4E 201, Mountains outisde Bleak Falls Barrow
Kiera Fendalyn
Kiera really didn't know why a damn dragon was here.
It was a little smaller than the one in Helgen, but it was no less terrifying. Bronze scales shimred like burnished tal as the creature descended with terrifying speed, tt descended with terrifying speed from the clouded sky, wings unfurled in a whoosh of displaced air.
Kiera staggered back, shielding her eyes as the dragon landed hard on the edge of the cliff in front of her. A wave of snow and gravel exploded upward, showering her from head to toe. The whole mountainside seed to tremble beneath its landing.
Seeing it now up-close, she just realized still how humongous it really was. Despite being smaller than the one before, this bronze dragon was easily twice the size of a mammoth, with its claws half as tall as her.
For a mont, neither of them moved. Golden-yellow eyes bored into her as it exhaled steam through its nostrils.
She gripped Dawnbite's hilt tightly, just to feel so sense of security. Even though deep down, she knew her silver longsword was useless. Kiera was tired from fighting through an entire nordic tomb, but she wasn't about to lay over and die without a fight.
To her surprise, the bronze dragon didn't go hostile. It began speaking to her in dragon tongue, which she didn't understand at all. Seeing the confusion plain on her face, it switched back to the common language.
"I am Vermithor and I seek a stone, ant to depict the burial sites of my fallen brethren." Vermithor spoke.
She knew instantly then that the dragon was seeking the stone she had procured from the barrow. She rembered it vividly—etched with strange symbols that she assud was a map of so sorts. She'd thought it was important to the Nords, but now…
She forced herself to speak. "I know not what you speak of," she lied. Her tone was steady, but the lie was brittle. "But if I did… what would you do with that stone?"
Vermithor did not roar or threaten. He simply looked at her, as if seeing through her words, seeing the truth behind them.
"I seek it to prevent Alduin from gaining an advantage over us." Vermithor spoke, which surprised her to no end.
Alduin.
Even hearing the na made her stomach clench. The World-Eater. That could only be the dragon from Helgen. She could still hear his roar—could rember how fire fell from the sky.
"Paarthunax has spoken." Vermithor continued. "The war of dragons and n shall ravage the world. Every living being—dragon, man, or r—must choose a side."
War. A war between dragons and mortals. The very idea of it was staggering. She'd barely survived her first encounter with one. Now she was being told a war was coming—and not just from an enemy, but from one of their kind.
"I…" she swallowed hard. "Are you saying there are dragons fighting against Alduin?"
Vermithor raised his head, revealing his long serpentine neck.
"Yes. Not all of us bowed to him. So of us rember." He looked away for a mont, eyes distant. "We rember the Tyrant before the world was shaped."
Kiera gulped. Vermithor had been nothing but cordial so far. He wasn't a monster. This was a being with a cause. With reason.
And he was asking for her help.
She clenched her jaw, mind racing. Could she trust him? Would Stendarr approve of such a choice?
She took a deep breath and gave a silent prayer to Stendarr, asking for guidance. She truly did not know what to do. The stone she had was apparently important enough to tip the scales of the future war, but could she really believe this dragon's word?
A feeling of warmth filled her core that made her eyes widen, it was gentle. Like a slow fla from a hearth.
Without hesitation, she pulled out the dragonstone from her sack and gave it to Vermithor.
The bronze dragon's eyes narrowed, not in aggression, but in reverence. He stepped closer, lowering his head just enough to let her place it down in front of him.
He studied it for a long mont before gently collecting it in one massive claw, curling his talons carefully around it as if it were sothing precious. Sothing sacred.
"You have my gratitude," he rumbled. "What may I call you, brave one?"
She hesitated a mont, then straightened her spine. "...Kiera," she said. "Kiera Fendalyn."
"Then I will rember this kindness, Kiera Fendalyn. The storm is coming. But not all storms co to destroy."
Without another word, Vermithor beat his wings once—twice—and lifted into the air, snow whirling in cyclones around his form. The force of his takeoff nearly knocked her over again. She shielded her eyes and watched as his bronzed form shrank into the clouds.
…
4E 201, Windhelm
Gerron Ironbreaker
The icy wind howled against the stone walls of Windhelm as Gerron Ironbreaker crossed the threshold of the ancient city.
Towering gray walls and cobblestone streets covered in a layer of snow. Night had fallen hard, cloaking the streets in shadow save for the flickering torches posted at every corner.
The first thing he noticed was that there were many, many guards.
Far more than he rembered from his last visit. City guards patrolled the city aplenty, hands resting casually—yet purposefully—on the hilts of their swords. Gerron's brow furrowed. Sothing was amiss.
Adjusting the fur cloak over his shoulders, he pressed forward, the promise of a warm hearth and a pint of ad guiding his steps to Candlehearth Hall.
When he pushed open the heavy oak doors, a wave of warmth and noise washed over him. The place was packed. Hearthfires crackled in the twin fireplaces, casting a lively glow across the weathered wooden beams. The sll of roasted at, smoke, and strong drink filled the air. Half the patrons wore the blue and brown of the Stormcloaks, their axes and swords leaning against chairs and walls.
Gerron's sharp eyes quickly scanned the room—and there, at a corner table, he spotted a familiar face.
Ralof. The stout Nord was hunched over a mug of ad, his blond hair a bit longer than Gerron rembered, but the sa lively spirit shone in his eyes. Gerron made his way over with a grin.
"Ralof," he said, clapping his old comrade on the shoulder. "Didn't think I'd find you drowning yourself this deep into a bottle."
