Of Ice and Dragons
By Ace Warbringer
Reviewed and Edited by Master T-Rex
A/N: Disclaimer - All characters, Titles, and places belong to their respective owners.
Chapter 1
"Dragonborn, Dragonborn! To Your Honor Be Sworn!"
The world around him was no longer what he once knew.
What he saw distinguished his despair over all other emotions. Ice and Fire blazed around him, the air colder than the north winds and the fire's smoke poisoned the air, not allowing him to breathe and stinging his eyes. Not allowing him to see very far.
Even though his eyes slowly searched the scorched earth and through the blizzard wind, he called for Her, hoping that she would hear him, prayed that the individual who could show him what happened, and he prayed he was wrong.
But this was a lie he kept telling himself again and again and again until he saw the truth himself.
As he crossed the bodies that lay dead at his very feet, he saw his one true love, unmoving amongst the dead. His scream of despair rose through his lips, calling her name so that she may move, but she remained still as a statue.
He ran to her, and as the very realization stabbed slowly into his heart, he fell to his knees near her fallen form. His wife laid dead in his arms as he picked her up, his very heart beating for a love he lost forever. As his trembling fingers moved her dirty blonde-matted hair away from her face, he saw her beauty that matched the very ice of a cold winter morning sun. He would dare say that her beauty outmatched any royal queen. Her striking deep blue eyes held a lifeless stare, and he somehow saw that they were full of life and glowed purple when facing the sunset until there was the darkness of night.
As he brought her closer, she looked like she was resting. He knew that closing her eyes was a sign of peace, and he also knew now that he would never see them full of life ever again.
He could no longer hide the truth from himself, for a cloak from one of the dead told him who had killed her before he too had died from his arrow wounds. In His service to the empire not long ago, He had fought them before.
He saw what she had done before she fell. Her form was strong, her arm straight and swift with the bow and arrow, and the look of conquest over her enemies burned in her deep blue eyes, and the glow of the sun made them look violet. She had killed most of them, for her arrows aimed true and never faltered against the very wind. But one archer alone cannot stand against an army, this was true for all. No matter how skilled she was in combat, She had fallen to their metal.
The only thing that he took in from this was that she died a warrior's death, and her death was swift.
He wanted to weep, he wanted to give up, to shout to the heavens for his wife until his throat lost its voice, and the thought of joining her came and went. But he knew better. He knew she wouldn't want him to do something foolish, but his anger crept forward.
They could shatter his axe and break his sword, they could stone his chest and whip his back, they could hang him and make him starve of hunger and thirst, and they can go so far as to send him to his death by facing a dragon defenseless, he would trade anything to change his wife's fate.
They had taken the one thing that made his heart burn and beat, that made his back strong and his judgment wiser, that made his sword swift and his armor sure.
As the day turned into night and the earth healed over, he laid her on the pyre he had built, and took up the torch. With rising flame, he did not sleep and watched her peaceful form turn to ash and scatter to the wind.
He wept silently and prayed for her to find peace. Then came a new purpose, one that made his heart burn with fury like a war drum, that made his back straighter and his judgment clouded, that made his sword deadly and turned his thoughts from armor.
He moved towards what remained of a burnt shed that was mostly looted of its tools.
There was a reason why he knew that they only took most of what remained. With all of his strength, he lifted an old stone slab, still warm from the fire, and moved it aside. What lied under it was a two handed heavy sword made of steel and armor that has slightly rusted over not having been used for such a long time.
With hatred in his heart that burned with such passion, he lifted the sword in its sheath, checking to see the old steel. It still remained bright, its edge kept sharp through practice long ago.
Having hunted men and mer for so long, he could see the signs of their passage in the cold dawn light. He knows the roads and trails, the paths and shortcuts, the woods and valleys and trenches that mapped the earth.
He will find them.
He will get ahead of them.
And He will Stop Them.
OOOOO
Lothar was a happy elf today, and this is never taken lightly. It only seems on such rare occasions that he feels such a moving emotion take course on his mood. Their cause to raid the fields earlier had been served well. Two farms were burned down and cattle was gutted and carried for food and one troublesome blacksmith was taught a lesson before taking the weapons that he was building.
