Tempered by Fire

Part 1: Broken

Prologue


The city of Solitude did not stop for the sun. Indeed, the illumination of the moons shining through the wispy clouds seemed to invite the presence of the various forms bustling through the cold. Various people from innumerable walks of life passed side by side, ignoring each other, enraptured with their selfish pursuits. A guardsman slumped against one of the stone walls of the city fought against the seduction of sleep, awaiting his compatriot who had stolen off to find ale for the two of them. The howl of a wolf rose up in the night, reaching its peak before being accompanied by another, human scream. A few people glanced towards Proudspire Manor before falling back into their routines. It was a common occurrence, after all; nothing but the wail of a living ghost.

Jordis the Sword-Maiden tread hurriedly through the halls of the Manor, the furs she wore doing little to halt the sharp permeation of the cold. Her footsteps were only illuminated by the candlelight spell she had cast to light the way. Indeed, the entire home was practically devoid of any kind of flame, leaving the abode cold and dark, save for the eerie green light produced by the Sword-Maiden’s vigil. The only bastion against the Skyrim nights was Jordis’ own room, where the only fire in the home burned. Her footfalls echoed on the stairs as she ascended, soon joined by a renewed screaming emanating from the master bedroom. Quickening her pace, the Nord climbed the rest of the stairs with long strides, closing the gap between her and the door.

The door opened, allowing the emerald rays to reach into the room. With no fire in the hearth, the far side of the room was cast with an azure glow as Masser and Secunda cast their light into the room as well. It was largely bare, having been long since cleared out by its occupant. Jordis raised her hand, the candlelight illuminating the thrashing mass on the bed. The source of the screams issued forth another pained howl as Jordis quickly crossed the room to the side of the bed, where a single wooden chair sat. She grasped the writing form of a man, its shoulders damp with cold sweat; the candlelight spell dissipating as she firmly shook them once, jolting the sad creature awake.

Evander Leontius breathed in long, shuddering breaths, his eyes wide and bouncing around the room, taking in the minutia of details present. They flew once to Jordis before the breathing slowed, and the eyes closed. The Nord woman took her seat at the side of the bed, looking patiently at Evander. The blue glow of the moon illuminated half of her face while the other remained shrouded in shadow.

The Imperial man swung his legs out of bed, keeping his eyes low. The moonlight accentuated the dark bags under his eyes. “How bad?” he asked, his voice strong yet quiet at the same time. His calloused hands were visible in the moonlight, palms up as he studied their lines.

“No worse than usual,” Jordis said, her Nordic accent lilting to Evander’s tortured ears. He had always found the voice comforting, as it would be expected, given the situation. “No one called the guard yet, so it’s an improvement over last night.”

A grim smile crossed Leontius’ lips. “You could murder me in the night and no one would be any the wiser.” A shiver wracked his body, and he searched for his blankets around him.

Jordis stood, walking around the bed. “Alas, no. They would miss the shrieking at night. It’s white noise in Solitude now, as soothing as the rainfall.” She bent down and plucked Evander’s blankets from the floor where he had deposited them in his night-time ravings. “And they would notice something was amiss if smoke suddenly began to rise from the chimney on this side of the house.”

Evander graciously took the heavy furs, draping them around his body. “I’m sure they wouldn’t blame you for finally doing away with me. In fact, they would probably thank you.” He watched as Jordis crossed back around to the other side of the bed where her chair was located. The Imperial had always found her beautiful, but he had never been in any position to do anything about it.

The Sword-Maiden took her seat, leaning forward to regard Evander. “Same dream?” she asked, cocking her head to the side in a curious manner.
Of course, there was no reason for the question. It was always the same dream. Windhelm burning. Flames engulfing the Palace of the Kings. The swing of a battle-axe and the spraying of blood. That was the moment that Evander ceased being a man and became something…broken. He simply nodded in answer to her question.

“I see. Well, did it get to the end this time?” Jordis asked, her eyebrows raised.

“It wouldn’t matter if it did,” Evander said, looking out the window into the moonlight. “You should go get some rest, you need sleep if you’re going to resist putting that blade of yours to my neck any longer.”

The blond Nord gave a small smile and stood, heading back to the door. Her hand lit up with the green glow of candlelight as she reached the door. She looked back at the man, sitting there peering out the window. Despite his condition, he was still in peak physical form. With his blond hair pushed back over his head, and his blue eyes shining in the moonlight, Jordis could see the man he used to be. Not wanting to spoil that image, she ducked back into the hallway, silently closing the door behind her before making her way back to her room.

Evander sighed, dropping his head into his hands. He hated what he had become. As much as he joked about Jordis running him through, he sometimes wished she would just do it. Put him out of his misery. Like a horse with a broken leg, he was a soldier with a broken mind. Evander stood, letting his blankets fall to the floor. He cracked his neck from side to side, grunting with meager satisfaction. The Imperial walked over to a display case in the far corner of the room, peering wistfully through the glass at the enchanted blade that had once belonged to General Tullius. It was the only reminder he could bear to have near him. With another deep sigh, Leontius dropped to the ground and began snapping off pushups. He had some time to kill before morning arrived, and there was no way he would be sleeping. This late night exercise is what kept him from wasting away. However, he didn’t do it for that. To put it simply: for Evander, anything was better than thinking.