A/N: theBSdude: I try, this one is more character driven. In fact, I wanted it to be a webcomic at first. Then I remembered I can't draw.
Yeghishe: Here it is!
Y-ko: Never heard of. Googled him, but I've never seen any of his works. It's worth noting I also write in something resembling a wheelcart...
With his new dog and Jorik chasing each other around the legs of passerby, Sturbjorn and Oleg went back to the market and arranged for enough clay, hay and stones to be delivered to the boy's farm. They spent the day chasing down carriage drivers to make the delivery, workers to load and unload the goods and haggling prices with everyone they met, Oleg showing himself to be a fierce if somewhat rude negotiator, despite his usual soft tone and friendliness.
By the end of the day, with a few minutes before the markets closing, Sturnbjorn purchased provisions for a short time, mostly dried meat, but also some fresh fruits and a basket of eggs for his… Dinner? Supper? Next meal, whichever one that would be.
He loved eggs, more than sweetrolls even, but hadn't had a chance to eat some in years. Too expensive, not filling enough. Buying some now had been a bit of a treat, but he decided he'd earned the right to eat actual food after years of half rotten fruits and horker meat. With some milk, he could even make an omelette!
Keeping his "treasure" against his chest in case anyone bumped into him on the way out of the market, Stubborn felt truly giddy for the first time in years, and that brought a smile to Oleg's face as he followed behind the boy's energetic strides.
As he neared the town's gate, the guards waved at him, recognizing his face from the market, and congratulated him again on catching that thief before opening the gate. It seemed luck was finally on the Nord's side, after years of suffering and disappointment…
"WULD NAH KEST!"
A blur of brown and grey sped through the gates, knocking both Oleg and Sturnbjorn on their back along the way, but never stopping a second.
Luck being a cruel mistress, Sturnbjorn got to watch all eight eggs soar out through the air and even managed to catch one, but was foiled by his own reflexes and crushed the thing in his grip.
For a full minute, he watched his hand, dripping with clear and yellow liquid, and the seven spots of sticky yellow on the rocky road.
The childish part of his brain, brought forth by his lack of sleep, almost convinced him to try and salvage the liquid on the ground. There was a time when he would not have had second thought about it, but that time was long gone. He wiped his fingers on the front of his leather pants and took Oleg's hand, rising back on his feet with a stoic expression on his face.
"Are you alright?" Asked the old man, concern evident in his eyes.
Casting a look at the now vacated market, Stubborn answered, "Oleg, my friend, I swear I could just cry right now…"
He actually looked sympathetic as he squeezed the boy's shoulder, "How about I invite you over tonight? My wife will cook you something."
But the other shook his head, "I would love that, thank you, but I have a house to build and sleep to catch, another time, perhaps."
Oleg nodded, smiling once more, "Another time it is…" Then he approached a guard to inquire on just what had happened.
"Damned Dragonborn," Groaned the soldier, clearly having had this discussion many times before, "can't seem to go around like the rest of us folks…"
"Next time," Jorik called from the back, pulling the cart full of Sturnbjorn's provisions, "I'm twipping him."
They left Whiterun's walls and, as they descended towards the stable, the redhead Nord began giggling uncontrollably.
Jorik did the same, but eventually asked what they were laughing about.
"No need to trip him, I'll just hang ropes at shoulder height all over the city. Next time he tries to go that fast, in the dark, he'll be sent spinning in the air, and if it's on top of the stairs, above the market, he might just fly right into the wall…"
Jorik laughed at that, but Oleg just threw his friend a questioning look, as if asking 'Where did you get that idea from?'
The dog barked happily at the change of mood and trotted in between Sturnbjorn and Jorik, wagging its tail in rhythm with its steps.
"Quite a ferocious beast the Jarl gave you…" Noted a guard as they walked by, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Found a name for it yet?" There was genuine curiosity in that question and Stubborn stopped to think about it.
Somehow feeling it was the center of attention, the dog sat on its haunches and let out a long, insistent howl that was answered by its own echo in the mountain.
Only the echo did not stop and only amplified until everyone in the vicinity stopped to look at the dog, then to the snow caps across the plains. The rising chorus of blood curling wails only rose with every moment, amplified by the acoustic of the hold.
It took a full minute after the wolf-dog had ended its scream for the answers to stop as well.