It was cheery up here in the mountains; one could almost forget the penance placed upon the world for the Trick of Lorkan. The Thalmor officer sobered himself quick, as was the natural routine of doing so.
As left his tent, Lothar found his men already finishing their feast and packing for another journey to Helgen. One of his men went to him and wished him a good morning as he said afterward, "You think we'll do any more good on this road today my lord?"
"There is always more work to be done," Lothar replied, "and we will be the ones to do it. But we must hurry if we are to catch up with the group ahead. I hear General Tulius has a surprise planned for the Stormcloaks." Lothar than began to put on his armor that held distinctive gold and black designs. A rising grin from the soldier silently told him that today might just be slightly tolerable after all.
Once they have prepared for their journey, they began to ride down the mountains and they eventually entered a route through the woods.
OOOOO
He stood in the middle of the road, his skills as a tracker while hunting has finally found itself some use, as he discovered confirmation that the people that attacked two other farms and had killed his wife were the Thalmor, Cruel agents of the Aldemeri Dominion.
He selected a spot on this road because it was one of the closet routes where raiders like them wouldn't be spotted. After he was finished. He wore his old armor, and time has made it battered and worn, but it still fitted snugly to him. He had his old steel two-handed sword, strapped to his back.
As he waited on the muddy trail, a whisper came from his heart, like the sound of the wind, told him that she would not want this. Even though that was only a whisper, it felt like he was being branded. It no longer mattered whether to leave or not, for he saw them coming.
He heard their laughter, and the rising passion that burned in his heart gathered in him. They rounded the corner ahead, marching on foot save for the officer on horseback. A voice inside telling him that this would not bring her back, but it was but a sibilant echo in the gale of his rage. An unheard shout in the hurricane of his anger.
He stared on, defiant that they will stand little chance against him. Eventually they saw him and one of them ran back to tell their leader.
He pulled out his sword, its deadly tip placed in the dirt at his feet.
As he saw the officer moved forward on his horse and stopped near the men in front of the group, he saw in their eyes that certain gaze of suspicion.
He answered their questionable gaze with his war cry, which he put in all the air his lungs to summon out. Ripping his sword into the air next to him.
They froze in their tracks, shocked and stunned by such a shout.
One final thought came to him as he charged, as the rage He carried was unleashed upon Her murderers…
…soon…
OOOOO
They were too stunned when they saw the very battleground before them as the small company of Legionnaires searched through the dead bodies.
Carts broken in mad rush, horses maimed in desperate retreat, Mer dismembered as their limbs and parts were scattered in random places, and what remained of the officer was but that of bloody chunks and ripped armor.
They found one Man alive. Unconscious, dirtied in blood like he had just rolled in the bloody mud of the battlefield. His sword was but a broken stump of steel. The armor on his very body was rent by blades, jabbed from bows, and burned from spells.
It was clear that none had survived his wrath, which they guessed that he was the one that committed this vile deed, and it looked like they would most likely suffer the same fate if they were not careful. The Imperial Officer nudged the man with his boot and was rewarded by a groan.
He ordered to his men, "Bind him and bring him with the others. The Thalmor is going to want this man's head."
OOOOO
A creaking wagon wheel and a blur of light was what he first heard and saw, but slipped back into darkness again. He was brought back from the depths as a voice said, "Hey, hey you, wake up!"
He slowly opened his eyes and he raised his head to look to the speaker as the speaker said again, "Got a nasty lump there, didn't you? Caught in the same net we were." He saw that the man was blond and tall. Sitting next to him was one equally as tall but wearing a gag, but of dark hair and beard. Something about the dark haired one spoke of nobility.
"Along with that thief back there." The blonde continued, jerking his head towards the man.
"If it weren't for you Stormcloaks, I'd be halfway back to Hammerfell by now!" the so called thief was a thin man, long limbs, but was also very dirty, with a strange face that instantly made Him distrustful.
"Where are we going?" the Thief asked the blonde
"I don't know," The tall blonde man said, "but Sovengarde awaits."
