Ragnar
Sharing his exile was impossible with her around. While the agreement to let Freyja stay with him was the best alternative to outright killing her it was posing to be an entirely different problem. His time spent on Solstheim was for the most part a blur, his entire stay Ragnar had repressed any and all thought. The result was a body that drew breath, ate, continued living, but a mind which had long ago shut off. Now, it was awakening. Constantly memories flooded his mind, experiences, places, people, all rushing to the forefront of his thoughts. The only time he had struggled with this issue was when he had first contained himself to the mountains of Solstheim, and after a few months he was essentially a hyper deadly draugr with an excess of hair. This draugr was very annoyed to say the least. Ragnar cast an eye behind him, his vision cast upon the lithe nord following where he'd created a path, her smaller form struggling through the snow. Ragnar could count on one hand the number of times he'd told someone of his past in Wayrest, and that was without using all the fingers as well. This young companion was proving to be excellent at getting him to speak about his past, something Ragnar was reluctant to acknowledge let alone speak about. Ragnar pushed himself a few steps higher, up to the edge of a cliff just a bit over a mile from his cave, taking in a deep breath as he paused to take in the view. Nothing had changed since he'd been here last, while he hadn't known the cause of the influx of refugees until Freyja told him of the occupation of his homeland, he had noticed the number steadily rise. Since then, he had made sure to look out for any groups attempting to establish a settlement in a valley south of the mountains that wasn't as hostile as many other places in Solstheim. "Gods above." Ragnar spared a glance to his right, where Freyja had ended her trek alongside him. Her brilliant green eyes looked out at the surrounding island in admiration, Ragnar noted that while he used the view for purely strategic reasons, he could admit that it was a very nice view. "So, you've brought me to your favorite sunrise locale then, is that it?" Ragnar let out a grunt. She had an attitude Aela would've loved.
"I brought you up here to meditate actually." His eyes focused back out on the landscape in front of them, before kneeling and then crossing his legs over each other, beckoning Freyja to do the same. "How is meditating supposed to help? I don't think the Thalmor will be very impressed at my ability to sit still for a long time." The nord had been adamant upon their awakening that Ragnar begin the day by showing her some method to kill elves with. "Do as I say, and you'll see." No good would come from an impatient student, besides, the sooner she began meditating the sooner she'd shut up. Letting out an annoyed huff, the companion finally plopped herself down, one leg over the other, closing her eyes and attempting at least to meditate. It lasted only a few moments before her eyes popped open. "How long are we going to do this?" Ragnar supposed it was probably too much to expect the young woman to be good at this, but her mind needed to be clear for him to try what he wanted. "Clear your mind, focus on your breathing, and relax." He didn't even bother opening his eyes to instruct her, only listened for the tell-tale signs that she heeded his words. It took a while longer than he thought, but eventually she fell into a sort of half sleep. This is the best he was going to get. Standing up silently, he made his way behind her, taking in a deep breath for what would happen next. Hopefully, if she had listened to him, this wouldn't hurt. Thrusting one hand forward his fingers found the spot on the back of her neck he was searching for, while his other hand pushed her face so it faced towards the sky, his thumb resting right between her brows. "W-what are you doing!" Giving her mind no more time to awake, he pushed the memory into her. The bright green eyes which had looked up at him, went dull suddenly as the process completed, and he remained in their current position for a few minutes longer. It took longer than expected, but the last elements of the experience entered Freyja, and he allowed himself to kneel beside her. Freyja's body was limp for the time being, lost in the thoughts Ragnar had put her in, so he gently laid her out, waiting for the moment she would wake. She may be angry that he had chosen to do this without telling her, but he also assumed that Freyja would more than likely be ecstatic to have seen what he'd shared with her. It was a taste of what she wanted, and for the time being would keep her off his back. For the time being Ragnar allowed himself to focus on the view in front of him, while the sun had already risen it didn't take away from the picture. While he much more enjoyed his brain-dead way of life, his reawakening came with an appreciation for things like this. He now realized how bland his food was. You lose some you win some.