The last echo reached them distorted, almost like a human voice whispering insistently. "Ah-Luu…"
"I think I'll call her Aleu…" Nobody objected and most were quite glad that he took the beast with him in the carriage. Only once they were well out of earshot from the town did Oleg finally explode in laugher.
"Did you see their faces?! Oh, my boy, I will cherish this memory until the day I die!"
But Sturnbjorn was just as frightened of his new pet as any other citizen of Whiterun, even Jorik seemed careful with Aleu now. "What in Oblivion happened?"
Oleg had to wipe tears from his eyes before replying, "You see, Whiterun was built in a plain, but is surrounded by mountains."
"I noticed."
He ignored the boy's sarcasm and went on, "So, when wolves out in the wild howl, the mountains keep the sound out, when your… Al-hey-you?"
Stubborn already regretted that name, "All-Who."
"Right, when Aleu spoke her mind…" Oleg turned to face the pup, who wagged her tail in response, "Very well done there, young lady." And he went back to Sturnbjorn, "The mountains kept the sound in. It just bounced around in here until the girl was done talking."
That piqued Wolf-Heart's interest, "How are you so sure of this?"
But Oleg never lost his joyful demeanor, "Back when that dragon attacked the watchtower, it sounded as though the roars came from everywhere at once, so I asked some hunters and they told me about the mountains…"
Good enough. They remained quiet for a few minutes, Aleu jumping on and off the cart to chase after rabbits and foxes, bringing back two hares and the remains of a rat as presents for Jorik and Sturnbjorn.
This brought Oleg to another topic, "Tell me, boy, do you hunt?"
The Nord wanted to say yes, but decided killing whatever tries to kill you did not count as hunting, more like fishing with a human bait. "No, never fired a bow in my life, actually."
This seemed to shock his friend, "Really? What about swords? You know how to fight?"
Wolf-Heart again shook his head, red climbing to his cheek, "I know how to swing an axe and fight with my fists, but other than that, I never held a blade in my life."
The old Nord thought about it for half a minute before dismissing it altogether, "Chest thumping Nord nonsense aside, I suppose there is honor in not spilling others' blood…" He trailed off, before once again feeling the need to fill the silence. "You say you know how to use your fists?"
"Back when I lived in Riften," He explained, "I paid a Kahjiit merchant so he would teach me how to defend myself. Foolish waste of money, fists are no match for a dagger… Or an axe."
"Aye," Agreed Oleg, nodding with enthusiasm, "but anyone who mistakes you for an easy prey will be disappointed, am I right?"
Sturnbjorn grinned and said, as much to himself as to Oleg, "Very."
That cryptic response seemed to restore the old man's image of him and, as they arrived to the boy's farm, greeted by the sight of two rickety carriages full of clay and stone, Oleg offered to send some of his own workers to help.
"I appreciate the offer," replied the young Nord, shaking Oleg's arm one last time before jumping off, "but that's something I'd rather do myself."
With an understanding nod, Oleg left him to his work and Sturnbjorn sighed at the thought of building this place one rock at a time before being allowed to sleep.
He only now realized some of his money would have been better spent buying a tent.
After throwing whatever saplings and spare branches he could spare into the almost deceased fire in front of his home, as much to ward off the darkness as the cold, even though the wolf skin armour proved quite warm, Stubborn took off his vambraces, tossed his cloak aside and got to work.
Aleu rolled up next to the cow, by the fire, and fell asleep within minutes.
It was simple work; mix clay with water, set up the first row of stones, squeeze the rows between two wooden planks and pour the clay-based cement on top of the whole, until it almost flows over the planks, let dry and repeat until you have something ressembling walls. And don't forget to leave a gap for the door.
Had he been buying the materials alone, Sturnbjorn would likely have bought half what Oleg had gotten delivered. He would have been out of stone and clay five hours into the night.
Morning poked over the horizon by the time he did run out of materials, and by then, he was just being nitpicky about the size and location of his fire pit. Planks had been nailed to the roof, he had built a door out of his old carriage and a stack of hay, meant to plug all these holes in the ceiling, was piled in a corner of the house, a cover thrown over it to make for a decent bed.
Exhausted beyond reasonable thinking, Stubborn decided he needed a pillow and fetched Aleu, the dog never waking up as he carried it inside, but groaning as it was dropped roughly on the hay.
