4E 201, Jorrvaskr
Kiera Fendalyn
Kiera had already known that Nords were a boisterous lot. But even she didn't expect that the victory celebrations would be done like…this.
A drunken brawl had erupted in the center of the square where the tables had been arranged in a tight, uneven grid—wooden tables filled to the brim with tankards, meat, and mead.
Kiera's eyes strayed to the mess of bare-chested, bruised, and sweaty men pounding each other senseless, all while laughing and yelling like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Even stranger was how cheerfully the crowd egged them on. Women shouted in chorus, clapping and howling like it was some wild theatrical show. A few of them, just as drunk and spirited, leapt into the fray—one of them tackling a stocky Nord man to the dirt and cheering when she came out on top.
Kiera leaned back against one of the tables, arms crossed, lips twitching upward. It was so… Skyrim. Harsh and cold one minute, then alive with laughter the next.
The moment the battle was over, the Companions had been the first to declare a feast. The celebration had spilled out of Jorrvaskr like a rising tide—the steps that led to the longhouse, across the plaza and the training yard behind it all filled with the denizens of Whiterun.
The turned battleship-turned-mead hall was lit from within like a forge. Fires crackled in braziers. Spit-roasted boar turned over flames. Children ran barefoot, their faces painted with war-paint.
Even Jarl Balgruuf and the entire nobility were here. Beside him, the hulking figure of his brother Hrongar laughed louder than anyone else, a cup of mead in each hand. A few Thanes could be spotted laughing and drinking alongside the many Whiterun Guards that took part in the battle, who were being lauded as the main stars of the party.
Somewhere in the chaos, Aela sat quietly at the foot of a memorial pyre, her eyes distant as firelight flickered over her painted face. The twins, Vilkas and Farkas, stood shoulder to shoulder nearby, along with Kodlak, the Harbinger of the Companions. Each of them accepting drinks in memory of their fallen shield-brother, Skjor.
Kiera had asked about the Nord custom of celebrating the dead, and Farkas had answered simply. "He wouldn't want us weeping. He's in Sovngarde now, drinking with Ysgramor. He died well. So we drink well."
It was strange, Kiera thought, to find comfort in such things. Her faith in the Divines didn't quite stretch to the Nord's vision of the afterlife. But somehow… it helped. In their mourning, there was pride. In their pride, a strange kind of peace.
The other two dozen Whiterun guards who died in the fight were also celebrated as toasts were done in their name. The Jarl had even come to each of their families, flanked by Irileth and Commander Caius to deliver the news, along with a decent pouch of septims as recompense.
The werewolf revelation still sat uneasily with her, though. She wasn't blind to what it meant. Ties to Hircine were no small matter. In Cyrodiil, that kind of daedric association would have had the Vigilants descending on Jorrvaskr like a divine hammer.
But here?
Here, it was celebrated.
The Jarl had even admitted he knew of the Companions' powers, yet verbally supported it.
She was uncomfortable, but decided to respect their beliefs. After all, there were far worse Daedra to worship than Hircine. Her worship only comes in the thrill of the hunt for sport. Not something malicious.
Not like Molag Bal. Or Mehrunes Dagon. Or Boethiah.
Still, she'd be keeping an eye on them. Just in case.
She took another sip from the cup in her hands—Honningbrew, she thought—and winced. Too sweet. Nords loved their mead like they loved their axes: loud, strong, and dangerously sharp. She much preferred the quiet floral wines of Cyrodiil, or the earthy ales her mother used to brew in the Vigilants' hall. Her mind turned briefly to the thought of her mother, and she felt a pang.
She missed her dearly, and yet here she was getting comfortable in Whiterun instead of making the trip to Dawnstar. She blinked away the thought and turned toward the one person whose name was on everyone's lips tonight.
Gerron Ironbreaker.
The massive Nord stood tall amidst a crowd, his mane of blonde hair spilling over a thick fur mantle. He let out a boisterous laugh as he had one arm around Farkas. The two of them had become fast friends and were already drunk on glory, telling tales and clinking mugs.
None had known who he was, and from what the rumors say, he had only arrived in Whiterun and was among the last to enter the walls when Commander Caius had asked for volunteers.
His choice of weapons and armor had garnered plenty of attention, for very few men and women in Skyrim had access to ebony of such fine make. When questioned about it, the man had regaled the tale of how Shor's Stone, a village in the Rift, was blessed by the gods when their dying iron mine was found to have veins filled with ebony ore.
He claimed to have smithed them himself, which had made Eorlund Gray-Mane to look at him in interest. In the end, he had earned the friendships of many of the people in Whiterun, Kiera included.
After all, the sight of him breaking the dragon's neck with his bare hands was one she would not forget in her lifetime. It was a story that had been regaled by many of the people who had seen it. By this time tomorrow, she wouldn't be surprised if the whole city knew of Gerron's feat.
