He was suspicious where he had once been jovial and flirtatious. The rest of the caravan treated her differently as well. They were very respectful, but also more guarded. It was lonely, but probably for the best. She started walking again. For most of a day, she reviewed the encounter with the dragon over and over inside her head, picking it apart to try to understand why she had felt the way she had. She had felt the dragon, known things about him – like his gender. She was absolutely certain he had been male. She had always felt a connection to Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon. She had always believed that connection had been forged when she hatched them in fire. Yet, she had known so much about the other dragon without getting so much as a glimpse of him. She was still certain that hiding had been the correct action. If she had stood out in the open, he wouldn't have bowed to her as the Mother of Dragons. No, he would have taken it as a challenge and attacked.
Where had these certainties come from? Had it been her encounter with the ancient dragon in Helgen? He had saved her, appearing just as she knelt with her head on the chopping block. He had breathed upon her and spoken the word Yol. After that things got confusing. She had struggled to hold Yol inside her, fought to control the Word and keep it from consuming her. All while running naked through the chaos all around her. No wonder stories had been told. She vaguely remembered following Ralof, but it wasn't until the Imperials attacked her beneath Helgen that she finally spoke Yol for the first time. After that her memories weren't as fuzzy. She had still lacked the language, but she had an ally in Ralof, and an enemy in the Imperials. Kill or die made everything simple.
Still, even as she fought to escape, she had sensed the dragon above. She had just known that he was ancient, powerful, and dominant. Somehow from the depths of the dungeon, she had also felt him raging against the stronghold of Helgen. Why had he attacked? Had he come to save her? If so, why had he ignored her after saving her to go on a rampage? That didn't make sense. Yet, for him to show up just in time to save her from the axe and to bless her with Yol – that was too much to be mere coincidence. There had to have been some deeper purpose to it.
After a day of fretting over dragons, she set the incident aside. As important as those mysteries might be to her future in Skyrim, they weren't anything she could solve in the wilderness. However, there was something she could do before she arrived at the College of Winterhold. By meditating on the word Yol and truly understanding it, she had learned to cast Flames. She intended to master Fus the same way.
Yol had come easily to her. Yol was fire. She understood fire. She had never feared fire. She even embraced it, but Yol had taught her to understand fire. Yol wasn't just present in a burning blaze. Yol was present in a candleflame, in the smallest spark. Yol was even present within her. She wasn't a cold dead corpse. She burned within.
Fus was harder for her. It didn't help that she to meditate and walk at the same time. Still, walking was tedious, and she was stubborn. Daenerys opened her heart to the Word, and she began to understand that Fus was truly all around her. Fus was force, any force. Fus wasn't just hard jarring impacts, like a mace striking a shield, or the crash of a felled tree when it hit the ground. Fus was as simple as walking staff striking the ground. Fus was the ground pushing back. Fus was the wind pressing against her. Fus was in her breath when she exhaled pushing the air back.
She put aside all thoughts of meditation and magic when they arrived at the Nightgate Inn. It marked the midpoint of their journey, but for Daenerys the most important thing was that she could get a bed, a bath, and a hot meal for the low price of ten septims. While she was trying to save her stash of coin for her future, this was ten septims well-spent. After a hot bath and a good night's sleep, she felt refreshed and ready to face the second half of their long trek.
She even managed to patch things up with Sagyval enough that she rode beside him some of the time. Their conversation was much shallower than it had been before. Mostly she asked questions about the various places he had been, which was most every city in Skyrim and High Rock and many more beyond. He was a font of information filling in many gaps she had about Tamriel. He also seemed to accept that she wouldn't talk about her past, and he didn't challenge her on it again.
However, she also spent much of her time walking so she could work on tapping into Fus and projecting it from her hands as she did Yol. Two days after leaving the Nightgate inn she had a breakthrough and managed it for the first time. As she had expected, when cast as a spell it wasn't nearly as effective as a Shout, but she could tap into Fus and use the concept of force to project an invisible wave of force from either hand. She hadn't heard the spell mentioned before, so she decided to just call it Shove until she got to the College of Winterhold and could find out its proper name.