Ralof looked up and grinned wide. "Gerron, you stubborn bastard! What in Oblivion are you doing here in Windhelm?! Co, sit." He waved to the barmaid for another mug as Gerron pulled up a chair.
The two shared a hearty swig before settling into easy conversation.
After a few minutes, Gerron leaned back and gestured toward the window, where he could just make out the passing guards. "What's with the heavy security? Feels like they're preparing for a siege."
Ralof's grin faded, replaced by a grimace. "There was a murder two weeks ago," he muttered, voice low. "A lass from Candlehearth Inn, poor soul. Found with lacerations across her body. It ain't the first one either. Bastard's been stalking Windhelm for months now. A serial killer. The city guard's tearing their hair out, and the steward's near mad trying to catch the bastard."
Gerron frowned, his hand tightening around his mug. "Damn sha."
Ralof shrugged wearily. "It is. But life goes on, eh? Anyway, you caught at a good ti." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "Just finished a eting with the Jarl and Galmar Stone-Fist. The weapons and armor you crafted saved a lot of our boys' hides. Jarl Ulfric himself asked to offer you a job. Full-ti smith for the rebellion. What do you say?"
Gerron chuckled, shaking his head. "Tempting. But no. I'm looking to do so trade, not join another war. Our mine near Shor's Stone hit a rich vein of ebony. Best haul we've seen in years."
Ralof's eyebrows shot up. "Truly? Talos smiles on you, friend. I'll send word to the steward at the Palace of Kings. He'll dispatch a runner to negotiate with Filnjar. You'll have our thanks—and our coin."
"Appreciate it," Gerron said, raising his mug once more before finishing it in a long gulp.
After so more brief pleasantries, Gerron took his leave, stepping back out into the cold night and making his way to The White Phial, Windhelm's fad alchemy shop.
The bell above the door jingled softly as he entered. The scent of dried herbs and potions imdiately enveloped him. An imperial who introduced himself as Quintus Navale managed the counter, organizing bundles of nightshade and lavender into the shelves behind him.
Quintus looked up and smiled politely. "Feel free to use the lab if you need. We're always happy to accommodate fellow alchemists."
"Much obliged," Gerron grunted, moving toward the alchemy table tucked in the corner. He unpacked the ingredients he had scavenged from Redwater Den, his hands working deftly.
He set to work.
The Alchemist perk had made sure his knowledge of herbs and the way to make use of them were equal to that of an expert. Ingredients were ground, distilled, and blended in a swift and precise motion. In minutes, he produced a series of potent potions—health restoratives, resistance draughts, and magicka potions—each more refined than anything the average shop in Skyrim could offer.
Quintus watched, wide-eyed, as Gerron brewed.
"By the Nine," he whispered. "That's… that's incredible work."
The sound of heavy steps descending the staircase interrupted them. Gerron glanced over his shoulder to see an elderly Altr at the base of the stairs. He was old and thin, his face having that gaunt look of a man who was not long for this world.
"Master Nurelion." Quintus greeted.
"What's with all the ruckus?" Nurelion snapped. His gaze fell on Gerron, initially dismissive, then narrowing with faint curiosity when he noticed the potions lined neatly on the lab table.
Gerron ignored the scrutiny and continued his work, unbothered.
Nurelion, however, wasn't the type to stay silent. The old alchemist stalked over, peering at the finished potions. He picked one up and inspected it with a critical eye. After a mont, his brows furrowed deeper.
"You have so skill," he muttered grudgingly. "Let see that."
He brought the potion to his own workstation, running it through a series of alchemical tests ant to determine its quality. As the final reagent turned an unusual, vibrant shade of crimson, his eyes widened.
"My word," Nurelion whispered. "I've never seen a health potion this potent in my life."
He turned back toward Gerron, regarding him with new respect—and sothing else too.
"You're not bad," Nurelion said. "Tell —have you ever heard of sothing called the White Phial?"
At the ntion of the na, a spark of recognition flashed through Gerron's mind. He ntally delved into the compendium of recipes and artifacts stored by the Artificer System. It didn't take long to find the entry.
[White Phial]
An ancient relic from the rethic Era, said to contain the first snow to fall from the Throat of the World. Any liquid dropped within the phial is instantly amplified and purified.
He lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah, I've heard of it. Legends say it can amplify and purify anything placed within."
Nurelion grew visibly excited, his usually sour expression brightening. "Yes, exactly! You know your lore. Listen to carefully—I believe I've found its resting place. I would trust no one but another master alchemist to retrieve it. What do you say? Will you help an old man realize his life's work?"
Gerron considered. According to the System, it was technically possible to craft a phial with similar properties himself. All he needed were rare ingredients like a briar heart, a few scoops of unlting snow, a few mammoth tusks grinded into fine powder, and vampire dust. But finding one already made would be far easier.
He nodded slowly. "Sure. I'll try to find ti."
Nurelion's face lit up with genuine joy, an expression so rare on an Altr that it nearly startled Gerron.
"Excellent!" the old alchemist exclaid. "You have no idea how much this ans to !"
Gerron just smiled faintly and turned back to finish bottling his potions.
…
AN: Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, is a dragon from the House of the Dragon series. Thought it would be a fun addition to the nurous dragons that now prowl across Skyrim.
Also, Kiera giving away the dragonstone will have pretty big consequences in the future. Can't wait to write out the ones I have planned.
The White Phial is also sothing I thought of regarding magical artifacts in Skyrim's lore that would prove useful for a budding alchemist like Gerron. I looked up the wiki and the ability it possesses is actually pretty damn busted too.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. 4-10 chapters should be available according to the tier. Chapter 20 should be available by the ti this chapter is posted. Just look up my na and you'll find .
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!
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