"Gerron the Dragonslayer!" someone shouted.
"No, no—Gerron the Ebony Warrior!"
"You blind, it was the Dragonborn that killed the second one!"
"They both did! They'll be in the songs together!"
Even now the bards were already singing their new ballad, "Breaker of Iron". A song dedicated to the man who broke a dragon's neck with his bare hands. It was sung alongside "The Dragonborn Comes", celebrating these two new champions that rose when the people needed it.
Kiera rolled her eyes. She didn't care for the spotlight. Every time someone called her Dragonborn, it felt… unreal. As if they were speaking of someone else. She still couldn't wrap her head around the fact that she's this supposed warrior of legend reborn.
Another boisterous laughter had Kiera's attention whinging to the Jarl and his brother. Apparently, Jarl Balgruuf often spends his time drinking with the Companions. It wasn't rare to see him walk down from Dragonsreach and visit the districts of Whiterun in his leisure. At least once every two weeks, he could be seen amongst the common folk gazing at the wares of the city square.
While he was most often accompanied by Irileth and a score of guards, it didn't change everyone's perception of him. He truly was a good Jarl.
Jarl Balgruuf had approached her earlier in the evening, offering both a congratulatory toast and a request: to climb the mountain and make the ten-thousand steps of High Hrothgar. The Greybeards had called her. She was to answer.
"You've got a path ahead of you," he'd said quietly, "one only you can walk. But know that Whiterun will always have your back, lass."
She appreciated that. She really did.
But right now?
She was exhausted.
Yet again she found herself being forced on another merry quest. While she would always be happy and glad to help those who need it, she wanted nothing more than to rest and make her way to the Hall of Vigilants to meet her mother.
It had been one thing after another. First she was ambushed by Imperials and nearly had her head chopped off, then a dragon showed up and called meteors from the sky. Then, she went to a tomb full of undead and fought a Draugr Deathlord, which then another dragon had showed up.
Just when she thought things would calm down after reaching Whiterun, another two dragons showed up.
Never say life in Skyrim was boring. Kiera wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week.
Finally feeling the fatigue that had settled in after she reached the land of the Nords, she rose from the bench with a groan. Irileth, standing by the Jarl's side, arched a single brow in her direction.
Kiera gave a subtle shrug, and gestured to the door: I'm done.
Irileth offered a faint, understanding smile and nodded.
Threading her way through the crowd, past laughter and firelight, music and stories, she made her way down to the Plains District, her steps slow, dragging.
The Bannered Mare stood warm and inviting, lanterns glowing through its shutters. Hulda gave her a wave from behind the bar but didn't try to stop her. She must've seen the bone-deep weariness in Kiera's gait.
She climbed the stairs, wincing as the wood creaked beneath her boots. She didn't bother undressing fully—just peeled off her coat, set her sword against the corner, and let herself fall into the bed.
Feathers. Real ones.
The soft kind you only ever got in inns with a little money behind them.
As her cheek pressed into the pillow, the sounds of celebration outside faded to a gentle hum—like the ocean in a shell. Her breath slowed. Her heartbeat settled. The weariness pulled her under like a velvet tide.
The last thought she had before sleep took her was simple:
'Please. No dragons tomorrow.'
…
4E 201, Hall of Vigilants
Keeper Carcette
The candlelight flickered across the pages as Carcette Fendalyn dipped her quill once more into the inkwell.
The scratching of ink against parchment was the only sound in the room besides the occasional howl of wind outside. The Hall of Vigilants was quiet this evening—eerily so. Even the hounds, typically restless by dusk, lay curled in their corners, subdued by the chill creeping in from the mountains.
Her study, tucked into the upper wing of the Hall, was a cramped but sacred space. Tomes lined the walls—some bound in cracked leather, others in strange metallic filigree from far-off lands. A locked chest in the corner held artifacts confiscated during raids, the most dangerous sealed behind layers of warding enchantments.
She sighed, eyes scanning the report from Morthal.
"...Several citizens claimed to witness a woman vanishing into thin air beside the marsh. Possible illusion magic, but a sigil matching that of Clavicus Vile was carved into the stone nearby. Investigation ongoing."
Carcette set the letter down, her mouth tightening. Another one. That made five instances this month of Daedric sigils left behind as if mocking them. Worship was spreading like rot in damp timber.
Just last night, they'd purged a cavern in Winterhold. A circle of six—three of her senior Vigilants and three initiates—had raided the place after weeks of whispered rumors. Inside, they'd found a hidden cult to Vaermina, its members already lost to the madness she sowed. One of the initiates had suffered a psychic backlash from a cursed idol. He hadn't woken up yet.
And now there were murmurs… dangerous ones.