Freyja
This body was not her own. That was the first thing she noticed, quickly followed with the question of what in Talos' name was going on. Ragnar's strong grip had captured her neck, her eyes snapping open to see his hand descending on her, and now… this. While she could move her eyes and look around, the body she inhabited was clearly doing whatever it wanted. This body was encased in heavy metal armor, but whoever was wearing it didn't let that stop them from making great time up this mountain slope. It looked like any typical mountain in Skyrim, covered in snow and at times impossibly steep. Her body was breathing heavily, but nowhere near what any normal persons would sound like at this point. Freyja was impressed to say the least, although this was followed by an immense feeling of awe as the path flattened out and she saw what lie before her. One of the ancient Nordic word walls was but a stones throw in front of her, on top of it was a majestic golden dragon, unaware that it's home had been invaded yet. This quickly changed. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A wall of fire burst forth, searing the immediate area in the blink of an eye, and both burning the dragon as well as pushing it off the wall. Freyja knew immediately that this body was the Dragonborn's. Ragnar was somehow letting her live on of his memories? She had a thousand questions but that had to wait, because this fight was quickly getting excitement. An armored arm pulled a sword from his hip out of its sheath, giving her a second to appraise that the blade held in his, (their?) hand was none other than Dawnbreaker. The dragon had taken flight and began circling, getting a good look at its challenger, and a hail of ice fell upon her from the thing's maw. Freyja's arm lifted, a semicircle of fire emerging from her hand dissipating the oncoming ice. How did he do this? She hadn't the time to ask him yet, but Freyja had never heard stories that the Dragonborn had this type of mastery over magic before, every story teller she had talked to had mentioned his voice powers and martial prowess. The golden dragon landed now, near enough that its wing came in to swipe the Dragonborn off the side of the mountain. If only it was that easy. Her body ducked under the attack, Dawnbreaker swiping into the webbing of the creature's wing, lighting the entire wound alight as it did. The scream that came after deafened her, and the dragon stumbled backwards from her, only to find that it couldn't move. A metal arm was lifted, an orange glow coming from the gauntlet, that was somehow holding the creature in place? Ragnar had some explaining to do, this was beyond insane. For the first time in her life, Freyja saw what fear looked like in a dragon, as the Dragonborn walked forward its movement became frantic as it willed its body to move, but whatever the armored man was doing was unbreakable. That is, until a sudden explosion blew her off twenty feet into a tree. Her body grunted, and a hand lifted just in time to throw up a transparent wall of energy that absorbed a torrent of electricity. Coming from a coffin near the dragon wall, Freyja was surprised to see a dragon priest floating to the fight. "Lightning huh? You're about to find yourself very outmatched!" A shiver ran through her as the Dragonborn shouted at the ancient spirit, the ferocity was chilling, the bloodlust apparent just by listening to him. Freyja was witnessing a fight with the Dragonborn at his most powerful. She cast her eyes downwards briefly, as the body she inhabited widened its feet until they were square with the broad shoulders of the armor she wore, and she could hear the sharp intake of breath. What was the Dragonborn doing? Her answer came, as the Dragonborn's arm aimed the sword tip first at the priest, and a deafening crack of thunder was followed by a blinding explosion. A cone flowed out of the weapon far surpassing the size of a house as the range extended, in the center of it a lightning bolt as thick as a nord nearly disintegrated the priest where it had helplessly attempted to throw up a ward. The edge of the fire grazed the dragon, still powerful enough to melt everything but the bones of the poor things injured wing, causing yet another roar of pain to come from the creature. Her arm lowered, and Freyja let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, her mind unable to think after witnessing what she could only call a force of nature. Whatever the dragon priest had emerged from had been nearly melted, the word wall was charred, the slope had been blown away in the shape of a half circle where the cone had passed. Legs walked them over to the dragon, where it pitifully rolled about trying to do anything it could to end the pain. In callous disregard of the weapons origins, Dawnbreaker was thrown down to the ground, and her armored hands wrapped themselves around the hilt of something strapped to their back. Freyja's eyes widened in recognition from the pages of countless books as the Dragonborn pulled Wuuthrad forward, and only got wider as her legs broke into a run and the axe came down in a chopping motion into the dragon's head. The sheer power from both the weapon and the nord wielding it split the creatures head wide open, entering its brain, and finally killing it. Pulling it back out the axe was returned to its place on her back, and with one hand outstretched the orange glow appeared again in her hand, with Dawnbreaker flying into the metal palm a moment later. It was this moment that everything got blurry, and it felt as if she was being sucked up until… Freyja's eyes flew open, observing her surroundings as she stood up quickly. While she was still up on a snow-covered mountain, this was clearly not the same one the Dragonborn had assaulted. Her head swiveled until Ragnar came into sight, kneeling looking out at the valley and the island laying in front of them. "By Talos… Ragnar that was amazing!" She couldn't contain herself a moment longer, the things she had just witnessed! Dawnbreaker and Wuuthrad in action with none other than the Dragonborn in his peak using them was nothing short of a blessing to see. "I've never seen such a powerful use of magic before, the way you just throw fire around, and that trick with the sword was amazing!" Freyja hurried to where he was, looking down and meeting his cold blue gaze as she approached. "That wasn't a trick, simply an old tool that few know how to manipulate any longer." Gods, the way he spoke of what he did as if anyone could do it if they knew, was it just not that noteworthy to him? "Ragnar, I doubt even those who do know it could do the same you did, or even on the scale I saw, that entire side of the mountain simply disappeared, one second it was there and the next it was gone." The nord merely lifted his shoulders a bit in response. Damn this unresponsive godly powerful nord in exile. She couldn't even imagine the Battle of Whiterun with someone like him on their side. "How do you use magic like that, where did you learn something like that? I saw the college of Winterhold in a fight and they didn't do anything like you did, nor as fluidly." Freyja was met with silence, and after it drew on for longer than comfortable she sat down with him, looking out at Solstheim. This seemed to be what he had been waiting for the whole time, or he had just finished collecting his thoughts. "I won't tell you where or who I learned from, but I can say that it wasn't nearly as hard to learn as what they teach at that college." As she looked over while he spoke, Freyja could tell that this was something that brought life back to him. Just as speaking of his days in Wayrest seemed to bring about a new person from Ragnar, so to did the fire magic. "What I do is still magic, requiring some innate ability to be used, but not nearly in the same way as normal magic. The power flows through our body much like our blood, relying on the major roadways in us to move." Slowly sitting up, she watched as he got up and showed her as he spoke. "With normal magic, I simply focus the fire in my hand, and release it where I want it to go." A small flicker of flame sprung to life in his hand, and a fireball as large as a head found its way into the side of the mountain. "But with the method I use, it becomes more versatile, say a dragon is facing me, it shouts a wall of flame upon me," Ragnar's hands clapped together, cocking behind his head, before moving them into a chop motion, a vertical pillar of fire cutting deep into the slope to the side of them. "All that you need to do is focus that same fire inside yourself, and allow your body to use it exactly how you need to, instead of relying on an imperfect system." He walked back to where she sat and lowered himself down. She had never really been an expert in magic, only knowing what mages had told her in the few exchanges they'd had. "Why are you telling me this? I've never even tried to use magic before." How was this lesson supposed to help if she couldn't even use magic! Ragnar just shook his head slightly, creating a flame in his palm. "Every creature that is born has the innate ability and potential, no matter how small that potential may be. Even if you can't sustain what I teach you for more than one or two attacks in a fight, that's all you'll need." Freyja's mind was having trouble wrapping around his words, why did every conversation and meeting with him be so overwhelming! "An enemy is at their weakest when they think they have you figured out. They've prepared for what they envision to be your strategy, so when you can suddenly send a wave of fire at them in the same motion as swinging your sword? The Thalmor aren't prepared to fight against this, which is why I'm teaching you." With that being said, the nord stood up, and began walking back to his cave.