This time, he dreamed. He dreamed of a beautiful woman, of a stunning beauty, but most of her features veiled by an elaborate, ample yet revealing robe and cowl. Her dark skin, soft lips and warm voice seduced the young boy as he struggled to see the rest of her face.
The harder he tried, the less he could see, however, until she was nothing but a mirage in a waterfall.
Bats circled him as he spun around to take in the cave. He could see, but there was no source of light, no ceiling, no floor, just… No, no walls either, he was standing on water, surrounded by waterfalls. The moment he understood that, the Nord was sucked in by the flow, submerged yet able to breathe as the tube he now flew in dragged him to his destiny.
There was relief, comfort in knowing he had nothing to do, no efforts were required of him as forces immensely more powerful drove his fate. Swimming against the flow would have been useless and dangerous… And yet, the bats, actually birds of a kind he had never seen, whispered in his ear that he should try.
"You're a talking bird and this is my dream!" Countered the young Nord, crossing his arm in a childish pout, "Nothing but a dream!"
"Right, and your cow's a better lumberjack than you are, so perhaps you should keep an open spirit… Ah, too late now, good… Luck."
And the tunnel came to an abrupt end, emerging in the night sky over a canyon, a vertiginous fall that sent shivers up his spine and back, but failed to interrupt his sleep. Perhaps upon impact with the ground, he would awake in his home, terrified but unharmed.
The trees down below turned to spikes, rivers turned to lava and clouds became smoke, and Stubborn was inbound for a maw-like cluster of spikes.
Well, he thought, as scary as it is, the impact will kill me before I…
And all thoughts left the boy as his face hit something sticking and unyielding, a net of some kind, one who's nature made no doubt in the dreamer's mind. Spider web.
Struggling to push off the clingy wires, Sturnbjorn found that the harder he fought, the more ensnared he became.
The bird's words came back to his mind and he kept on fighting.
"Yessss…" Whispered a guttural voice, just over his head, "Struggle… Fight… It makessss it sssso much more… Interessssting."
This is my dream! Thought the Nord, trying to make the webs disappear as he felt a presence looming closer, shielding his back from the warm moonlight and sending chills across his body.
"Mortalssss… Sssso arrogant… You exissst because it amusesss usss… How dare you challenge perfect, immortal…"
The voice was now behind his ear. Terror gripped his stomach, chills now running over his whole skin, causing him to tremble like a naked Kahjiit in Winterhold.
Then, the ground was perforated by a giant winged lizard , which rammed into the web on its way into the sky and freed Stubborn of the spider's claws, as well as of his dream.
It took the boy a moment to understand a dragon had actually just crashed in through the roof and torn down the wall at his back before crashing somewhere beyond the dwindling fire.
Aleu went absolutely insane, barking at the darkness, then her shadow, then back to the night when the frantic screams of at least twelve men was heard, their voices and footsteps moving further away.
Wolf-Heart was well prepared to just sit it out and let this solve itself out, but got dressed and grabbed his axe nonetheless.
Nothing would have made the Nord approach the fight. No pleas for help or threats would get him out of his already ruined house. There were no sounds of battle, just laugher and cries of victory, a comforting sound to the farmer… Until a woman's wails of terror, interrupted by a mate sound sent a wave of ice flowing into Sturnbjorn's veins, to drip over his burning skin.
The axe fell to the floor and Aleu, feeling her master's fury, puffed her hairs as much as she could and followed him in past the fire and into the recently plowed field. A knee deep trench had been dug in the ground, ending in a circle of men in sectioned armor, Blades… And a naked woman.
She had the dark skin of a Redguard and short silver hairs common in Nords, though her eyes were those of a Dunmer, yellow and narrow, and two rows of horns ran along her head, joining in her back, reminding the boy of an Orc or Argonian.
The Blades, eight men, four women, took turn beating up the strange woman, who simply curled in a ball and cried in pain at every blow.
Sturnbjorn yelled something, though he couldn't say what exactly, it might not even have been words, and everyone took a step back in surprise.
He knelt by the woman and inspected her injuries. Some bruises, a broken arm and her left eye was swollen shut, the right one looking around wildly in confused terror.
"What happened?" Aleu took her master's words for a growl and answered with a snarl of her own.