As the wagon master had warned when she signed up, the Stormcloaks controlled Fort Kastav and insisted on searching the wagon train when they arrived at the fort. Daenerys only had her pack and a small stash of gold, so her search was over quickly. Interestingly, the Stormcloaks pulled Sagyval's wagon aside and forced him to unpack everything on it. They then appeared to confiscate several large crates. However, she noticed that Sagyval had received a large bag of what was likely gold. She also knew him well enough to tell that his curses and scowls were an act. Despite the show he put on, he wasn't at all displeased.
As they walked away, she probed him about the exchange. "So, those were some heavy crates the Stormcloaks confiscated."
Sagyval met her gaze and held it. "I prefer not to talk about it."
.oOo.
Two days later they were approaching the end of their journey. After Fort Kastav their journey was still hilly, but they were going downhill more often than not. They were also exposed to the cold winds from the north. The wind varied from merely cold, to biting, to numbing as they trudged across the frozen terrain. Dark gray clouds hid the sun and snow came down in flurries that would be pretty if it wasn't so cold. None of the Nords complained, so Daenerys kept her thoughts on finally reaching their destination. At this point the prospect of a hot bath and a warm bed kept her walking more than the possibility of learning magic.
The roar of a dragon ripped her out of pleasant daydreams about hot baths. Horses reared. Men and women screamed. She looked up searching for the source. In the distant sky she could barely make out the gray and white wings against the background of gray clouds. While it was far away, it was closing fast.
One of the wagoneers shouted at her. "You, Daenerys! What do we do?"
Her immediate thought was that they were all going to die. While this dragon wasn't as strong as the dragon of Helgen, he was far stronger than the young one in the forest. They had absolutely no chance of fighting it. However, that didn't mean she had to just give up.
"We flee!" She raised her voice to a yell. "Leave the animals! Leave the wagons! Scatter! Run and hide! It's your only hope of survival!"
The wagoneer looked at her and shook his head. "There's nowhere to run." He drew an axe.
The man wasn't alone. Others were drawing weapons and preparing to fight. Daenerys wasn't going to waste her breath trying to argue with fools. She threw away her walking stick and ran as fast as she could, heading west toward the mountains. Once off the road, the terrain was a treacherous rocky hillside covered with snow. Her feet slipped more than once as she tried to put distance between her and the doomed caravan.
The dragon roared again with anticipation as she closed in fast. Daenerys glanced back and could see the dragon was making straight for the caravan. Daenerys also saw she wasn't alone in running. Some others had followed her lead and were scattering as well. Maybe some would live, but fear for her own life pushed those thoughts aside. She ran full out, limbs pumping, heart racing, feet skidding on the uneven terrain. The slope increased, and she scrambled up and over a low hill. She threw herself to the snowy ground on the other side. Cautiously she turned and crept back up the hill, so she could peek over the top and see what was happening.
The dragon had reached the caravan. She swooped in a strafing run. She breathed as she passed over the wagon train and her breath wasn't fire, but a plume of what looked like a white flame. Men and beast cried out as they died, not in blaze of fire, but in the cold embrace of ice. Wagons toppled and rolled. The dragon banked wide and then came about for another pass. It roared and breathed ice again.
Daenerys felt like she had been frozen in place as well, not by cold, but by fear. In the roar she could hear words: Fo – Krah – Diin. They didn't ring inside her soul, nor did she know what they meant, just that they did have meaning. She could repeat the sounds, but the sounds wouldn't be Words. She could guess they were about cold, but that was just reasoning, not the certainty of meaning branded on her soul. She continued watching and the dragon continued attacking.