Ragnar
The walk back and rest of the day was spent in silence. Mostly because he had left the companion in the cave and walked down to a waterfall. It was at least an hour's journey from his cave, and he doubted she would come this far just to see what he was doing. Ragnar missed the quiet, every time he had to speak, or she asked a question, he couldn't stop the flood that was his past. It would drive him crazy if he let it. This waterfall, and the slope he had visited this morning were his most frequented meditative spots. One was completely silent, the other deafening, the contrast expanded his ability to ignore all his surroundings and shut himself off to the outside world. That was all he had wanted to do since Whiterun. Now, the world had come to find him. What happened when he was done teaching her to kill elves, if she was captured, or said something she shouldn't? Suddenly his refuge away from the world could draw visitors, and depending who found out, a warzone. The world thought him dead, and he didn't intend to give it reason to think otherwise. "I must admit, I never thought I'd see you as a teacher." It was typical, that while seeking refuge from disturbance that once again he would be visited by his spirits again. "The war loving nord suddenly a patient mentor teaching ancient mystery magic? Sounds kind of like a bad joke if you think about it." The Nord's eyes looked back at the daedra slaying hero of Tamriel, the Imperial had struck a thoughtful pose. "But anyways, I know that this is going to be a one-sided argument, I mostly came here to warn you that she followed your tracks here," the imperial's words were followed by a sinister smile and the crack of a frozen branch as Ragnar caught a glimpse of brown hair through the trees. Wonderful. The petite nord found her way to the rock outcropping over the waterfall, eyes finding his as she took a few more steps over. "Killer view, by which I mean who did you kill for it?" The edge of her lip tugged up slightly, her humor seemingly surviving through the tragedies she had suffered. He offered no answer, letting the sound of the waterfall reign supreme for now. The sound of feet came from behind him, until Freyja sat down, legs hanging over the edge, her vision focused on the half-frozen lake below them. "You know, upper half of this island reminds me of home, just… lonelier." Ragnar suspected that he had made the same conclusion subconsciously when he had decided to remain dead. He would never return to his homeland, so why not exile himself somewhere that mimicked his own land. With the exception of the southern half of the island being coated in ash, this island was just another small sliver of Skyrim. "I'd probably enjoy it a lot more without the murderous werebear packs, and random dragon attacks." Ragnar let out a grunt at that, he had additionally chosen Solstheim because of how dangerous it could be to outsiders, but he had to admit, this gods damned island could be ridiculous at times. For a time, Freyja was silent, and they sat there lost in their own heads for what seemed hours. A gentle snow fall had begun, and almost out of habit Ragnar raised his inner temperature, the heat traveling up and down each of his limbs, his spine, the very same paths he used when using this magic to fight. "You understand how unfair that is, right?" Freyja indignantly snorted at him, and it took him a second to figure out what she was talking about. In only another second, Ragnar had thrust a hand forward and constructed a sort of overhand made of frozen snow over top of their heads, shielding them from the snow. Freyja it seemed was left speechless for the moment, which was just find for him. "You know… its weird being around someone who can do things like this and acts as if its normal." In the back of his mind, he noted that if he were to meet a younger version of himself, they'd say the same thing. As he rose into his position of Dragonborn, he had learned more and more, to the point that such displays of power didn't seem nearly as impressive as they used to. "How come nothing I've read says that you're a magic user?" Freyja had moved herself to within arms-reach, the curiosity evident in her voice. Killing her seemed a better alternative than these questions in this moment. "What do you know of the college of Winterhold?" Ragnar asked her, leaving the woman looking baffled by his question.