"This is none of your business, citizen..." The eldest of the Blades spoke, taking a threatening step forward. Sturnbjorn noticed the man had started unfastening his armor at the waist and, suddenly, did not care what had happened.
"Are you going to pay for the damages?" He asked, all business and affable despite shaking in fear and anticipation. He could fight well enough, but against twelve dragon hunters and with only an adolescent wolf-dog hybrid to help him…
This question took the men and women aback. "Uh… No?" Was the general reaction.
Stubborn shrugged. "Then this lady here owes me, and until she's repaid her debt…" The affability in his tone vanished, "You are not touching her."
They laughed at that bravado and kept on snickering when their leader, sword in hand, approached to defiant young man. "Do you know what that… Thing is? This individual alone enslaved thousands, murdered hundreds of thousands. Is it really worth throwing your life away?"
The answer came by itself. "No, it is not…" The old man smiled and Sturnbjorn deftly kicked the sword out of his hand before kneeing him in the groin, "But killing you might just be."
And with that, he grabbed the man by the back of his armor and put that brand new hunting knife to good use, its razor sharp steel blade biting slightly into the Blade's jaw as Stubborn used him as a shield.
"Drop the steel, everyone, or your friend here will lose some weight." They took a moment to obey, so Wolf-Heart plunged his blade deep in the man's left butt cheek and sliced off a chunk the size of his hand before throwing it at Aleu, along with the bluish cloth that went with it.
The dog swallowed it in one gulp. Eleven swords clattered in a pile on the floor, the noise of their fall buried under the agonized howls of Sturnbjorn's hostage.
"Now what?" Asked one of the women. Clearly maneuvering away from the others so she could get outside the foolish young Nord's field of vision.
"You kill him, we'll kill you, what do you think will happen next?" Pointed out another man.
Indeed, Stubborn had not thought that far. He'd once again been reminded of his own experience in the streets of Riften and his mind had shut off. Now, it was back in action and working hard to find a solution.
The Blades were spreading out in a half circle, surrounding him and now close enough to jump in the moment he took his blade off the hostage's neck.
So, he slit the man's jugular and dove for his discarded blade, snatching it off the muddied ground just in time to block an overhead swing from the man who'd spoken last. Blocking with the right hand, he used this opportunity to dig his hunting knife in between his attacker's throat and collar bone. The other just kicked him in the face and ripped to small blade out.
Two more Blades arrived and pinned Sturnbjorn's arms to the ground while the third readier himself for another overhead blow, this time meant to decapitate the helpless farmboy.
This left the Blade's neck exposed and Aleu wasted no time taking it from him, along with vocal cords and amygdales, all of which she scoffed down with enthusiasm as three words shook the ground closer to the house:
"YOL TOR SHUL!"
Seeing how Aleu had him sighted as a suitable chew toy, the man holding Sturnbjorn's right arm was forced to let go and scurry to his feet.
Now alone with one Blade and no reinforcement in sight, Stubborn gave the elite warrior a radiant smile and proceeded to break all his fingers. He then put both his thumbs on his enemy's eye sockets and pushed.
Eyes are solid, much more resilient that they look, and they have a sandy texture on the inside once you burst them… All of this, Sturnbjorn learned on the spot, analyzing his enemy's gruesome death with cold detachment, and a little fascination.
It is only after both his palms were crushing the Blade's eyelids that the poor bastard stopped moving, life leaving his body in a series of spasms and a violent bowel movement that would likely help fertilize the field.
Four down… None to go. Everyone else, having gone after the girl, had been turned to charred corpses. The mysterious lady herself trying clumsily to walk on all four, sometimes flapping her arms in an attempt to, apparently, take off like a bird.
Fire lazily spread through the grass, but soon choked to nothing but a reddish glow and harmless grey smoke.
His mind empty, unable to process that chaos that had been brought upon his new home, Sturnbjorn stepped right through the dying blaze and stood square in front of the completely insane woman.
"So," He spoke, still numb but slowly taking in the reality of what had just transpired as adrenaline wore off, "Why are you naked?"
The stranger threw him a dirty look, filled with hate and disdain, "You dare address me, Joree?"
He knelt, so they were eye to eye, "My name is Sturnbjorn Wolf-Heart and I just saved your life, so I will address you as much as I bloody want. What's your name?"
"I am Briinahkrent." She spat her name out as if it were an insult.
She again tried to fly away, but took a good hard look at her thin golden arms and hissed like an angered Argonian.