OOOOO
"He What?!" she shouted in rage, the expression of shock on the female Thalmor's face was worth every Septim in his purse, Hadvar decided, but he shouldn't think of such fun on the matter and said officially, "Every last one fell your honor. The whole patrol was wiped out brutally, and the man responsible was nearly killed in the process. We guess that the wounds he sustained have caused him to become unconscious."
The female Thalmor slammed her closed fist onto the table, which rattled loudly like an earthquake, making him Hadvar and others amongst him go silent and then she said, "I don't care if he was nearly killed or caught in the act of pissing on their corpses! I claim him for the Thalmor inquisition and I want to see him punished!"
A new voice broke in. "He'll be dealt with like the others in Helgen," the general replied, "The quicker we deal with this troublesome lot, the better."
The female Thalmor stepped away from the table and said, "General, if I may-"
"No, you may not. They will be taken care of accordingly and you have no say in this matter. Thalmor." The general directed, a withering glare piercing at the newest thorn in his side.
Her temper began to rise, but she took a deep breath and said, "Very well." To Hadvar, it finally appeared that the lady had learned that once the general had made a decision, discussion was over. Hadvar decided to leave before anything could escalate.
OOOOO
Helgen.
He had never had a reason to cross into Skyrim before. Most of his work went to the local villages around him, and most didn't travel very far for his work. He was one of the two blacksmiths that worked around the small villages for pay. It was an honest living, and one that many people needed for supply and demand of tools and certain crafts. At rare times, he made weapons and armor.
It was funny how he once thought there was nothing for him in his homeland, but now he was here for what he did. He hoped she could forgive him, for it looked like he wouldn't be with her.
It's for the best, He thought. He had broken his promise to her, for he had taken up the sword again. And Sovengarde did not await any Oathbreakers; He would merely languish at the gates, unable to even see the great fields of testing.
He had damned himself. Eternally. And now he would go to face the great Test. Only to Fail. She would never know, he hoped, he prayed.
"You can't do this to me!" the thief had said as he was struggling against the people that captured him and the others like him. With surprising speed, the thief injured them and broken free as he began to run for the woods.
He knew that was a bad move before he even heard the shout from the captain, "Archers!"
He could only watch as the thief hit the road hard, every arrow shot from each archer hit its mark as they protruded from his back like some twisted porcupine.
His heart began to feel deep sorrow as such skill from the archers reminded him of his beloved, who he knew that she could best any archer. And she would only have needed one shot to the back of his neck to save the thief from the suffering of multiple arrows. And he hated that as well. These types of armies rarely make their kills swift and out of mercy, only slow and in cold blood.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain dared. Unsurprisingly, no one took her up on that offer.
"Next prisoner." The captain said, and then he stepped forward.
Hadvar looked at Him, a man stained in blood, dressed in simple rags that he knew once held armor, but at the same time, something told him that this man had more to him then what the eyes could ever tell.
Of course, he thought, 2 scores of dead soldiers might have something to do with it.
"What is your name?" Hadvar spoke to the man.
He looked to Hadvar, and he knew this man's name for he paid attention to that very legionnaire since his capture, listening as he was addressed by his name. Hadvar was the same height and similar age as him; he had red hair and green eyes, but was pale.
Hadvar did not like the way the man was looking at him with green-gold eyes that held such an unusual hue to them. They spoke volumes of what he had been though, and if his hunch was right, none of it was good. His face was rugged, with a prominent scar on his right, which was vertical on the end of his jawbone. His dirty dark brown hair reached his neck and he had a muscular build.
After what seemed like an endless eternity of silence, he straightened his back, his strong form held tall, as he barely acknowledged his restraints. But when he spoke his quiet sorrow tinged his words.
"None worth remembering."
The shock Hadvar felt at that statement was very unexpected. A Nord that didn't want to be remembered? His statement alone would have been slightly entertaining, but for the solid block of stares from the Stormcloaks around him, they were just as surprised as he. But the locked gaze of the man in front of him told him nothing would force this man's name out. No torture or threat of death could do so.
He tried a new tactic. Thinking on the words of the morning, he belived this man had not killed with no reason. Besides, it was only a couple of Thalmor.
He went to the female captain, "Captain his name isn't on the list, says' he has no name."