"I mean… they're a group of mages isolated in an old castle up north." Just what he thought, she knew only the most basic knowledge of them. "Yes, they live in the north isolated from the rest of Skyrim, mostly because of their distrust of magic. Why then, would these magic fearing people want to spread the news that their greatest hero himself used it?" Skyrim hated magic users, while it most recently stemmed from the war with the Dominion, the land had never treated them very well. "Still, I've never read or heard anyone speak of your magic abilities at all!" Freyja didn't seem as opposed as some people in Skyrim to magic users, although that could just be her desperation to find an edge against the Thalmor. "Nords hate magic users, few would be keen to admit that their Dragonborn was one, and the college of Winterhold probably withheld such information because they didn't understand how I used it, its hard to speak on a subject you know little to nothing about, so they didn't speak of it." Ragnar had never told the college how he tapped into his powers, the less people that knew the better. Himself and Freyja was enough for now. "And you let people believe you couldn't use?" He shook his head lightly. "Yes. It caught enemies off guard. Besides, practicing an unknown magic form attracts attention, which I didn't wish for, I was lucky enough to learn it myself, the fact that you've found your way to me means that it won't die off with me. While Tamriel doesn't deserve to learn it in this day and age, there will be a time when it will." Surprisingly, Freyja simply nodded her head, accepting his answer, and sat with him quietly. By now, the sun had set, and darkness embraced Nirn, leaving the pair alone in the night. The few animals that visited the lake below had long ago found somewhere to rest for the night, away from any predator looking for an easy meal. Ragnar was more than sure more than one creature had considered attempting to attack the two of them, and had he not taught them to stay away years ago then he could guarantee the calm night would soon be claimed by the sounds of battle. As it was, nothing disturbed them, the snow had stopped coming after adding to the already deep layer that covered the earth, and had Ragnar not made the impromptu tent then Freyja would most likely have been buried with a thin layer of snow. His thoughts were ground to a halt, as Freyja spoke again. "Ragnar, do you regret what you did, by staying here?" Although it was dark, he could see at the edge of his vision that she had tucked her legs against her chest, chin propped up on her knees, her words followed by a heavy stare. "No." His short, quick answer required no second thoughts. What else would he have done after killing the Thalmor, there was nothing left for him in Skyrim. "I've seen what you can do in a fight Ragnar, with you fighting with us- "
"Stop." His head had turned towards her, and he was done listening to her what ifs. "Skyrim didn't need me, you said it yourself, Skyrim stopped the Dominion at Whiterun, I was never needed, all they needed was each other." It was their own fault the Dominion had won; a divided Skyrim was a conquerable Skyrim. "We didn't need you to fight, it was what you represented!" Freyja was getting angry again, he could tell. She was passionate and didn't like being wrong. "There were plenty of others to be figureheads, besides I've sacrificed enough for that thankless land, I won't shed another drop of blood for anyone but myself!" He had enough of this. Ragnar forced himself up, throwing aside the temporary shelter that lie in his path. He marched back towards his cave, sure that the persistent companion followed. Familiar faces swam before his eyes, voices rang out in his head, old feelings played out across his hands. Ragnar only made it thirty feet away before he got to one knee, the flood washing over him. It was all too much, emotions he had repressed for years attempting to come out. The air around him grew hot, his control slipping and his powers becoming a conduit to his emotions. Ragnar remained this way for several minutes, deep breaths persisting against invading thoughts, slowly gaining back control from himself. It was easy living this way when he was alone, the spirits never bothered him like this, or left before it got this bad. Stumbling up to his feet, he briefly took in the circle of melted snow around him, before continuing his journey home haphazardly. Firmly in control of his own body and thoughts again, he could hear Freyja a way behind him, her footsteps light in the snow. She said nothing on the way back, nor when they arrived did she say anything to him when they settled on their respective sides of the cave. It was only when they had been lying on the ground for several minutes that she spoke. "Ragnar… not all burdens are meant to be carried alone. Remember that." With that being said, he heard her turn over, and after a while her breathing settled into the rhythm of sleep.
