Our first story written together! It takes place at the beginning of Skyrim but mentions Oblivion events. We tried to stay serious with it, but it kind of branched off into this thing and we're not really sure what happened. Poor, poor Hadvar. Enjoy!
Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. We only own our characters: Shealyne, Arlen, Olana, Thearis, Anya, and Anya's kid.
The sun shone through the white clouds, casting its rays upon the forested lands nestled between the Heartlands and the Great Forest of Cyrodiil in the early morn. Upon the border sat a small, wooden cabin that rested within a fertile meadow full of flowers and tall grasses which the wind lulled awake in the gentle breeze.
A woman was the sole resident of the humble shack, the Breton young in appearance yet aged in mind and heart. Just two hundred years ago these lands were once scarred with numerous Oblivion Gates opening and burning the land, unleashing armies of Daedra, and those were the days she remembered well. She had stood by her beloved Empire and country as demons ravished her home, and had seen the sacrifice and death of Martin Septim-the last Dragonborn of a legendary bloodline.
Cyrodiil had been her home for more than half of her unnatural life, yet she knew with the death of Martin that her beloved land would never achieve the power it once had again. Just some fifty years ago the Breton had fled her home, unable to handle the burden of seeing her once great Empire being desiccated by the Altmer.
Only several years after the White-Gold Concordat was signed did she return. Yes, her home had forgotten about her, but she would never forget the land that had made her some two centuries ago.
Now, the Breton had lived a very solitary life, as many of her kind did. Her dear mentor, Vicente, had claimed that all vampires shall reach an age where something within them changes and they shall seek isolation. Valtieri had admitted that he had already changed with his age. Yet, when the girl-for she was simply a girl back then-asked anything more, the male Breton would simply say she is too young to understand. Now, however, she understood.
A simple, quiet life she had tried to live which consisted of largely working upon alchemy-a skill she had foolishly neglected for well over a century.
Within her dwelling the woman sat, carefully rubbing the sweet nectar of a maple into fragile petals, several species of flowering plants scattered around and withheld in vases, resting upon various end tables. Silk shawls which were green in color lay upon wooden chairs and tables throughout the single roomed shack. Linen tapestries were the only things separating her private room from the rest of the wooden shack. The wind blew the gentle silks, the far wall from her dwelling's opening completely absent, only a railing standing guard as the open wall allowed her to view the meadow, forest and a river flowing in the distance.
The woman's red irises gazed upon the flowering plants within one of her many vases, lips curling back ever so slightly in a careful smile, fangs hidden.
It was one of those days where the pickings of new species of flowering plants would be plentiful, the flora fueled by the recent rains. As of now, the woman rose from her seat, the chair skidding against the floor in protest as she grabbed an empty basket. Basket in hand, the woman began to hum softly to herself as she moved out the door-which had looked like a mass of tangled roots-and into the fading sun.
The woman had marched out into the fields, plucking several of the natively growing plants along the way: foxglove, lavender...deathbell. Shealyne had patrolled her small patch of field, leg suddenly giving way as the ground underneath collapsed. The Breton had become startled, her struggles only causing a quagmire to open underneath as she screamed, falling upon cool dirt.
She coughed, pushing the dust from her lungs as she shook herself, several feet underneath the surface of the earth within a large tunnel. The sunlight seemed even harsher as she looked upon the hole separating herself from freedom, and found the opening too high, even with the mound of dirt.
Shealyne frowned, lips pierced together as she saw that her woven basket was crushed and ruined, the plants laying around it. She sighed, figuring the tunnel may lead somewhere as she began to walk, freezing as her ears picked up the all too familiar scream of a troll.
Without thinking, the Breton turned around and bolted down the path up the mound of dirt, survival kicking in as she desperately tried to jump and get a hold of the of the ground above. She could hear the pounding of the beast's limbs, and that was all she needed to jump high enough so that the Breton could pull herself up, the sun a sudden ally as she immediately got to her feet and ran.
The ground behind her erupted with the shrill scream, the tiny woman now running as fast as her legs could carry her to her house, she hearing two more chorals of cries joining the others. She didn't dare look back as she closed the door. She knew there were three.