Something was wrong with the battle. It shouldn't be taking this long. It should have been over in one strafing pass, two at most. The dragon wasn't attacking as she should. Instead of maintaining her breath and sweeping icy death across the entire battlefield, she was only using her ice breath in short controlled bursts. Then she would pause and just fly around before attacking again. It made no sense. It wasn't because she was an ice dragon. After being claimed by the Night King, Viserion had still been capable of sustained blasts of… blue flames. This dragon breathed white. She could also hear the words, Fo – Krah – Diin, with every blast. Was she just playing with its prey? Or did the dragon need time to recharge between Shouts?
In any case, the battle was taking longer, and this hilltop wasn't a good hiding place. She turned and considered her options. One side sloped down into a gully that curved back toward the battle and death. Following the ridgeline was a bad choice as well. The only good choice was going up a rock-strewn slope. It looked to be a difficult climb to gain the next crest.
She forced herself to her feet, ignored the roars and battle cries, and scrambled upward. The climb wasn't easy. The rocks were covered in snow and ice, but it wasn't as bad as she feared. She pressed forward and didn't look back. The roars of the dragon told her the fight raged on. After several tense minutes, some bruises, and scraped hands, she pulled herself to the top. What she found was a much better hiding place. The crest of this hill was rocky and irregular providing good cover.
She nestled down among the rocky outcroppings and turned back to watch. The battle must be nearing its end. The dragon had landed. While she continued to breathe ice, she was also fighting with tooth and fang. Daenerys watched grimly, waiting for the dragon to slaughter everyone and everything – only then would the dragon eat her fill. After that she would fly away to nest in her lair and sleep.
Daenerys lay on her belly on the cold hilltop and cried as she watched. She didn't even know why it hurt so much. This hadn't been her fault. She hadn't led this caravan like she'd led her khalasar into the Red Waste. She wasn't slaughtering innocents as she had at King's Landing. She'd barely known anyone in the caravan except Sagyval. She had done the smart thing, the correct thing. They hadn't had any weapons that could harm a dragon. It would have taken a ballista to kill the dragon. Maybe a powerful crossbow could injure one, but with a regular bow it would have taken a spectacularly lucky shot to hit an eye or a wing joint. Fleeing had been the smart thing. If she had stayed, she'd be dead by now. However, it felt wrong.
She watched helplessly as the battle slowly ended and the dragon began to gorge. She could just see it moving around. That was good. That meant it wouldn't easily spot her. The dragon gorged and gorged, and then it curled up and lay there. Daenerys watched for a while until she was certain that the dragon had really gone to sleep. She had been so certain the dragon would fly off to her lair, but with a frozen feast of corpses, the dragon had apparently decided to stay for a few days.
Even with the dragon sleeping, Daenerys didn't dare head back to the caravan. Instead, she started picking her way through the snow-covered foothills. While the dragon appeared to be sleeping, she wanted to be well out of sight before risking a return to the road. She tried to parallel the road, keeping it in sight while still having cover in which to hide in case the dragon woke up. Unfortunately, the broken terrain didn't always give her a choice of pathways. Somewhere along the way she lost sight of the road. That wasn't good, but she wasn't completely lost. The mountains were still to the west. All she needed was to find a way down, and she would surely find the Imperial road. She continued on as best she could until she stepped on a patch of snow that gave way beneath her feet.
She found herself skidding, bumping, and rolling down a steep rocky incline only to slam hard against a cliff face. Dazed and in pain, she tried to reach into her belt pouch for a healing potion. She couldn't force her right arm to move. She wasn't sure if it was broken, but even trying to bend it hurt. Potentially worse, blood continued to seep from long jagged cut down the entire length of her arm. She managed to open her pouch with her left hand, only to find the potion bottle smashed. Painfully she worked her way out of her backpack. She had two remaining healing potions packed securely in her backpack. Working with only her left hand, she managed to dig them out and downed them one after the other. The potions stopped the bleeding and she could move her arm again, but she still ached all over.
She forced herself to her feet and thanked all the gods for a small blessing. She'd found a trail. To be honest, it was little more than a goat track, but any path was better than continuing to climb up and down hillsides. It even seemed to be going roughly where she needed to go, so she followed it.