The older female's short reply dispelled any chance he had of altering the outcome of this as she spoke, "It doesn't matter. He goes to the block with the rest of them."
Hadvar sighed, and he turned back to the prisoner as he said. "I'm sorry Kinsman; you picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim."
OOOOO
The first man's head rolled off his shoulders.
Cheers from the onlookers,
It was his turn to be executed.
He stepped forward, and laid his head without prompting on the block.
The executioner raised his weapon, A Headsman's Ax, and prepared to cut his head off.
A roar of anger sounds from the sky.
"Forgive me." he whispers to his beloved.
A roar of force unleashed,
He knew that he would not be joining her at the great hall of Sovengarde,
The crowd shouts as one as the Black Form is revealed,
A roar of challenge and vengeance echoes his ears.
The sky burned with a terrible fire, as the dread Spark of Creation landed on the tower behind the Executioner, knocking the man flat with the force of its landing.
People shouted and screamed in terror around him, the smoky fog from the burning fires blared around him, making it hard to see and hard to breathe.
And as he lifted his head, he looked full on to the face of Destruction, and knew that death had come for him. Not by ax. But by a Dragon's fiery breath, claws, or teeth.
He stood, and the great Destroyer of old looked at him, and opened its many fanged mouth.
It spoke with power behind its timeless age.
"YOL!"
The one who had asked his name, Hadvar, ran from the side towards him.
"TOOR!"
He lifted his face to the beast and showed no fear, knowing death was near.
"SHUUL!"
Hadvar barely made it out of the path of fire the Dragon had unleashed, and pushed the nameless man inside the tower on the side of the road with him. The burning embers of the blast drifting around them as it attacked with its fire-like breath. The Stranger watched the man, Hadvar, rose to crouch by the door, patting off embers from his cloak.
Hadvar looked to him and said with anger, "If you want to stay alive kinsman, then I suggest you follow me."
OOOOO
He followed the man who saved him, his fore-bound hands giving him little trouble. He was enraged; for this fellow Nord had saved his life. Now he owed him his own, and he could no longer find the peace that was death itself until he repaid it.
Hadvar stopped and said to the man, "Here, let me get those bindings off you." With a quick slice of his dagger, the bindings fell away.
"Try to find a weapon for yourself." Hadvar said
All around them, the town was being destroyed by the dragon, and the man searched until he saw an abandoned blacksmith's shop. It was the perfect place to find a weapon, and after a quick search, he turns up with a steel long sword. "All set?" Hadvar asked
The man grabbed a sheath and strapped it around his waist, afterwards sheathing the sword and then nodding.
"Then let's get moving." Hadvar said.
OOOOO
The trip through the tunnels they had found was the quickest way to escape the danger above them undetected, and Hadvar had begun to worry about this man, for there was no fear of death in him. He started to doubt if saving his life was the right thing to do, for all he knew, he could stab him and loot his dead body after pissing on it. The words of the Thalmor coming back to him, a reminder he could do such things to him.
And if he had to guess, the Stranger also didn't fear anything that could kill him. Any who attacked the two were put down by a blazing flurry of swordsmanship the likes Hadvar had never seen before. The man had two swords now, and seemed to use them in perfect tandem, guard and thrust, slash and parry. This man must have been a soldier, a Warrior, of great renown, yet Hadvar did not recognize him.
A perfect mystery to the man who had no name.
And yet, he started to become curious as if he did have a name, but didn't want anyone to know.
OOOOO
Ambush. A slash was barely parried, and as a result, Hadvar was set back on his heels by a Stormcloak who somehow got his hands on an ax.
The ring of steel on steel behind him told of the Stranger's swords doing their deadly work. This particular Stormcloak he faced knew his weaponry, and Hadvar found himself unable to do anything more than furiously parry and block the swings of the man. A duck beneath a backhanded swing, finally giving him the advantage he needed, and with a quick thrust he ended the man who tried to kill him. A look to the Stranger however stopped Hadvar in his place as if he hit a wall of mud.
Thrust and parry, counterstrike and slash. The grace and violence of the Stranger's skill with his swords left him dumbstruck as he masterfully juggled six very good opponents.
The continuous ring of steel on steel was but a majestic and deadly melody to the fury of combat and the shouts of men.