She shook with fear, running deeper into her tiny home to hide behind the tapestries as she heard the door break and shatter from the hairy creature, the intruder moving deeper into her home, seemingly breaking everything as the woman became cornered.
The troll tore down the tapestries that had served as a boundary, the monster pounding upon its own chest as Shealyne readied a flame from her hands. The troll, however, was too fast as it swiped at the Breton, Shealyne unable to back up any farther as its claws scraped her stomach and tore her clothes. The woman was hit so hard she had broke the wooden beams supporting her, flipping over and landing with a heavy thud upon her back.
Upon the ground, the woman was briefly dazed, though shook herself, seeing two trolls charging from her flanks as she summoned a Daedra, the creature gaining the attention of the trolls with its challenge. Using the distraction to her advantage, Shealyne got up, running to the west from her home, a troll still giving chase as she tried to blast it with fireballs, but the monster was simply too fast.
She had ran blindly, screaming and low on magica until she had slipped and tumbled down a steep river bank, dirt and blood staining her clothes as she landed within the water with a splash. The woman did not move, far too strained as she floated down the river. After a time of wading and being dragged by the current, the woman had swam to the western river bank, drenched and tired as she looked towards the eastern bank, finding no troll in sight.
Sore, and wounded, Shealyne began to trek along the river bank, heading south until she had hit an Imperial highway. She knew this road would eventually pass her home, or at least go near it. Sometimes, she could see an Imperial patrol in the distance. If she were lucky, maybe she could find one that would lend her aid.
Walking along the highway, Shealyne easily caught up with the patrol. It consisted of a few Imperial soldiers unlucky enough to be on the patrol in the first place, and reflected that in their slow strides.
"Hey!" Shealyne weakly exclaimed to the men ahead of her, putting her arm up when they glanced back confused. When they stood there staring at her, she continued to hobble towards them, "E-Excuse me, sirs, but I am in need of assistance."
"Of course you are, you just came wading out of the river." one of the men said with a slight lisp in his voice. Walking nearer to the drenched woman, he said, "I am Hadvar, captain of this patrol. Your name, miss?"
As the other men gathered around her, ogling the strange woman, she hesitantly murmured, "Shealyne. Now I'd like you t-"
"You need a good fire first, girl." one of the older men with a beard exclaimed.
"No-"
"What about some food, we have-"
"TROLLS! Over there! Will you help or not?!" she couldn't help but raise her voice over the men. She was getting increasingly flustered and being prodded by a bunch of men was not helping.
"Trolls? By the Eight…" Hadvar trailed off. "How many?" he sounded like he sincerely cared.
"Three. They came from a tunnel that I slipped in, and now they've chased me to your patrol."
"Then as protectors of Cyrodiil, we are obliged to help this woman in danger. Come." Hadvar gestured the men to start moving, but not one budged. Rather, one cried, "Don't know about the rest of you, but I ain't goin' nowhere near a troll, let alone three. Sorry, lady."
"I will pay you! I'll pay you twice, three times what the Legion pays you! Please." Shealyne begged. She wanted this problem over as soon as possible. These men are mere boys, she thought to herself, disgusted.
"I'll not accept payment, miss. This is our duty. Come, men, or I will report you to the Legate!" Hadvar raised his tone. Still the others stayed put. He sighed and rested a hand on his Imperial-issue sword, "Then I alone will help you. Show me to them."
Without a word, Shealyne started back the way she came towards the river with Hadvar in tow.
"Just up here." she mumbled as they retraced her steps to her nearby cottage up the bank of the river, carefully treading and listening if the trolls were still there. They heard nothing but nature.
They came to the tiny house eventually, still standing but some considerable damage done. And no trolls either, after venturing inside cautiously.
"Damn, they're gone. They must've gone back underground. I can show you the tunnel, if you'd like." Shealyne said, wrapping one of her blankets around her still-damp body.
"That's not necessary; trolls are usually aggressive only when their territory is threatened. Never go back to the tunnel if you can help it. They shouldn't bother you again." Hadvar relaxed, folding his arms.
