Chapter 3: Plans
The warm breath of Darion's horse covered his hands as the beast sniffed in the scent of the apple he held there. It quickly snatched up the morsel, chomping on it loudly, spare pieces and juice falling back into his hand. He smiled, wiping his hand on his sides as the beast happily continued to eat, attracting the eye of the other horses in the stable who now had a desire for apples. With their horses stabled outside the city walls, Darion and Lydia began their walk towards the gates of Whiterun.
"There's a chill in the air," Lydia noted as the two of them walked. "It's coming from the east."
"A rather metaphorical way to say that Ulfric's army is on the march," Darion answered back. "He'll be making his move on Whiterun soon and your becoming a poet, the world truly has gone mad." Lydia elbowed him in the side for that. "Though I feel the rumours might be exaggerating the number of forces, it'll still be a force to be reckoned with.
"I can't say I'm surprised he's the one to break the truce," Lydia said as they neared the front gate, where two guards saluted the pair as they approached, opening the doors for them. "You said that he had been quite aggressive in his negotiations."
"Aye, demanding Markarth and Morthal, and he had the nerve to say that trading Riften was not a fair price." Darion said as he nodded to the guards. "In all honesty he's lucky I agreed to Markarth, if it hadn't been for the fact that he saved my life at Helgen, then I would have killed him there for his stubbornness. One less party at the table make negotiations that much easier." 'And my plans for that matter' he added mentally.
"The Greybeards would have never allowed it." Lydia mentions and Darion stopped and turned to his Housecarl as they passed through the gates and into the city.
"Do you honestly think that I would have cared?" he asked.
"Probably not," she replied with a smile. "But even you're not foolish enough to test the wrath of the Greybeards." It was Darion's turn to smile.
"Not yet anyway." he said before walking on, leaving Lydia to roll her eyes at the idea, Though a part of her knew he meant what he wasn't joking. The two of them pressed onward into the city, receiving greeting and salutations from many that they passed on their way through the plains district. As they made their way through the streets they stopped outside one of the many wooden cottages that dotted the cityscape, Breezehome, Darions own house given to him by the Jarl. Darion fished through his pocket and pulled out two keys, handing them to Lydia.
"You know that chest I keep stored under the stairs?" he asked.
"The one that you refuse to let me look inside yet I know it's where you keep your dragon remains?" Lydia inquired mockingly.
"Yes that one," he replied, choosing to ignore her tone. "I need you to get it up to the Skyforge." He reached into pockets once more and produced a small bag of coins as well as two sealed pieces of parchment. "Hire yourself a pair of hands too, it's heavier than it looks. And deliver one of these to Eorland, the other goes to the Harbinger."
"Making another sword from dragonbone?" she inquired, her eyes darting quickly to the sword on his back. Darion had made a special request to Grey-Mane to experiment with dragonbone to see if it could be useful besides serving as a valuable source of income. The result had been a sword of amazing craftsmanship, one that rarely required maintaining and was sharp enough to pierce the hides of dragons in a single motion.
"It's a surprise," Darion said with a smile. "Just make sure Eorland gets that letter."
"Anything I should say?"
"Just tell him to have it delivered back to Breezehome when it's finished." He began to walk away, but turned back to look at her one more time. "And give the new Harbinger my regards, I heard he's a decent man."
"Where are you going?" Lydia asked, surprised she was to leave his side.
"I need to go and speak to the Jarl, I will meet you in the market place." He said, and with one final smile he was off, leaving Lydia standing in front of the house. With a sigh the Nord woman unlocked the house and entered. She sighed again at the state of the place. In their absence cobwebs had been spun in all corners, a thick layer of dust coated just about everything and the place stank of skeever droppings. Looking past the state of the house however, the Housecarl eyes went for the chest that Darion had mentioned. She strode into the house, standing before the chest, the key in hand. Ever since he had started hunting dragons, even when he had been hunting with the Blades he had collected as many samples of bones and scales as possible from the bodies of the beasts he killed. After he had defeated Alduin however, and Parrthurnax left to teach other dragons the Way of the Voice, there had been quite a lack dragons to slay, and thus his supply began to dwindle. She sighed, looking to the coin purse he had left her as well.
"I guess I'll need some help," she said as she exited to find people willing to do the heavy lifting.