"Can you walk?" Stubborn felt ridiculous asking this, but nothing else came to mind.
"What does it look like I'm doing?!" Indeed, she slowly and clumsily crawled away, her bum raised high in the air. The Nord could not resist and gave it a light push with the tip of his boot, sending the insane woman rolling forward with curses in a language he could not understand.
"You were saying?" He spoke, kneeling next to her muddied, bloodied and ash-plastered head.
"FUS!" And he found himself flipping backward in the ashes.
Aleu gave him some moral support, licking his face clean, but the memory of her eating a man's butt somewhat ruined the moment.
The dog suddenly perked her ears and looked off in the direction of Whiterun. Dawn was still a distant thought and in the dark plain of Whiterun, someone was bound to notice all that ruckus.
Running over to his personal belongings, a dozen meters from the bird woman, Sturnbjorn got his hand on a few blankets and his new cowl, which he quickly brought to the stranger.
"Put these on." He ordered, not exactly eager to explain the dead Blades and odd woman on his land.
"No!" The mere thought seemed to repulse her, so he tried to put them on anyway, but the girl had no intention of letting him and began clawing at him, shoving and kicking like a wild animal as he wrapped her chest in Deer pelt. Since she kept trying to remove it and bit his jugular, Sturnbjorn opted to pin her arms with one hand, sit on her waist and work with his free hand.
Only when she stopped struggling and looked up did the boy realize they were now bathed in torchlight, a short distance from the road.
"Oleg." He greeted, recognizing the man who lead a dozen more, all armed with torches and pitchforks. Looking down at the beaten up, half naked woman and discarded clothes all over the area, Wolf-Heart realized how odd this would look and immediately climbed off his 'victim'.
"Stubborn." The old man said the word in a different fashion, with sarcasm dripping from his tone.
"It's not what it looks like…"
But the woman butted in, "It's exactly what it looks like!" She cried, ripping off the pelt and loosing he balance in the process. She remained there sitting in the ashes and continued, "This vokul joree is trying to dress me up like I'm some Bron female!"
"I see…" Came Irileth's voice from further back, "And who is this?"
Sturnbjorn chose honesty, "I have not the slightest idea, Housecarl, I merely wanted her to preserve some dignity when your people arrived."
Oleg looked at the demolished house, confused but back to seeing Stubborn as one of the good guys. "She did all this?"
This time, honestly seemed like a bad move, so he made something up on the spot and hoped Brii… Whoever… Just kept her mouth shut. "A fight between Blades and a dragon did this. This traveler was already here, seeking shelter for the night. After we drove the dragon away, with her help, the remaining Blades decided to…" He did not have to fake his anger at the next passage, and this made his story seem all more real, "Poor girl has had a very rough night…"
Oleg and the Housecarl, along with some city guards, decided to stay for the night, in case that dragon came back, and Sturnbjorn just threw his coat at the naked stranger's face. "For when you get cold. Have a safe trip."
And he sat by the fire with everyone else, bringing some logs to sit on and apologizing for being unable to offer them more than some fruits, horker meat and milk. It took about five minutes for Aleu and the odd woman to join them. The girl had tried to put the cloak on, but seemed unable to put her arms through the holes, let alone tie a knot at the neck and belt.
Without a word, Sturnbjorn left his seat, removed the clothe from her back and gently pushed her arms, one after the other, into the holes, then fastened both thin ropes to finally cover up his guest. She never looked him in the eye, nor did she say a word.
One guard offered a piece of horker, which she gladly tore into, and asked, "What race are you? Never have I seen your likes…"
"I am a dragon."
And, it all feel in place inside Sturnbjorn's exhausted mind. Stories said the Dragonborn had defeated Alduin by learning an ancient shout that turned dragons mortals. If you could change a being's soul through the Thu'um, changing its body must not have been such a challenge. Put this power in the hands of nearly genocidal religious fanatics and you were bound to end up with…
That train of thought had to be cut short as the boy salvaged the situation, "She means Dragonborn. The rest is a touchy subject, it would seem…"
There were a few uneasy nods around the fire. The dragon tried to argue, but fell asleep midsentence, wrapping her arms around and cuddling a very uneasy Aleu. The dog tried growling, kicking and nibbling, to no avail, and finally accepted her fate with a long groan.