Three of the strangers opponents were down already, but wounds were appearing on his body as the fight went on, showing Hadvar that the Stranger also had limitations in combat. A livid wound across the Strangers chest spurred Hadvar into action, and with a war cry, stunning his enemies out of surprise; he swung at the nearest Stormcloak.
Thanks to the sudden war cry, he successfully took one down, only for two of the Stranger's opponents to come after him, and he unfortunately realized that they were much better than the first one he had faced.
The Stranger, now with only two opponents left, easily cut them down by his skill and turned to the Legionnaire. Only to find Hadvar very hard pressed, held from behind by a disarmed Stormcloak.
A desperate last resort guard against the one in front of him.
The Stranger narrowed his eyes and began to advance on them, Hadvar had a chance as the last one paid attention to only him and swung his head back, breaking the Stormcloak's nose. With a sharp twist of his body, Hadvar was able to break free and was able to reverse his sword and thrusting under his arm, stabbed the Stormcloak holding him.
The man holding him from behind in a death grip, Hadvar's sword trapped in his body, the Stormcloak in front of Hadvar took his chance. Thrusting forward with the old iron blade he held.
And as the thrust almost finds its mark on the chest of Hadvar, the stranger's blade explodes through the man's chest.
The Stranger quickly removed the blade from the Stormcloak's chest and with a powerful yell, the Stranger swung strongly crossing his blades, and decapitated the mans head, both the body and the head hitting the ground in a wet and bloody thud.
OOOOO
Hadvar struggled to catch his breath as the Stranger sat to begin wiping his blades down.
The rest that they took away from where they fought were not by choice, for both fighters needed to regain their strength and stay out of sight of any more of them… and the Dragon as well.
"Still sounds like It's tearing everything apart up there." Hadvar said, hearing the chaos above them in the tunnel they were in.
The Stranger spoke with quiet authority, his years in the legion telling him the dreadful toll the townsmen above were suffering, "It is more worse than you can imagine."
Hadvar grunted from his injuries as he leaned against a wall and spoke tiredly, "Damn dragon doesn't give up easily."
He wanted to go back, but with the passage collapsed behind them, there was no choice but to go forward. Hadvar stood, his side aching where he had been grazed by the blade.
"Ready to move?" Hadvar asked a he lent a hand to the Stranger.
A quick nod appeared and the Stranger grabbed his arm to let Hadvar pull him up, feeling his squeezing hand on Hadvar's arm was enough to tell the Legionnaire just how strong he was, though sorely wounded, and he pulled him up to his feet.
Hadvar smiled and motioned the Stranger to began to walk ahead as he spoke, "Good, I think that if we follow this passage, we would come out near the northern slopes. And then it's just a few days journey to Riverwood. I have family there where we can rest. Hopefully, they will help us."
The stranger nodded his head as the two warriors moved cautiously down a twisting passage.
"You saved my life, legionnaire." the man had his sword in his left hand as Hadvar followed him. The other wrapped about the blade.
Shock and dread flew through the Legionnaire at where the Strangers hands were. Please, Hadvar thought, do not perform the full life debt, sworn on blood. By the grace of the Divines, do not swear with blood, Stranger!
Hadvar took a deep breath from the situation and said, "I suppose you do, Stranger. But you have saved mine once so far, that is enough."
But what came next twisted Hadvar's fears higher as Hadvar suddenly heard the Stranger say in a voice that he never heard from him before, repeating himself in a dark tone, "I owe you my life, Legionnaire."
The raw anger and pain in the stranger's voice told him more than anything; this was a man who wanted to die. But now He could not, for this was a debt that must be paid. His bare right hand released the Blade.
"Three acts, Legionnaire. One has been completed." The Stranger announced.
"Three acts, Stranger. One has been completed." Said Hadvar, Accepting the Debt.
The words were true relief to the Legionnaire, a full Life Debt, bound by word of Honor. In the old Nordic way, and not in blood. Hadvar could only quietly thank the divines in his minds voice. Knowing the danger of the blood bound debt.
Between two soldiers, there could be no greater brotherhood.
For prisoners, no greater release.
For the damned, no greater punishment.