"Are you mad? Do you know nothing of trolls and their kind? My house is their new territory! They will undoubtedly come back! And I cannot handle three trolls by myself." Shealyne was in disbelief of how naive this boy was. "Even if I had some sort of magic. Hypothetically."
Hadvar leerily looked at her, "Miss, you will be fine. If they do perchance come by, do not hesitate to seek help with the Legion."
"You won't be around?" Shealyne asked tentatively.
"I myself will be posted in another part of Cyrodiil after this patrol. So no."
She looked down, "...I see." Of all the Imperial soldiers she had encountered, this one showed the most promise in aiding her. A shame that.
"Will you permit me to ask, why do you live alone in the forest? A young woman such as yourself usually does not live in such a way with no one to protect her."
"I like silence. I like my privacy." she was not going to reveal what she really was, if it wasn't so painfully obvious after putting the pieces together and seeing her alchemy-and magic-friendly house. Nevertheless, she always took care to keep hidden her elongated fangs when talking.
"...Alright." he said, not sure what to do next, not really detecting anything from her. "I..I suppose I must finish my patrol…"
"Must you? Can you not keep a poor young lonely woman company?"
"Miss, a-are you suggesting..?" Hadvar could not believe what Shealyne was asking of him.
"-No, no of course not! I was simply thanking you for your concern!" Shealyne leaned forward and pecked him on his stubbled cheek, then backed away and started leading the confused boy out of her house.
Now outside, Shealyne went back into the house and tried to prop up the door, or what was left of it.
"...I will be back."
"Pardon?" the woman paused as she turned around to look upon the Nord, her brow furrowed in confusion.
The man cleared his throat, voice more firm compared to his original mumble, "I will return to help you. Once my patrol is done."
"I...thank you. But if it is too much trouble-"
"Nonsense. I am merely performing my duty. I will see that this matter is handled personally. You have my word."
Shealyne's eyes narrowed upon the young man, as if judging him for several seconds, "Very well. Thank you." she replied, voice softer, more sincere.
Hadvar nodded, the Imperial soldier beginning to trudge back to his awaiting patrol, "Goodbye. I hope you stay safe."
"Fare you well. Travel safe." Shealyne waved slightly, watching the man walk off in the distance, sighing. She smelt a change in the air of his departure, his musky scent leaving.
The Breton then turned around and once more entered her home, careful with the already ruined door as she looked around.
She sighed upon seeing the state of her poor house, looking sadly at the ruined linens, broken vases and ripped flowers. Kneeling down, the Breton began to clean up the many broken vases, being careful not to cut herself as she looked upon a crushed lily. She paused, gently picking the flower up and attempting in vain to fix the broken stem, but could not.
The woman then focused on cleaning her house to the best of her abilities, not truly believing that the Nord would return-even if the man was sincere. Only time would tell if his word was true.
With the day's events passing, the woman settled into her bed, frowning at the headache she had, knowing much more work would need to be done tomorrow, though her sleep was restless and poor.
Several days passed without incident, Shealyne's house now in a state of some normalcy save for the broken railing she had yet to fix. Her door was in no better condition, the woman lacking the skills of a foreman.
Once more the Breton was sitting at her desk, trying her best to make her tiny shack smell at least decent with the few flowers she had collected. She did not want to risk another assault of trolls attacking her home.
She began to hum softly to herself, opening her desk to pull out a needle and thread, Shealyne attempting to mend the ripped tapestries together rather than throw them out. However, Shealyne paused in her work as her ears perked up, hearing a shrill cry in the distance, causing her to go stiff.
"Damn it!" She hissed, stuffing her supplies within the safety of the drawer as she heard the cries grow louder, echoing across the fields.
Unwilling to fight them, Shealyne cast an invisibility spell upon herself, hiding in a near corner as she struggled to stay quiet, a troll bursting through from under the floorboards. Dirt and broken floorboards flew through the air as the troll roared, its family members answering its call from just outside the house.