Darion walked up the stairs of the palace, to the main throne room of the Jarl, who sat in council with many of his advisors. As he made his approach, Darion caught snippets of conversations about taxes, levies and guard patrols. As well as the idle talk amongst politics, could not help but notice the armoured form among them. A woman, donning the armour of an officer of the Legion. He recognised the woman as Legate Rikke, General Tullius' second in command. The two had met briefly at Castle Dour in Solitude, and then again at High Hrothgar during the negotiations. She noticed his approach, and nodded a silent greeting towards him, which Darion returned in kind. When he was but a few meters from the throng of lords and courtly types, the old Jarl noticed Darion, and smiled at him, raising a hand to silence the rest of the court.
"And so the hero of Skyrim marches into my halls after months on the road, still reeking of blood, sweat and the and other sweet perfumes of adventure."
"Only because I smell like a breath of fresh air to one who is practically chained to his throne," Darion replied as he made his way through the court-goers towards the throne. The two of them smiled to one another and Balgruuf stood from his position, shaking the hand of the Dragonborn, their grips fierce and friendly.
"Avenicci," the Jarl ordered his steward, who stood to the side of the throne, "have the cooks prepare some food and drink, and have it brought out to the Great Porch."
"B-but my lord," the Imperial stuttered, "You're currently at court."
"Dismiss them then, I've grown tired of politics for the day." Balgruuf growled, his temper rising.
"No need Jarl Balgruuf," Darion said, putting the court at ease, "I do not intend to stay for long, only to ask a few questions." One of the the advisors, a Redguard that Darion knew as Nazeem strode forward, full of confidence.
"But my lord, surely what Thane Darion has to say can wait? We are discussing matters of state, I'm sure he can sit quietly and-"
"You would have me place you, a simple land owner, over the Dragonborn himself?" Balgruuf interjected. Darion took great pleasure in seeing the smug expression drop form the Redguard's face as he began to back away. "You disgust me, get out of my sight, all of you!" he ordered, and the throne room became empty very quickly as lords and ladies almost ran for the doors to escape the Jarls anger. All that remained was Rikke, who stood with her hands behind her back, her posture flawless, the mark of a disciplined soldier. "That includes you too, Rikke," the Jarl spoke, his voice becoming slightly calmer now.
"Jarl Balgruuf, if I could just convince you that-" she began to speak, but was cut off by the Jarls hand, raised once more to silence her.
"I've already given you my answer, I will not have Legion troops in my city. Now ride back to Solitude and tell General Tullius that I thank him for his offer, but I must decline." Rikke looked to the Jarl, with almost a pleading look in her eye, before sighing, and saluting to him.
"Talos guide you, Balgruuf," she said before nodding to Darion once more. "Dragonborn." And with that she marched out of the palace. Once she had left, Balgruuf sighed, rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the burdens of ruling.
"I have half a mind to throw politics to the wind and join you on one of your adventures," he said as he returned to his throne. "I may not be as spry as I once was, but I can still swing a sword better than any man." Darion chuckled at that.
"Your company on the road would be a welcome change of scenery, but I must ask," he looked to where the Legate had stood. "You're denying Imperial troops?"
"I have denied Imperial troops before, and I will continue to deny them, as if my right," Balgruuf spoke. "I have no intentions of letting the Empire fight Whiterun's battle for us."
"Is that wise? Ulfric's army is on the move again, his target will be Whiterun."
"Let him come," Balgruuf challenged, waving for a servant to bring him a mug of ale. "If he wishes to challenge my rule, let him, I'll not stop him."
"I imagine he will be letting his soldiers try that, he doesn't strike me as the honourable sort who will march in and challenge you." Darion replied spitefully at the thought of the Jarl of Windhelm.
"He did so with Torryg," Balgruuf noted as he took drink from his mug. "If he's half the man I fought alongside in the Great War he will do the same for me."
"Oh yes, because that was a fair fight," Darion rebuked, receiving a wave of the Jarls hand, who clearly did not care anymore. "My Jarl I know the power of the voice more than anyone, it is not something that you can just challenge in fair combat. If he does not send his armies against your gates, he will kill you. Regardless of your skill, you're no match for the voice."