Freyja
The next few days passed uneventfully. With no random attacks that would reveal yet more epic powers Ragnar had hidden, the time was spent hunting, hiking to random locations, and sitting around in silence. After his breakdown near the waterfall, Freyja had decided that giving the nord a few days to recuperate would be for the best, and so she followed him around on his daily schedule. He didn't have a busy schedule. Over half of the day was spent walking to totally random places, no explanation on why those spots needed to be checked, and more than likely he would spend hours sitting there once they'd hiked to it. The man didn't even meditate, he just sat down and stared off at nothing, and after a period of time that had no minimum or limit, he'd go find somewhere else to walk off to or go back to the cave. Usually Ragnar would eat a large breakfast, then a large dinner once they were back at the cave, lunch being entirely unnecessary apparently. While most of his food was meat from whatever the man had taken a fancy to killing lately, (he fancied killing everything that moved) he also had a small stock of food that made no sense that he would have. Where in Talos name did an exiled hero of legend find sweetrolls? That question was answered after about a week, several hours into one of his daily hikes up yet another mountain. Man loved mountains. At some point, Freyja heard movement, and quickly pulled out her bow, half nocking an arrow and scanning a nearby snowbank, large enough to provide concealment from where she was. Her senses proved her right as a small blue head popped up, examining her shortly before opening its mouth, probably communicating to something. She'd heard of these nasty little goblins, Rieklings? Whatever they were called, they were notorious for killing people for their possessions. Gods damn her if Freyja let these little bastards send her to Sovngarde. Pulling back on the arrow fully, she aimed at where the thing's brows met, and released. Not even halfway to the creature though, the arrow suddenly stopped midair, before dropping straight to the ground. Turning to Ragnar, she saw him approaching her. "Don't kill the things, they're harmless." Even as he spoke, the Rieklings had noticed Ragnar's presence, as well as his actions to save them. The little goblins ran off, but not before throwing a sack towards the pair, which Ragnar summoned to them with the same orange spell. Opening it up slightly, Freyja recognized gold, armor, cups, and more importantly, food. Dumping out everything but the food, Ragnar nearly continued on his way before turning to her slightly. "Take whatever you want from the rest, I leave all but the food, you don't have to do the same though." Raising an eyebrow at the actions which seemed out of character of this brutally cold nord, Freyja bent down to pick through some of the things. "So, this has happened before then?" Obviously intending to continue his walk, Ragnar stopped again and looked back at where she was kneeling. "Since I got here, they think I'm some sort of… god?" Freyja couldn't stop the smile that came upon her face. "They're not far from the truth from what I've seen" She shrugged her shoulders to emphasize her point, picking out a nice golden armband from the pile, leaving the rest scattered where Ragnar had left it. Noticing her prize, the nord turned himself back up the mountain, and thus the walk continued upwards. Clipping her new golden accessory onto her arm and guaranteeing the unexpected gift wouldn't fall off, she hurried herself up the mountain to catch up to Ragnar, who had finally found its crest, and was situating himself down. This mountain was placed in a way that it worked as sort of an outpost, every direction around them gave the pair a wide view of the surrounding area. Freyja sat herself down near Ragnar, wondering how long he would want to spend on here before moving on, hoping it would only be an hour or two. In the meantime, her eyes scanned several small mountain passes to the west, she even spotted a small Riekling village, probably where the few little goblins they'd run into had probably come from. "Have you tried the techniques I showed you?" This was to say the least, a surprise. Ragnar almost never started the conversations, and even when he did it was only because absolutely necessary. She wouldn't question her good luck today though. "Sort of, I mean I've never put any thought into using magic before, let alone some unheard-of technique only used by, well, you." She was being honest, but while she had briefly tried, that may have been the problem, it was a very brief attempt. A few minutes spent trying to recreate an unfamiliar stance and channel an energy she didn't know how to find was infuriating and she'd quickly dropped the practice. "I wouldn't have shown you unless I thought it pertinent, the memory I showed you? The power used was only amplified by the fire of Dawnbreaker, all that was meant to shoot from that blade was the lightning, the blade itself used the fire within it to assist, create an even deadlier attack than before." The nords voice never sounded as dead when he spoke of things like this, which she appreciated because talking to what sounded like the most monotone dying man ever wasn't the most fun. "So, you hope that if I learn this magic, that one attack may be all it'll take with Dawnbreaker in my hands?" Freyja doubted that even with decades of practice she could even come close to what she had seen in that memory, but even just a fraction of that could still prove lethal. "Yes. For now, I'll focus on helping you utilize Dawnbreaker and a few other artifacts that would give you an advantage over the Thalmor."
"Well as helpful as that sounds, Dawnbreaker is still unaccounted, only a few items have been sent to the college for safekeeping" Ragnar remained silent at her words, staring out at the mountains. "Don't worry about that. There's a reason I chose Dawnbreaker." That was incredibly… vague? Vague and odd. The man wasn't telling her something, but at this point she knew it was probably useless to ask about it. "Well in that case, can you help me with the basics then?" No good would come of trying to practice something she didn't even know the basics of.