Shealyne cowered in the corner, trying to keep herself from hyperventilating in terror and stress as the troll completely flipped several of her endtables, destroying her furniture. The troll paused, sniffing the air as it began searching the tiny shack, going ever closer towards the hiding Breton.
Shealyne felt herself freeze, realizing the foul monster must smell her scent, the creature now mere inches from her face, death rancid and unbearably hot. The woman had to struggle to try not to cough or gag as the troll sniffed once more, smelling her, yet unable to see her.
A cry then echoed in the distance, the troll pulling away as it answered its kin's call, rushing out of the wooden cabin and taking the door with it.
Shealyne stood in the corner for some time, shaking and unwilling to leave her hiding place despite the spell long wearing off, leaving her vulnerable if the creatures returned.
Her steps shook as she slowly looked around at her ruined home, a large hole now in the center of her floor, most of the desks and furniture broken. Tears began to involuntary sting at her eyes at the crushing blow. All those years of building up her home, and it was gone in only a few seconds. Mostly. Much of the damage was well beyond her skills-even if several objects could be repaired.
She cursed, anger rising at the Imperial soldiers that didn't even bother to help her. And even the one that tried didn't do anything. Dwelling on it, she doubted he would even come back, and the mere thought enraged her, for this problem was too big for her to handle.
"Drunken, barbaric bastard! The lot of them." she hissed, trying to think of ways to combat these creatures, yet knew she would need the aid of several others. Perhaps she could go to the Imperial City and hire mercenaries? Maybe to the Fighter's Guild? But she sighed, knowing that she lacked the money to hire any mercenary that was truly good at their line of work.
Shealyne frowned deeply, once more trying to salvage what could be saved whilst thinking on how she could end this nightmare.
Several more days passed without incident, the woman in a constant state of paranoia and misery. She did not want to leave her home, yet if the attacks continued and help had yet to come, she would be forced to leave her home for her own safety despite her skills.
Shealyne was in such a haze, in fact, that while she was attempting to feebly reinforce her home she had failed to hear heavy footfalls approaching, armor clanking.
"Hello, ma'am." A deep voice said, the sudden noise causing Shealyne to scream in panic, the pitch of her voice causing the Imperial soldier to flinch. Shealyne covered her mouth, embarrassed as she turned around to see the man, eyes widening in shock and relief upon seeing the same young man return. His word was true.
"I..." Hadvar paused, unsure how to fully react with the woman's behavior, the Breton showing clear signs of stress, "I'm sorry I could not come sooner. I was b-" The man was rendered silent as he approached the woman, she wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him to a more suitable level as she kissed him for several seconds, the very confused Nord wide eyed.
Shealyne then broke the contact, almost forcefully so as her lips tingled with an odd taste, the musk weakening as she pulled away. The woman cleared her throat, speaking almost awkwardly so, "For returning. Thank you."
"..As I said earlier, miss...it is my duty."
"I'm sick of you saying that. Anyway, the trolls are gone for the moment; they were just here and now my house is in an even worse state than before. No thanks to you. Where were you, anyway? You said you'd be back shortly." she crossed her arms in frustration.
"As a lesser captain, I've received word that our Skyrim faction has captured Ulfric Stormcloak himself near the border to Cyrodiil. This has caused me to-"
"Who is this man? Should I know him?"
"You have no knowledge of Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who shouted the High King of Skyrim to death?!" he seemed almost angry of her ignorance.
"...aaand I still do not care." Shealyne stated with resolution.
"In any case, I am to accompany the Guard Captain to Skyrim to formally execute Stormcloak and any of his men."
This resonated within Shealyne, "Which means you'll no longer be in Cyrodiil? What about the trolls? My house?"
"...This is merely a suggestion, but you may accompany me if you wish. To get out of this forest."
She thought for a moment. No more house in the woods, no more solitude...and definitely a higher chance of becoming discovered for her Hemophilia if she hangs around people. But something was dragging her with this man, this destiny that she soon deemed inevitable. The chance to experience new things and a new way of life may be what she is foretelling. Hey, if not, she could just use him for his blood while he sleeps at night.
"Alright. It is set, then. We leave at once."