The Wolf and the Lioness - The Fall of Falkreath (Patreon)

Aegon Targaryen – Helgen, close to Falkreath

The three horses ran at full speed toward Falkreath, Aegon leading the small group, while Aela and Lydia followed him closely, all clad in armor.

And all of them truly worried about the complete lack of response from the group sent to Falkreath.

After the defense of Whiterun and the exquisite night with Aela, the Winter Lord did not waste time and launched himself toward Falkreath, determined to uncover the mystery of why Ciri had not mobilized the troops toward Ulfric’s rear.

At first he was not truly worried. He knew his lioness was powerful and skilled, both with magic and with the sword. Ciri knew how to take care of herself.

However… that notion changed the moment he arrived at Helgen, observing how an entire regiment of Stormcloaks lay in ruins.

For a moment, he thought that Ciri and the troops of Markarth had been responsible, but as soon as he began analyzing the ruins, his concern increased.

It was not that the warriors had been killed in battle, but that they had been torn apart and desecrated.

“This was not done with steel,” Lydia whispered cautiously, observing the mutilated bodies.

“I agree, this looks more like the work of a beast than of a man,” said the huntress with her bow drawn, looking in every direction.

However, Aegon was not listening. His eyes carefully observed the entire place, noticing something strange and troubling at the same time.

There was not a single drop of blood…

Which could only mean…

“We have to reach Falkreath, and quickly,” he ordered urgently, drawing Lydia and Aela’s attention.

Neither of them questioned his orders. They simply mounted their respective beasts and galloped at full speed along the Imperial road.

Without looking back, the small group headed toward Falkreath.

The silence was total.

Not only between Aegon and his companions, but everywhere.

No birds, no insects, no animals could be heard.

Nothing at all.

The whispering wind moved the leaves of the trees softly, and a constant sensation began to grow stronger and stronger.

“They are watching us, Jon,” said Aela, frowning as she looked toward the forest.

The Winter Lord nodded softly.

“They are. I recognize these tactics. They believe us prey. We will correct that notion,” he promised before giving the order to increase their speed.

They were getting closer and closer to Falkreath, and the feeling of dread was becoming more overwhelming.

“My Thane… look at that…” said Lydia with absolute horror and fury in her young voice, drawing the warrior’s attention.

Aegon looked where the Nord pointed, inhaling sharply as he saw a damn pile of bodies.

It was a foul, shapeless mass.

A pile of rotting corpses.

There were animals, humans, and Mer. He could easily recognize the colors of the Thalmor, Stormcloaks, and Imperials.

“This is an abomination, an insult! This is the work of the filthy vermin of the night!” Aela spat furiously.

Aegon looked at her with severity.

“Do not generalize, Aela. For many in Skyrim, werewolves are filthy cursed beasts. Is that true?” Aegon asked firmly.

The redhead looked at him with a frown before lowering her gaze.

“It is not,” she said softly.

“Then do not use a stereotype. You know Serana, who as you say is a ‘vermin of the night,’ and although your relationship with her has always been cold, she has always been courteous and respectful toward you. I expect the same courtesy in return, understood?” said the young dragon as he unconsciously channeled the power of the Thu’um into his voice.

Both Lydia and Aela looked at him with respect and a hint of fear.

“Yes, Alpha,” said Aela, bowing her head completely, her instinct as a lycanthrope forcing her to submit to her leader.

After all…

It is natural for wolves to kneel before dragons.

“I see soldiers of Markarth, imperial legionaries, and Stormcloaks, but the number is very small. I hope they are still in the city resisting and fighting,” said Aegon as he channeled flames through his hands and cast an incineration spell toward the bodies.

Ally or enemy, no one deserved such a cruel end.

“We are close to Falkreath, let’s go,” he ordered solemnly.

The trio continued their path between trees and shadows.

The day was slowly ending.

Akatosh was hiding beyond the horizon and the darkness of night began to emerge just as the damaged walls of Falkreath appeared, hidden among the dense forest.

“By the Nine…” Aela whispered with concern, seeing how much of the town was destroyed.

Bodies of villagers, Stormcloaks and Imperials were scattered everywhere.

It was evident that the vast majority had died in total agony.

The stench of death invaded the noses of the three.

“This was a massacre,” Lydia whispered.

But Aegon was not listening.

The Winter Lord looked with absolute horror at the result of the vampire attack on the town.

Guards, legionaries and soldiers of Markarth lay scattered through the streets like old rags.

“Stay alert, this is recent,” said Aegon in a soft voice, containing all the rage and hatred he felt inside.

And suddenly…

It began.

Aela let out a furious roar as she drew her sword and spun halfway around, thrusting the blade behind her.

The characteristic sound of metal piercing flesh echoed through the ruined town.

At the same time, a feminine gasp followed by a sigh revealed a pale body clad in a red robe.

Her red eyes revealed the true nature of the creature.

Without wasting time, Aela pulled her blade free and brought it to the creature’s neck, decapitating it instantly, snapping Aegon and Lydia out of their brief trance.

The warrior of Whiterun drew her sword and took a defensive stance, while Jon began channeling his magic through his own blade, making the edge begin to shine with a golden flame.

After all, the best way to deal with beings of Death was with a breath of life.

So Restoration would be his greatest ally.

Without losing a second, Aegon let out a roar of fury and buried his sword into the ground, releasing the spell and creating a protective circle around himself and his companions.

The Restoration magic was so powerful that a shockwave spread through the city. Vampires near the young sorcerer and his group were incinerated by the master spell, while those farther away survived, though not unharmed.

The vampires felt Aegon’s magic pass through their bodies, filling them with agony and forcing them to lose their invisibility.

“The hunt begins,” said Aela with a bloodthirsty grin as she quickly prepared her bow and began firing at the creatures of the night.

Aegon looked at a cautious Lydia, who had little experience fighting these beings.

“Do not hesitate and trust your instincts. May Talos protect you,” said the Winter Lord solemnly.

Lydia nodded and, with a battle cry, launched herself toward the stunned vampires, making sure not to leave the protective circle.

“It is him… the companion of Princess Serana! Lord Harkon’s orders are clear, five Thralls for whoever brings me his—AAAHHH!” screamed the obvious leader of the vampires.

Her voice was filled with agony as a massive appendage of ice pierced her from behind.

Aegon used his sword after finishing off a couple of creatures, at the same time that Serana appeared behind the now deceased leader, casting her destruction and conjuration magic against the confused vampires.

The four warriors were completely merciless, and one by one they eliminated the rest of all the vampires present in the city. The screams of agony of the rotten beasts were music to Aegon as their black blood bathed the ruined town, until after several minutes of combat the last of the creatures perished beneath Aegon’s blade, leaving this plane with a gasp and a final sigh of despair.

A moment later, the entire town was once again in complete silence, only interrupted by the melodious and slow footsteps of Serana, who walked toward the Winter Lord, relief more than evident on her face.

“Jon! You are here, thank the Gods,” said the princess with a smile that Aegon returned softly.

“It is good to see you again, Serana. When Ciri failed with the plan I could not help but worry. Do you know where she is?” asked the Winter Lord with hope, which turned into total relief when he saw the vampire nod softly.

“Yes, the lioness escorted all the civilians who managed to escape the city toward Markarth with the surviving soldiers,” Serana sighed with pain while looking at the now destroyed Falkreath.

“What happened?” asked Aegon with a frown, looking with impotence at the destruction around him.

“My father happened. He sent his dogs after me and Ciri paid the consequences,” said the beautiful young woman with pain as she looked away, unable to hold Aegon’s gaze.

After that, the young sorcerer listened with impotence as Serana explained how Ciri and the cavalry had taken the Stormcloak city with relative ease, only for a dense mist followed by a large number of vampires to fall upon the exhausted warriors.

“It was a massacre. Ciri was the only one truly capable of facing them, so the captains and the older soldiers sent her as the leader of the civilians, accompanied by the youngest soldiers. Every last one of them died in agony, becoming nothing more than entertainment for the members of my clan,” spat the vampire with total impotence.

Aegon remained silent for a time, staring into nothing and consumed by regret.

He was the expert in Restoration, not Ciri. If he had led the attack on Falkreath then perhaps…

The sorcerer shook his head.

No… he would not think about that. His wife was safe and sound, and these noble warriors were in Sovngarde. Aegon would not spit upon their final sacrifice.

However…

“Harkon Volkihar has just become our priority. Tullius can handle Ulfric for a time. It is time we find the last Elder Scroll.”

Serana looked at him with surprise before nodding softly, prepared to follow the plan.

It was time to visit Castle Volkihar.

“We will burn all the dead, they will receive their proper rites and their sacrifice will not be forgotten. Falkreath is gone, and we will make sure the one responsible pays for his audacity.”

Around them, the three warriors nodded with determination. Harkon Volkihar had interfered in their affairs, and he would pay the consequences in the same way the enemies of their ancestors had.

With fire.

And blood.

Cirilla Fiona Ellen Riannon - Understone Keep - Markath.

“It is him, my Lady,” said the Thalmor warrior who had escorted her toward the Dwemer expert who lived in the city.

“Thank you, dear,” said Ciri before walking toward the clearly mad old man, who was speaking completely to himself about problems, mechanisms, and security systems.

He did not look like the Dwemer expert Jon had mentioned, although appearances could be deceiving.

“Hello,” said the warrior maiden cautiously, only to raise an eyebrow when she noticed that the old man was deliberately ignoring her.

Ciri simply moved her hand and cast sparks toward the old man’s backside, startling him and making him drop a petty soul gem onto the ground.

“You are Calcelmo, correct? My husband spoke a lot about you. He has exchanged letters with you and said that if one day I found myself in this city and needed help, you could help me.”

The old man turned around and looked Ciri up and down before asking with a tired voice,

“And who is your husband, young lady?”

“Jon Snow, the Winter Lord,” she said with pride in her voice, enjoying how the man’s face shifted from curiosity to realization.

“Oh.”

That was the only thing he said.

None of them imagined that in only a few days this dangerous pair would desecrate a number of Dwemer ruins and uncover a conspiracy involving the most influential family of the city.

But that…

is another story.