"First, breath." The nord sucked in air through his nostrils, chest rising as it slowly filled, before his lips parted just enough to allow air to escape from his body. "Air is needed for this to work, it focuses your energy, calms nerves, you can't use this magic without having control of your body." To demonstrate his point, another deep breath entered the tall nords body, this time he let it exit his nostrils, as the last wisps of air came out he released two small streams of fire from his nose. Leave it to a semi crazy fallen Dragonborn to awe her by simply shooting fire from his nose. She could never tell anyone about her time her, if only because it sounded like a bad skooma trip. Shaking her head slightly at his antics, Freyja closed her eyes, and began taking deep breaths, letting the cycle of inhaling and exhaling take her over. "Good, now focus deep in yourself, feel the air travel throughout your body, reinvigorating it, giving it the life to continue, feed on that energy." She struggled to understand what feeling she was searching for, but nonetheless continued. If she really dialed in to her body, she could sense the process he explained, the parts of her body that required oxygenated blood getting a fresh supply, the old being pumped to her heart to receive the air she so desperately relied on. "You're full of passion Freyja. Use it, whatever drives you, gives you strength, channel it." Scenes from her past flashed through her head. A desperate fight against an enemy that outnumbered them, her fellow countrymen fleeing even as their king charged hopelessly into the enemy. Friends struck down around her. Senseless killings to prove a point, that a new regime ruled Whiterun. "Now thrust your hand out." While Ragnar's tone hadn't risen from it's usual one, she almost believed she heard something faintly passionate beyond those words. Taking in one last breath, Freyja threw her arm forward like she was punching at an opponent, a smug high elf looking down at her was the image she couldn't purge from her mind. Something in her gut jerked, and she very nearly winced in fear that a fire would engulf her from the inside out. Luckily, that didn't happen, in fact nothing happened. Her fist was chin height in front of her, arm fully extended, but nothing had come out of it. Freyja's eyes squinted in annoyance at her arm and fist as if they were to blame, thinking back on what she could have done wrong. "Impressive, I felt the air around us heat up briefly, I hadn't been able to do such a thing until a while after I'd learned how to manipulate this magic." Glancing at him, Freyja saw that his arms were crossed, his usually stoic face now looking in deep thought. "You did everything right, all that's left is practicing the basics until you begin to actually spew flames." Really? She couldn't believe this; how could she have warmed the entire area around her body but not even conjured one measly flame! Sucking in more air she pushed the image of a high elf into her mind and threw another punch. Still nothing. "Gods above why can't I do this!" Ragnar was just as stony faced, watching as she punched the air time after time waiting for the moment flames would come out from her fists. "You can't force this Freyja. I spent hours practicing the same simple moves before I made flames. Anger isn't the recommended tool to make this magic work. You can use passion, but a force like anger can make it unpredictable, hard to control." Freyja's mind flashed back to his memory, the dragon priest striking him from behind fresh in her mind. His voice had been heavy with the thirst for blood, while not quite angry it certainly wasn't calm. A happy medium then? Resetting herself, Freyja squared her feet, spending a few minutes simply breathing. Her mind cleared gradually, and she felt her body working just as it should, and now she thought of Whiterun as it was today. Downtrodden, all hope abandoned or dead, the people simply living day to day no thoughts of the future. A young woman in an alleyway with nothing to her name but the clothes on her back, all alone in this new world where there was nothing but death and suffering. Deep down she felt the anger, but sorrow was much more plentiful right now. Her arm struck out in front of her, a small jet of flame flying out from her fist. "YES! Did you see that?! That was incredible!" Freyja leapt up and down, she'd finally done it. While it had taken longer than she thought, it was amazing that she had managed it at all when she had no prior instruction at any type of magic. "Now that was much more impressive, it seems that while you may be stubborn, you also know when to change tactics." The exile was nodding his head, a hand scratching in his beard. "Now that you've shown that you can do it, I expect you to practice it, then when you get Dawnbreaker you'll be ready to use it already." With that being said, Ragnar seemed to take that as his cue to start back on his way to the cave. She briefly considered staying up here to practice, but the fact that she wasn't sure how to get back to the cave and the nearby village of Rieklings gave her enough reason to follow behind the seemingly tireless nord.
Ragnar
The scent of blood was thick in the air. It wasn't often that his father sent their company this far from Skyrim, but these days High Rock was a mess and there was always some lord in need of swords. This lord just happened to need their help against vampires. The largely Nordic company had numbered three hundred fifty strong when the day had begun. Barely eighty of them were still standing. A small town had been overrun by the undead, and it was a simple matter to burn the houses, wait for whatever was inside to come out, and kill it while the sun was high and weakened the creatures. Then night came. All the hiding undead had come upon them in minutes, and the center of the town had become a bloodbath. The vampires were outnumbered by at least two or three to one, but increased speed and strength made up for it, even if their enemy were hardened battle ready nords. It'd have been a much different story in different terrain, the nords would have simply set up a shield wall and killed the undead from afar with arrows, or spear, sword, or axe when they approached. House to house combat made things difficult. Clumps of fighting raged across the mess of houses, and the moon gave light to it all. His axe was long gone, lodged into the chest of one of the bloodsuckers before he'd had to abandon it when another had started swiping at him. Sword raised and ready, he looked behind him quickly, an alley clogged with dead nords and vampire alike filling the space. Luck would have to smile upon him heavily if his father's force were to survive the night. The town square lay before him, and pairs and small groups of both sides fought on, tired but unyielding. Most mercenary groups would have long ago fled for their lives, but nords were a different breed, honor came before one's life. Charging forward with a war cry on his lips, his sword swung sideways into a torso, leaving the distracted vampire vulnerable, one of the nords who had been engaging its front swiped