The Khajiit in the Iron Helmet
My first fanfiction, so please be nice. :) Just wrote this one to see if anyone liked it, if you do please review, it would really make my day, and also tell me if you want chapter 2! Happy reading. :D
The fisherman gazed up at the night sky, thinking how peaceful it looked, and how beautiful the harsh lands of Skyrim really were. Suddenly his silence was interrupted by a gentle splashing. He looked over the side of his small boat, and saw a war helmet, the kind with horns, turned upside down in the water. A quiet mewing came from within, and as he peered cautiously into the helmet, two large green eyes looked up at him. He gasped, because within that armor lay a tiny little cat-man, an infamous Khajiit of Elysweyr.
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER, RORIKSTEAD
"Alarik! Get out here!" A brawny looking man bellowed into the dark recesses of his house as a sleepy, blinking Khajiit stumbled out of his room. "About time. Now get your boots on, lad, we're going hunting." Ten minutes later the teenage cat and his foster father were walking into the wilderness, bows on backs and daggers in sheaths. Torbik looked at the Khajiit walking in front of him. It still felt like yesterday when he had found that kitten afloat in a helmet. He had taken him home, showed him to his beloved wife Ellen, and they raised him as their own, as they had never been blessed with children. A few years after, Ellen had died of a wasting disease. Alarik and Torbik had done all they could to save her, but to no avail, and the young boy had never been the same. They had sold their small house in Dawnstar and moved to Rorikstead. Torbik was suddenly pulled out of his memories but Alarik calling his name. "Father! Father? Why are you waiting?"
"Sorry, lad. Just losing my self in memories again." Torbik smiled at his son, admiring how tall and strong he had grown, and his extraordinary stealth and senses from his Khajiit heritage. Alarik pointed toward some fresh animal tracks in the ground.
"Deer!" exclaimed Alarik.
Hours later, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, the duo returned, a deer slung across Alarik's shoulders. They sat down outside the house and began skinning the meat. As Alarik slit open the belly to remove the entrails, he saw something shining within and pulled it out, frowning slightly. "Father... look." Torbik peered over his sons shoulder and gazed in at a blackened ring with an uncut ruby set in it.
"How much do you think its worth, father?" queried Alarik.
"Oh, I wouldn't sell it lad. Won't be worth much. Keep it, and maybe you'll remember these hunting trips."
Two weeks later Alaric was returning from buying new hunting supplies from Whiterun, as it had a safer route to get to than Markarth, although being further away. He rode slowly on Falion, the horse he had found and named at a wrecked caravan years ago. He was tired, and couldn't wait to get back home to Torbik to share a cup of hot mead and trade stories round the fire. He took a sip from the water skin around his waist and and touched the ring he had slung around his neck on a leather strip. Just up ahead he could see Rorikstead, and his house. However, something was wrong. White horses were chained up outside, but they were huge and bred for battle. They had weapons tied to their saddles. Tying Falion up a little way away from the gates, he crept toward the back entrance of his house and peeked through the window, trying to see if Torbik was in there
Two men in bright golden armor were talking to Torbik. He was sweating and looking around nervously. Alarik had never seen his father like this before, he was usually level headed and calm. It scared him. Suddenly one of the men got angry and pulled out a long, sharp dagger. It was then that Alarik got a look at the pointy ears and sharply angles faces that he realized that these men were elves. And then he remembered seeing armor like this, worn by a group of elves walking along the main road with another elf in dark robes. Torbik had told him that they were Thalmor, and then later explained that they were the scum who had forced the Empire to ban Talos worshiping. Looking back at the elf who had pulled the dagger on his father, Alaric saw that his father was pointing at the door, asking them to leave. Then, as fast as a dragon diving for its prey, the angry elf punched Torbik in the face, sending him sprawling on the floor. Alarik could hear what he was saying if he focused his hearing hard enough.
"Where is the artifact? I'm not going to ask again, Nord scum, where is it?"
"Please... I don't know what you're talking about!"
There was a horrific crack as one of the Thalmor smashed the pommel of his dagger into Torbik's nose. He wiped blood away with the back of his hand.
"You're lying to us, Nord! Our finest mages tracked this ring down with the most powerful of seeking spells!" Summoning fire to his hand, he allowed it to lick against Torbik's cheek, leaving the skin shiny and red. Realizing what the elf was talking about, Torbik stayed quiet, knowing he would get his son into deep trouble if he admitted the truth.
As Alarik watched horrified, the Thalmor with the blazing hand buried his dagger deep into his father's gut. Blood seeped through the threadbare cloth of his shirt.
"Should have told us, vermin" The elf snarled and walked out the door, the other Thalmor pausing to surreptitiously place a small bottle of healing potion by Torbik's prone body.
The moment the horses left Rorikstead, Alarik rushed into his home, tears matting his facial fur as he carefully lifted his father into his lap.
"Don't worry Father, I'll get help!" he sobbed.
"Listen lad, there isn't much time." wheezed Torbik
"No, no, I can still save you"
"I'm fading too fast..."
Alarik howled in despair as he realized it was true. He watched, tears rolling down his furry face as his only remaining family died in his arms.
Later that night Alarik lay in bed, sleepless, crying until his heart ached, and then crying again, holding the ring that had brought so much sorrow into his life in his hands. He didn't know what to do. Where would he go now? Rorikstead was the only home he knew. Perhaps he could travel to Whiterun. He had befriended a few of the guards, maybe they could help him. But the Thalmor wanted this ring, and by the Gods, Alarik was not going to give it to him. That night, in his dreams, the single word that passed through his mind over and over again was 'Revenge'.