"My decision has been made, Dragonborn," Balgruuf stated, keeping a surprising control on his temper. "I have heard that Torryg did not back down against the voice, so neither shall I." Darion wanted so desperately to shout at him in that moment, to let him know the potential that Ulfric could have should the two Jarls face each other. But he held himself in check, and merely sighed. Though he was known as Balgruuf the Greater, and was deserving of that title, Balgruuf the Foolish and stubborn suited him better.
"In any case," Darion continued, "I will be here to defend Whiterun when the time comes. If the Stormcloaks don't back down against you, then they will surely think twice when they see me defending your walls." At this Balgruuf breathed what seemed to be a sigh of relief.
"Praise the Divines," he said, raising his cup in thanks. "I'm sorry to say it Darion, but I was counting on your loyalty to Whiterun." Darion bowed his head.
"I will be here whenever the city needs me, Jarl Balgruuf."
"I will be holding a war council in few days," Balgruuf said as he motioned to have his mug refilled. "I would be truly grateful if you would sit alongside me and serve as one of the city's commanders."
"I am grateful to be a part of the defence," Darion said motioning to have a mug of his own brought over. The servant quickly shuffled over, handing him the mug. "It'll be nice to have a bit of strategy, my norm is just swinging my sword around and shouting my way through my enemies." Balgruuf chuckled deeply at that.
"I wish the coming battle could be as simple as that." He raised his mug. "Whiterun forever," he toasted.
"Whiterun forever," Darion repeated. 'Or at least as long as it serves my needs.'
Though it had only taken her a few minutes find a pair of hands to help her move the chest, it had taken at least half an hour of navigating through the crowded city streets for Lydia to bring the chest to Jorrvaskr, the hall of the Companions. Whilst Darion mostly thought of them as nothing more than mercenaries, Lydia had looked up to them ever since she was a little girl. She often daydreamed of the life she would have lead if she joined their honoured ranks had she not become Darion's Housecarl. Though she was fine being referred to in the stories as 'The Dragonborn's Shield-Maiden', or simply 'The Housecarl', she liked to think about legends of her own being spread across Skyrim, and singing songs of her victories every night in the great mead hall. Regardless, she was content with her life as it was, and when she really thought about it, a lifetime by the Dragonborn's side was more valuable to her than immortality through songs and stories.
As she and her hired help, two Nords, eager to prove their strength to a beautiful woman, made their way around Jorrvaskr, they began to climb the stone steps that lead to the ancient forge. The eagle caved into the mountain seemed to greet her as she climbed further towards the heat that erupted from the forge. Soon she saw the sight of Eorland Grey-Mane, his arms as thick as tree trunks as he struck red hot metal against an anvil. Though he looked old, there was no greater fire of youth that burned in Skyrim, and much like the Skyforge, it would continue to burn for many years to come.
As she approached, the smith seemed to take notice of a presence around his forge. He hammered one final blow into the metal before dropping it into a trough of water. The metal hissed like some great serpent as steam rose from the waters surface. Eorland turned and smiled at the sight of visitors, even more so at the sight of the Housecarl.
"Lydia," he spoke, his Nordic accent thicker than most. "How are you?"
"I am fine, thank you," she turned to her hirelings, motioning them to bring the chest towards the smith as she pulled one of the letters. "My Thane has something for you, a request if I know his mind."
"I'd say you know his mind better than anyone my dear, I doubt no other person in Skyrim is closer to him than you." Eorland smiled as he stepped forward, taking the letter from her. The two hirelings gently lowered the chest, groaning in pain as they finally let the burden slip from their fingers. "Not there you two, it's in the way!" Eorland barked, quick to anger when something was out of place at his forge. "Put it over there," he said, pointing to a pile of ores and materials. The two Nords looked at each other, a disheartened look in their eyes. As they reached down to pick it up again, Eorland growled, marched over, and picked up the chest with a single arm, holding it under his arm like a keg of mead. The two Nords watched on in amazement as he carried it, and just as quickly dropped it next to the other crafting materials. He knew full well what he was dropping, he was not scared of it breaking. Lydia paid the two of them and they quickly wandered off, shaking their arms free of the pain in them.