As the sky darkened her little footpath ended at a much larger pathway. This one was wider and looked more frequently traveled. One way sloped downward and would likely return to the Imperial road and eventually to Winterhold. The other way climbed up a steep mountainside. However, at the top of the mountain path was some kind of structure and she could see a fire burning. It was already twilight and the prospect of shelter was a lot more attractive than trying to walk through the night or camp alone along the road somewhere. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that whoever had set that fire was friendly. The long howl of a wolf coming from below her made her decision easy. She was in no shape to face wolves. She took the upward path.
While steep the path was surprisingly broad and easy to follow. The sky slowly darkened, but the setting sun peeked through the clouds painting the sky in shades of red. That's when she heard the cry of another wolf and this time it was answered by another cry somewhere in front of her. A chill ran through her as she realized they were hunting her. From somewhere she found enough energy to start jogging.
The structure at the top of the building was tantalizing close, but still too far away. The main feature was an enormous statue of a woman, so it was probably some kind of temple. As she jogged she used Flames in short little bursts in the hope of keeping the wolves at bay. It seemed to be working. In the light of one little fire blasts, she saw an enormous white wolf, far too huge to be a normal one. Except that it had two ears, it might have been Ghost. As if wolves weren't bad enough, these were dire wolves.
At least her Flames seemed to keep them back. Her sides were aching as she pushed herself to keep jogging. She thought she was going to make it when two wolves moved out onto the road in front of her blocking her way forward. She quickly glanced behind expecting more and found one charging her. She shouted "Yol," and the burst of flame threw the attacking wolf back toward two more dire wolves. She felt a sudden pain in her leg and was pulled down from behind. She turned and blasted Flames into a snarling wolf that was trying to rip out her throat. If she was going to die here, she would go down fighting.
Suddenly a burning woman appeared in a burst of flame and started throwing balls of fire at the dire wolves. The burning woman was accompanied by another woman who also started blasting fire at the dire wolves. In seconds half the remaining dire wolves were dead and the rest turned and fled. The burning woman abruptly vanished in a burst of flames.
The other woman hurried to Danerys. "Azura is watching over you, and so am I." The woman bent down and golden light spread from her hands.
Daenerys felt the sharp pain in her leg ebb. All her aches and pains washed away. She stared up at her rescuer. She wore robes of gray the color of the overcast sky embroidered with the faded image of a eight pointed star, or maybe it represented the sun. Her hair was red as the sunset and her skin was as a gray as her robes – a Dunmer.
"Thank you." The words didn't feel adequate.
"You are welcome. Now come. We should get to the temple before the sun sets. Can you walk?"
"I can now. Thank you, again." Daenerys got to her feet. She was still bloody, but she felt whole again. Her savior seemed unconcerned about the flaming woman that had appeared and vanished. Had she been some kind of spell?
"Then follow me." The Dunmer priestess set off at a quick walk up the steep path.
Daenerys hurried after. It was amazing how close she had been to the top. It was just a few hundred yards more of the path before they reached the top. The statue of the goddess was silhouetted by the red glow of the setting sun. The goddess was very feminine. She was portrayed wearing an odd set of robes. In one hand she carried a star and in the other a moon. Goddess of the night, maybe? She could only remember two of the good deities that were female: Dibella and Mara. This wasn't either of them, but she hadn't paid too much attention to Nord religion. Clearly, this goddess wasn't one of the evil ones.
The Dunmer turned back. "I'm sure you would like to bathe and rest, but it is just a little further. We must do this properly."
Do what properly? It was hard to think past a bath and rest, but given that the priestess had saved her life, she was willing to indulge her. She shrugged her agreement. "As you wish." She followed her to the top of the shrine where a huge brazier was filled with burning wood. This must have been the fire she'd seen down below.
Abruptly the priestess turned and bowed to her. "Hail, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Dragonborn. Welcome to the Shrine of Azura."
Last edited:
