Chapter Text
FORT DRAGONCLAW would be complete by the time Tyraun Ice-Hammer retired in Sun’s Dusk. Tyraun chewed his lip and looked over the edge of the plans again, to the walkway the legionnaires were finishing. They’d finished the roads months ago, but part of the intersection was damaged last week.
“Should only need those two dozen paving stones, Xavier. Lysandus, go put the rest of them back and call it a day.”
“Yes, Prefect.”
Lysandus stood up and stretched his back, then took the second cart of paving stones back to the storehouse. Xavier sighed and filled his trowel with more grout, laying another brick down in the circle-patterned crossroads. The two legionnaires had been out here all afternoon, and being late autumn, the sun had set an hour ago.
Tyraun laid a hand on Xavier’s back. “I’ll put the last ones in. Go on back to the barracks.”
Xavier stopped and looked up at him blinking. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t hearing things. “Thank you, sir.”
Tyraun smiled and nodded, kneeling down to finish laying the bricks while the grout was still fresh. Xavier moved the rest of the bricks closer, so Tyraun didn’t have to move far to get more. When he started making more grout Tyraun shooed him away and the Imperial finally took the hint. They’d been at this long enough, and as the fort’s prefect, Tyraun was responsible for seeing that everything was done properly.
He didn’t mind the work: he’d done his time as a centurion of the last file, made it all the way to head of the first. Tyraun winced. One month from retirement, and he still didn’t think he had enough years under his belt to earn this position as prefect. Especially not one overseeing a new fort’s construction, let alone the fort guarding the Pale Pass to Skyrim. But Legate Lerus would not be deterred. Tyraun was the only senior centurion within five years of the usual thirty required to earn that ‘easy’ year as prefect before retiring. (Legate Lerus said that, but Tyraun still had trouble believing it was true. Had they really lost that many in the war? Or over the Concordat?)
Still, when a legate demands something, you do it: so Tyraun took the position.
He looked over his shoulder as he got to the last brick, the central brick, making sure that he was alone in the courtyard. He’d specifically requested this brick from the mason: a nine-sided one. The man was a fellow Nord and refused the extra gold Tyraun tried to give him, saying that knowing what it was being used for was payment enough. Tyraun reached under his cuirass and inner tunic, pulling out the woven thread and the iron hammer dangling from it.
He pulled it off from around his neck and laid it reverently in the ground. He nudged it with his fingers, looking up at the perfectly aligned roads to make sure the handle faced north, and the hammer faced the elves to the south. Tyraun took out the palm sized phial of holy water and sprinkled it on the amulet and fresh dirt as he’d seen priests do for blessings. He wasn’t a priest, and he’d have a hard time finding one the Thalmor hadn’t arrested, so this secret consecration would have to do.
Tyraun sat back on his heels, staring down at the amulet. He looked around. Priests normally said some sort of blessing. He wasn’t an educated man; hated spending his days in the schools of Julianos when he could have been sword-fighting with his brother and sisters. Fancy talk was something better left to the officers. Still. Something had to be said.
Tyraun sighed. “Talos, I don’t give a damn what those pointy-eared bastards say: you’re still the Ninth Divine, and you always will be. We bloodied them but... well, you’d know better than I do.”
He wiped his hands on his tunic before wiping his mouth. He’d lost so many friends, so many men at Red Ring, and all the battles that came before it. He’d made sure he wouldn’t lose his family that last year, sending Ani and the kids up to her brother’s in Riften. They were safe behind the Jeralls, and Tyraun stayed with the Legion to make sure the elves never made it within sight of the pass.
But now the war was over, on less than favorable terms. Those same pointy-eared falmer had free reign to stick their noses in everything. They hadn’t been so bold before the war, playing coy and preferring cowards tactics like spying and bribery. They still used those, to be sure, but now they could strongarm the Legion or the nobles into helping. He didn’t like that one bit; it didn’t bode well for the next war.
“I’ll be honest with you, sir. These are my men. This fort? It’s going to protect my family, my friends, Skyrim, and maybe the Emperor again.”
“I know he’s not one of yours, but you lot were a tough act to follow.” He allowed himself a little laugh, but it trailed off and he bit his lip, raising a hopeful eyebrow at the amulet. “Won’t deny we’d be happy to see a Septim again, if you hid one somewhere.”
A warm southern wind picked up and Tyraun looked behind him. He felt foolish, actually letting his heart race that maybe the Divine had heard him. Reman was proclaimed Dragonborn not far north from here, in the old Akaviri ruin in the pass. Talos himself was discovered not too far away either, if one considered Old Hroldan in the Reach nearby. It was closer than Summerset anyways.
But it was too fantastical for any Divine to answer such a ‘prayer’ so quickly.
Tyraun rubbed his nose. “Nah... probably not.” He sighed. “I’m sorry sir, I’m not good at this religious or consecration business. I’m just a soldier. But on behalf of us down here, we need your guidance more than ever, and your protection.”
He bowed his head over the hole in the ground. Bile came to his mouth, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of burying the amulet. It would be like burying Talos again. Tyraun shook it away. Talos wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t powerless. He was waiting. They’d wait until the elves thought they truly had the upper hand, and then. Then they’d show them.
“In your name.” Tyraun whispered.
He sat up and took the nine-sided stone and set it into the ground. It took some muscle to push it down, with the other stones already set and dried in the cold. A ripple of white burst from the central stone - the frost resisting enchantment the Legate asked for - and it broke into four waves rolling a half-inch high down the streets. A white flash and then darkness signaled that it had reached the gates: all the stones were properly sealed now.
Tyraun groaned and stood up, wiping dirt from his legs and leather skirt. He tapped the rolled-up fort plans against his leg. One day, he’d come back to Dragonclaw and pull that stone up, so everyone would know Talos was protecting them. One day they’d put a real shrine in the fort, where everyone could see it, instead of burying amulets in odd places like a squirrel. One day.
Tyraun sighed and walked back to the officer quarters. Someday.
The walk back down the corridors to his office was a long one, but at least it was warm. He’d get some supper later, after he’d tidied up the desk for the night. Tyraun pushed back a loose strand of blond and frowned, feeling at the braids. He’d have to redo them tonight; maybe after a bath. He hemmed and unlocked the door handle. A bath before bed sounded lovely.
The door opened and he frowned, staring into his office. The fire was already going, the fire-enchanted axe still glowing dim red next to the fireplace. A balding man in plainclothes looked up from shuffling his papers on his desk and beckoned with his hand.
“Come in.”
Tyraun stood in his doorway, glancing around the room. It was only the man inside, and he barely seemed to notice Tyraun. He’d hung a long damp coat by the fire, making the floor slick; there was a plate of bread, cold cuts and cheese with little of each remaining, and a glass of wine on his desk, but thankfully not on top of any papers. Tyraun’s eye twitched as he thought of the seemingly-messy system he had to his papers, and how this man had casually ruined them in the two hours he’d been away from his office.
But the door had been locked.
Tyraun stared down at it. The windows in his office were barely big enough for arrows, let alone a man, so he’d come in the door. Someone - one of the other officers - had let him in. The man had to know Tyraun was the prefect, but made himself at home anyways. So he outranked Tyraun then... but came in plainclothes.
Tyraun stepped inside and shut the door slowly behind him.
The man took a sip from his glass of wine, eyeing Tyraun over the rim of it. Tyraun settled into the chair on the opposite side of his desk - the one he gave to his subordinates. Tyraun winced and tucked his knees in tighter. His Imperial subordinates, who were a great deal smaller and less bulky than he was. He looked over at his chair, careful to keep his expression to one of longing rather than of resentment. He hoped whatever the man had to say, it was quick.
“Caius.”
The man extended a hand. Tyraun took it. Caius: was that his given name or his family’s? He doubted he’d get an answer if he pried. Tyraun opened his mouth to speak-
“I have a favor to ask of you. I can’t tell you all the details unless you agree, and you’ve every right to say no.”
Tyraun raised an eyebrow. Straight to the point then. Not normal for Imperials.
“Well, I can’t say that I’ll accept or decline anything sir, until I know more about it. I’m willing to listen to whatever you’re willing to tell me. -Sir.” Tyraun added.
“You’re retiring to Riften this winter, yes?”
Tyraun would have squirmed in his chair, if his legs wouldn’t have killed him for stabbing them with little needles. Anitra was besotted with Riften - her family’s ancestral home before the fire that burned half the city - and begged Tyraun once a week for them to move there. Sometimes more like once a night.
Kieran and Bree had never been there - they were born after the war - but Signy and Jurgen missed fishing on the lake, and Evana... well, she’d spent her afternoons picking wings off of butterflies, when her mother wasn’t watching, but Anitra insisted she was less dour in the lake town. That had to count for something.
Tyraun had joked with Lerus that week that it looked like they were moving to Riften. And now Caius knew. Curious, but... if Lerus trusted him, Tyraun would do the same.
“That’s what the wife plans, sir. We have family there, and mine lived there during the war. Was there something you needed from Riften, sir?”
“No.” Caius said, leaning forward and stroking his chin, looking down at the table. “But maybe you could take something with you.”
Caius picked up the wine glass and swirled it, watching it intently as his eyes watered. Tyraun kept quiet. The man would say whatever it was he wanted in time, or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, well, that wasn’t enough information to go on and superior or no, Tyraun would have to decline. Officers sometimes had weird tastes and wanted things like pedigree wolf-hounds (that were really wolves) or... illegal things that officers really should abstain from. Or large sums of gold or jewels for such things, which attracted bandits and Tyraun didn’t want to risk that with Ani and the children.
Caius set the glass down. “They went after a legate’s family.” He said, his voice breaking.
It wasn’t proper to walk around the table and give what was probably a legate or general - at least a tribune - a hug out of sympathy. That didn’t make sitting in the chair as the man sobbed quietly any less awkward. ‘They’ didn’t need to be stated aloud: obviously the elves. Caius wiped his eyes and took a sip of the wine to steel his nerves.