She tapped a finger against another sealed scroll on her desk. Reports had filtered in from across the Pale: a red-robed figure seen near the coast, preaching of a new dawn, opening a museum of all things. She didn't want to believe it. But the word Mythic Dawn had been used—spoken like a ghost from a darker time.
'Talos preserve us,' she thought. 'We don't need another Oblivion Crisis.'
Her door creaked open slightly.
"Keeper," came a soft voice from one of her aides, Brother Edvar. "You've been working since dawn. Perhaps you should rest—"
"I'll rest when Stendarr's light is no longer needed in this cursed land," she said, not unkindly.
Edvar hesitated, then nodded and backed out with a murmur of respect.
She returned to her desk, reorganizing letters from their field agents. Tyranus's name caught her eye again. She frowned.
He had left a week ago for Markarth, intent on investigating reports of a strange door and increasingly erratic behavior among some of the city's guards. Daedra had always lurked in the shadows of the Reach. Something about those mountains invited darkness.
She drummed her fingers on the desk. He should've returned or reported in by now. Maybe it was nothing—delays happened. A freak snowstorm. A collapsed pass. Or even just a longer investigation.
But her gut told her otherwise.
She reached for a clean parchment and scrawled out a deployment order. She'd send a small squad to find him—two senior Vigilants, armed and blessed. If it turned out to be nothing, so be it. If not… well. She wouldn't leave one of her own to die in the dark.
She was sealing the letter when her mind drifted—again—to Kiera.
Her hand paused mid-fold, and her stern expression softened.
Her daughter. Her pride. Her heart.
Kiera had always been a headstrong child, too quick to throw herself between danger and the defenseless. It was what made her perfect for the Vigilants, even if Carcette had tried for years to keep her away from the darker corners of their work. But in the end, Kiera had followed the same path.
She had set out from Cyrodiil to join Carcette months ago. Carcette had expected her to arrive already, but no word had come—until a courier from Whiterun finally delivered a note.
She'd read the letter so many times she could recite it by heart.
"Mother, I've been delayed. There's talk of dragon sightings—can you believe it? I saw one myself, massive with pitch black wings. I'll make my way to the Hall once things settle down. I promise. Stay safe. I love you."
Carcette had sighed when she first read it, exasperated but warmed all the same.
It was so like Kiera to stop for every injured pilgrim or missing villager along the way. That compassion—that will—was what made her shine. She had a healer's heart, tempered by a warrior's hand.
But even so…
The destruction of Helgen had rattled her. When word first reached them of the razed town, Carcette's blood had run cold. Helgen was the southernmost outpost in Skyrim, meant to be a stop by for anyone visiting from the southern regions. The questions had rung her mind then. Had Kiera already passed by Helgen or did she not yet arrive? Was she present when Helgen attacked? Is she even still alive?
The letter had soothed that terror. Whiterun was one of the most secure cities in Skyrim, partly due to the Companions' presence as well as Jarl Balgruuf's ironclad stance of neutrality regarding the war. No Stormcloak or Imperials are welcome in his lands if they are there seeking trouble, which lead to plenty of headaches from both sides as they found themselves incapable of mobilizing their armies through the most central region in Skyrim.
The doors to her office burst open. Two Vigilants stood framed in the doorway, winded and wide-eyed. Their armor bore fresh snow, and one still clutched a half-tied scroll in his gauntleted hand.
"Keeper Carcette!" the first, a young woman named Sanya, called out. "We have visitors—Stormcloaks! They approached the sentries asking to speak with leadership!"
Carcette's eyes narrowed. "Stormcloaks? Here? They know the Hall is neutral."
Before she could form another thought, the second Vigilant stepped forward—older, sterner. "Keeper, I have news." His voice was grim. "They say… they say Whiterun was attacked. By a dragon."
Carcette went still.
Her hands tightened around the edge of the desk. "When?"
"Two nights ago," the man replied. "News says it came from the west. It destroyed the Western Watchtower. Jarl Balgruuf sent out a hunting party to bring it down and they did so, though not without casualties."
Carcette stood slowly, her robes whispering against the stone floor.
Carcette turned toward the window, where the mountains stood like silent sentinels beyond the frost-laced glass.
Another dragon. This one at the heart of Skyrim.
What in the name of Stendarr was going on?
…
AN: Kiera needs a well deserved break, poor girl. Also, a new perspective from Carcette! I love the Vigilants. They were quite underused in the game since barely any quests involved them. But reading about them from the lore was quite fun.
Another bit of AU I'm doing here is that Daedric Influence has been on the rise lately. Vaermina, Molag Bal, Mehrunes Dagon, Hircine, etc. A whole bunch of things are happening in the background while Gerron and Kiera are running around doing their own thing.
We'll get to see them more in the future. Like I said in the AU of a previous chapter, we'll be seeing quite a lot of Aedra and Daedra in this fic.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 24 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!