at the opposite side, cleaving the thing in half through its torso. The top half fell, and the two looked for the nearest enemy to fight next. While the nords had sustained hundreds of casualties, the vampires were dropping faster than the enraged nords. This was the last thought he had before a powerful kick sent him flying face first into a box, crushing the wood with his heavy plate armor. Groaning as he flipped over, so his back was on the ground, he grit his teeth as something caught on the earth, causing a flare of pain to lance up his body. The box had splintered a large chunk of itself into a soft spot of his armor, stabbing into the spot right above his hip to the side. Gods damn him. Another kick flung him into the side of a stone building, his back spasming in pain at the contact, and he drew in a choked breath before looking towards where the box had been. An undead Breton stood in the ruins of the mentioned box, making its way toward him. The nord he had assisted with earlier came into view, swinging his weapon at the creature only to have it duck, claws raking their way through his stomach as the vampire turned in the same movement. It took just a moment for his intestines to fall to the earth, and the undead continued towards where it had kicked its initial prey. Seemed to be do or die time. With great effort he pushed himself up to a kneeling position, the chunk of wood the cause of a small pool of blood that had collected on the ground. The vampire was only seconds away, probably expecting him to be near dead anyways. That's when he leapt forward, grabbing the vampire and lifting it up, only to throw the monster down with as much force as he could. A pained grunt escaped the vampire, and it had almost no time to react as a metal fist struck its face once and then twice, and a knife slammed down into its chest. He'd missed the bastard's heart though, and a wild slash of its claws nearly cut threw his armor, the noise of sharpened nail on metal awful to his ear. Kicking into the vampire's side, and forcing it to expose its back, he looped his arm around the things neck. While the hold wouldn't affect the undead the same as a person, he wouldn't win an engagement in front of this thing as weakened as he was from what he suspected were several broken ribs and the hunk of wood sticking out of his hip. He'd been careful to keep his hip to the side, so the vampire pressed against his front wouldn't disturb it or push it deeper in. Flailing powerful limbs attempted to squirm out of his grip, elbows pounding into his ribs. While the pain was present, the armor took the brunt of the attack, leaving him to pull out the knife with one arm and stab down into its chest again. Now the thing was panicking. Realizing the danger it was in, the vampire thrust its hand in the way, the blade slicing off three fingers and coming down into the chest, pushed off course enough to make prevent it from being lethal. It's other intact hand grabbed at his head, tearing off the helmet. Now it was his turn for drastic action, those claws would slice him open with no problem. His blade came down again, only going in an inch when the hand with all five fingers took hold of his wrist, its grip painful. The other came up for his face, its pointer finger cutting up from his jaw towards his eye. Jerking away, he let go of the things neck, and with one more powerful effort pushed the knife down further. Nearing the heart even more he still wasn't going to get any deeper, the vampire had its elbow pressed against his armor, giving it the leverage to hold the blade off its heart. Time for a change of plans. His legs pushed to the side, both their bodies tipping, the ground pushing the blade all the way through to the hilt into the undead creature's chest. It stiffened at first, before relaxing, and he allowed himself to roll onto his back. Blood ran down his face, where the vampire had slashed it open. At some point it had begun raining, clouds covered the moon high above and drenching his face. There sounded to be less fighting going on, either because one side had been all but defeated or because there were so few left, he didn't know. All he knew is that everything had changed tonight.
Freyja
The man was in the midst of another dream. There hadn't been a night she didn't see him in the clutches of one, but this was by far the worst she'd seen since that first time she had been in the cave. Freyja's sleep had been interrupted by a loud extended grunt, she figured that it was a war cry in the dream. After that he'd continued moving his limbs around on the cave floor, at one point rolling over to the other side, from there he'd calmed down. After a few seconds of no movement or noise, she stood up and began walking back to her sleeping roll. The noise of her feet on the cave floor must have been heard, because before she knew she heard rapid movement behind her. Snapping her head about, she saw that he was on a knee, fist raised, but eyes quickly taking in the cave, and his arm moved back down to his side. It didn't take long for her to summarize that her head had just nearly been turned to ash. "What was this one about?" Freyja didn't want to dwell long on her near death, best to push forward while he was still fresh from his dream. "Old battle, one of the worse ones." Ragnar had sat with his back to the cave wall, a hand lifted up feeling along the scar on his face, going up his jaw and up to his brow. Freyja turned fully, walking over and sitting against the cave wall with him, her small hand reaching towards his face. As usual, he didn't give verbal consent, only looking at her hand approaching, and then meeting her gaze. That was the best she would get, so she continued. The vertical scar left a small line on his face where no hair grew, the skin raised above the rest where it'd had to heal the old wound. Starting just a few inches from the bottom of his ear on his jaw, the scar made a line upwards, coming near his eye, ending at his brow. She couldn't imagine what could have given this to him. "When did it happen?" If he wouldn't outright tell her, then she'd draw the answers out of him. She wanted to know everything she could about his past, his stories, his experiences. "Years after the encounter I told you about with the orcs. Still in Wayrest." He must've still been so young, she couldn't believe what he had lived through, even before his destiny had come upon him. "Wayrest certainly left its marks upon you, huh?" It was a poor attempt at humor on her part, but the effort was there. "Not as much as Skyrim did, but it tried." His defensive wall of stone cold expressions and monotone speech wasn't up yet, fresh out of a very real dream, she heard the bitterness in his tone. She would be too, she supposed, had her body been so marked as he. "Where would you be though, without each and every one, they're a collection marking who you are, they've made you the man you are." Ragnar seemed to consider her words, she was no priest with honeyed words to assist people with things like this, but she would do her best. "Who knows. I can't imagine waking up one day and all these scars simply… gone." Freyja