“They were good-” He swallowed a quiver in his throat, “friends of mine. His son’s the only one that survived. I can’t...”
Caius leaned forward and pulled the chair in closer, then leaned back into it and rested his elbow on its arm. Tyraun nodded slowly. An orphan. Lerus must have said he was good with kids - he and Ani had to be, they had five and a sixth on the way. Riften was probably far enough away that the Thalmor wouldn’t look for the boy.
He’d have to talk to Ani, but he couldn’t imagine she’d say no.
“They don’t know he survived. They can’t. He can’t stay with his father or relatives. And they’d know if my wife and I took him.”
“And my family’s far enough removed that us taking the boy won’t attract attention. And we’re moving to Riften besides, so no one should notice.”
“Exactly.” Caius nodded. He cursed and reached into his pocket for a kerchief.
“Anyone I know? Sir.” Tyraun asked softly.
Caius wiped his face and dabbed his nose, sniffling. He shook his head: not quite a yes, not quite a no. “In a way, but not personally.”
Tyraun breathed easy. So it wasn’t anyone from Bruma then. It was terrible news no matter what, but... at least it wasn’t one of his friends. He felt sorry for the boy, and the boy’s father. Damn the elves: murdering a family and tearing a son away from his father. Tyraun’s face fell. A legate’s son from his father.
“I’m...” Tyraun shook his head and spread his hands before bringing them back to rest on the chair’s arms. “I’m not a legate sir, my family isn’t that important. I don’t know that we could raise him to the standards he’s used to-”
“No no, he- his father won’t care about that.” Caius caught himself before he said more. From the way he bit his tongue, something identifiable. “They just want the boy safe. And if- if the boy decides he wants to join the Legion we can make you a tribune. -On paper. After your retirement. I- I couldn’t guarantee the pay but we can certainly see to it he would start as a tribune.”
Tyraun stared at him, then at the fire once he realized he was staring.
“And your children too. Your father and aunts served with distinction, we could certainly have them start as a thin-stripe.” Caius added hastily.
A thin-stripe tribune? Starting out as an officer learning directly under the legate? The prestige, the responsibility - the pay - that came with that... Tyraun leaned back as far as the chair would allow. He didn’t care much about getting the pay himself: he’d never expected it and would never feel he deserved it anyways. But Signy was already showing an interest in the Legion. His eldest followed him around the fort on quiet days, watching and learning.
He could easily learn how to do that with a legate. The boy would be an excellent tribune. Tyraun exhaled shakily. They would do this...?
“Well, if- if that’s what you and the boy’s father want to do - and it won’t draw the elves’ attention - I’ll trust your discretion. I’ll need to talk this over with my wife, if that’s alright, but...” Tyraun sighed, feeling tiny prickles run up and down his arms and legs, and not just from the chair. “I expect she’ll say yes. The boy needs a home, and we’ll give him one.”
“No, that’s fine. Please talk with her. And thank you.” Caius sniffled and held his hand out. Tyraun stared at it, then the kerchief in his other hand. Caius took the hint. He shook his head, repeating himself. “Thank you.”
Caius stood, idly arranging the papers in front of him. Tyraun bit back a groan as he squeezed himself out of the chair - gods but he couldn’t feel his legs. He made a mental note to order a larger one. There weren’t many Nord legionnaires in Bruma still, but the fort might get some in the future, after he was gone. And he didn’t want anyone else of his build having to sit in such a tiny chair.
Caius set the papers down and collected his glass and his plate, clearing his throat. Tyraun stared at him, trying to decide if he was going to say something or if that was a verbal cue to get the door. Caius cleared his throat again but rubbed his neck, then walked to the door. Tyraun hurried ahead of him and opened the door. Then he thought better of it and pushed it to again.
“Sir? One question, if you can.”
Caius laughed, still some of the tears in his throat. “I hope I can answer it.”
“The boy, what’s his name?”
He wanted to know because Ani would ask, and if for some reason it appealed to her she’d be even more deadset on taking the boy in. He wasn’t expecting the panicked look on Caius’ face as if he’d just asked if the boy was a dremora or not.
“Brendan.” Caius blurted out after a long moment. He smiled and shook his head. Maybe he had... forgotten it? “His name is Brendan.”
“Brendan.” Tyraun repeated.
It was a good name, a solid name. Sounded right. He suspected Ani would like it. Tyraun nodded and opened the door.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” Caius said, still trying to shake his hand despite the plate and wine glass in both hands. He glanced out into the hall then leaned in, speaking low. “We’ll contact you sometime before your ceremony in Sun’s Dusk. And thank you.”
Caius dipped his head - a tiny bow which made Tyraun pleased (an officer nodding his head to him?) - and walked off for the guest quarters. Tyraun walked him walk around the bend, then stood in the doorway, looking up and down the hall. No one had seen Caius leave. He went back into his office, shutting the door quietly. Probably best then.
Another son. Tyraun tilted his head and nodded, walking back to his desk to reorganize the papers. Another son, and his name was Brendan.