had few scars herself, but awaking with them all gone would spook her greatly. While she hated a few, they were hers, and for that reason she wouldn't live without them given the choice. "So, can you tell me how you got this one?" Her hand hadn't come off his face yet, moving up and down the scar, the beard tickling her fingers. "Not much to tell, this was back when I was still a mercenary, my first encounter with vampires as well. Got this while holding one in a choke so I could stab it." One of his hands was rubbing at a spot above his hip now, did he not notice that he rubbed at the scars pertaining to the stories he told? "You're telling me you wrestled a vampire, as in the super strengthened creatures of the night?" Who in their right mind would do something so gods damned STUPID! "Yes. Thing kicked me around a bit, got a nice chunk of wood in my gut for the trouble before I got it into a headlock. After that, it was just a matter of time before my knife found the thing in its black lifeless heart." Nonchalantly telling the story of a wrestling match with a vampire, she wouldn't believe half the things she'd heard if it wasn't the Dragonborn. "What kind of contract brought you into contact with vampires?" In all her time as a companion, she hadn't once encountered the creatures, only heard stories of the bloodsuckers. "Some town was occupied with them, caused the area a lot of trouble. Our company was known for how effective we were." His eyes focused down at the cave floor, and while it was hard to tell with the beard in the way, she thought he might have had a small frown. "It was our last contract. Our company was three hundred and fifty men strong, by the time the fighting was all done, and the sun was rising, forty-three of us were left alive. We collected our pay, and most of us split ways." That was well over three hundred dead in just one night, that was horrendous. The worst part is that with how he spoke of the event, it didn't even seem that bad to him, just another story from his past, instead of the traumatic night most people would be haunted by for their whole life. "That's… horrible. I'm sorry." Her hand cupped the side of his face with the scar, her fingers resting against his beard, her thumb rubbing the scar. Ragnar hadn't commented on her continued contact, so she'd leave it there for now. "I lost nearly all my friends in one night, it was hard for a while but that's just how life is." Did he really think that's how life was, so unforgiving, so brutal? His eyes certainly made her believe so, cold and accepting of the blood shed that plagued him. "It shouldn't though, and I'm sorry it has been. I think I see why you stayed here, where the only thing left to worry about it yourself, up here you don't have anyone left to lose." As she had begun speaking, his eyes had locked onto hers, she nearly looked away from the intensity of his stare, but she hadn't come this far just to cower away now. "All your life, you've watched people you care for killed again and again, each new beginning lasting a little longer before ultimately failing. So, when the Thalmor took away your family, the companions, the hall, that was it. There was no one left, the world thought you were dead, and you let them believe it, because what good could come of going back? Watching more people you grew to love die, so you stayed here, every reason to go back was dead, just like you." With every word she could see he was trying to hide behind a stony façade, but she knew she had struck home with her words. It made sense, her anger had blinded her from seeing this upon their first meeting, but it was obvious now with what she knew. "I…" it had taken a few minutes for him to speak, and the word came up choked, before he tried again. "I cant fail again. If I'd gone back, I would have failed Skyrim, better to die, than live on failing again and again until all faith in the Dragonborn was lost. The legend lives on, only as long as people believe in it, that's more powerful than any one single man on a battlefield could ever be. After what happened, I wasn't in any condition to go back anyways, so I stayed. Waiting for the day I could pass out of this world." There was no attempt to hide the sadness in his eyes now, he had been so strong for so long so the world could continue breathing easy, knowing the Dragonborn fought for them. How long could a person live like that? How long had Ragnar lived like that? Having to pretend he was some sort of godly protector of Skyrim, slowly cracking under the pressure. "I shouldn't have blamed you for what happened to Skyrim, no one is to blame but Skyrim herself, you did so much, only for her own people to betray her." Freyja tentatively scratched her fingers through his beard, against the skin underneath. It was all she could think to do to comfort him right now, besides the words they spoke. It only took a few seconds for his breathing to normalize, subconsciously his face tilted to allow her an easier time at scratching. "Hearing what's become of my homeland… I wish I could help." It broke Freyja's heart to hear how truly sorrowful he was, she knew of few people with as much love for Skyrim as he did. "Ragnar, I know why you came here." She had to be careful now, or he would refuse. "But maybe you can continue teaching me, while also helping me get some of the weapons you recommend I use." His face pulled away, her hand left out in the air where his cheek had been. "You mean come out of exile." Ragnar wasn't asking a question, this wasn't a statement. "Not as anyone but my teacher, a travel companion, not as… just come with me as Ragnar." Freyja had suspected his original name wasn't Ragnar, but the one he'd adopted when he had begun his days as a vagabond up here in Solstheim. "I won't ask you to come into cities, or take part in any fighting, only help me find the weapons I need and train me to use them, please, I need your help." She moved herself to directly in front of him, on her knees and forcing him to move his line of sight from the cave wall to her own eyes. The cold blue orbs looked indecisive, surely years of forced exile had cultivated some sense or need of an adventure! "I- I'll tell you my answer tomorrow." That was all he said, throwing himself up, and walking out of the cave, leaving her alone on the floor, eyes looking out at where he had left.
It was hours later, when Freyja heard movement at the mouth of the cave. Quickly she rolled over, eyes landing on the person who had entered the cave. She almost didn't recognize him. Standing in the entrance and exit of his home for the past few years, was Ragnar. His beard had been shaved away, revealing a strong defined jaw, his facial scar more prominent without the beard. His hair was pushed back, the long flowing hair reaching nearly to his shoulders, looking to have been combed and cut a little shorter. A thin pair of new clean pants and shirt covered him, looking slightly out of place in this cold tundra but comfortable on a man who could create fire as easy as others would breath. "Are we to start on our journey, or do you want to keep staring?" She very nearly chose the second option.