"Now," Eorland said as he unsealed the letter. "Let's see what your Thane wants this time." His eyes quickly scanned the contents of the letter, his brow knitting together and raising several times as he read silently to himself. Lydia was almost made curious enough to snatch the letter off of him and read it herself but remained composed. When it seemed like he had finished, the old Nord took the letter, crushed it into a ball before throwing it into the fires of the skyforge, the parchment burning to ash in an instant. "That Thane of yours has a knack of pushing my craft to its limits, I'm not sure whether to respect him or punch him, maybe I could do both, assuming you don't maim me for doing so."
"Not at all," Lydia smiled. "I punch him all the time, maybe your fist might actually straighten him out." Eorland gave a deep and hearty laugh, surprised to hear such words from a Housecarl.
"Ah, Lydia, you know how to make an old man laugh. The Dragonborn is lucky to have you at his side." Lydia bowed her head slightly at that, mostly to hide a blush.
"You're too kind," she said before straightening up again. "Well I must be off, I'm to meet him in the market."
"And where what kind of grand adventure will you two be off on this time? Bear hunting perhaps? Or has Darion finally gone mad and thinks he can fist fight with a giant?"
"I hope not, because I'll need to be the one to drag him out of there," she laughed, but her mood quickly changed to a grim one. "No, I imagine he'll want to do something about Ulfric's army, he's loyal enough to Whiterun that he'd stay and defend the city." Eorland mumbled an agreement to that. Like many of his clan, Eorland supported Ulfric's cause, and would have gladly taken up arms for him if asked. However he was one with Whiterun above all, the Skyforge, his clan, the Companions, all of it came before Ulfric. And the idea that Ulfric was marching on Whiterun of his own whim was something the old smith just could not abide.
"I'm sure he will make the right decision, as will you I feel," he said with a smile.
"I will follow him wherever fates take us."
"Of that I have no doubt my dear. Tell your Thane I will gladly undertake this request, and that it should be ready in a week or two." The Housecarl bowed once more.
"Thank you, I best return to my Thane. Good day Master Grey-Mane."
"The same to you, Housecarl." And with that Lydia turned and began her walk back to the stairs. As she left however, her eyes hung low to the ground, as a result she could not see the man she ran into just as she began to her descent down the stairs. As the two of collided, her eyes snapped up to the face of Nord, short hair, a dirty blonde in colour and eyes like the sky. She had to stop herself from blushing when she realised that he was rather handsome, with a strong jaw line, a light layer of facial hair and a scar on his left cheek.
"Pardon me," he said, his accent resembling that of an Imperial more than a Nord.
"My apologies," she mumbled as she passed him, feeling slightly embarrassed. She heard a small chuckle from him as she wandered away.
"Eorland," he spoke, "Is my sword ready?"
"Indeed it is, Harbinger, finished it this morning." Lydia stopped at this, cursing silently to herself. She pulled out the second letter, the one that Darion wished her to give to the leader of the Companions. She turned slowly walked back up the stairs, seeing the sight of the man once more. He wore a set of carved Nordic armour, a mix of nordic plate, fur and leather armours. If it were not for his accent, and the fact that he did not have a full beard, he would have been the epitome of a Nord. He took a sword from Eorland's grasp, one made of Skyforge steel she assumed. He swung it in front of him, testing its weight and balance. He then took a stance before striking at phantom opponents that only he saw. His speed and precision were impressive, she thought to herself. Even though he fought his imaginary foes, she already started to wonder whether he could be a match for Darion. When he was finished, he held the sword by his side, exhaling deeply, trying to keep his breathing under control. It was then that his eyes flicked to her, and she found herself frozen in his gaze.
"Back again already?" he asked with a smile. Lydia realised that she was staring and quickly shook her head free of surprise before climbing the stairs once more.
"You are the Harbinger?" she asked.
"Despite my best efforts," he joked. "I am Leandros Ember-Heart. And you are?" She bowed slightly to the man.
"Lydia, Housecarl of Thane Darion, Dragonborn." It was the Harbinger's turn to look surprised. He eyed her up and down, taking in her form and physique.
"My lady, it is an honour," he said as he bowed his head slightly. "You're fame is well deserved, and you every bit as beautiful as the stories say. I envy the Dragonborn for his company." Lydia blushed at that, averting her eyes slightly.
"You're too kind, Harbinger." she said, pausing for a moment before extending out her arm, the letter held in her hand. "My Thane wishes to send you his regards, and he asked me to give you this." Leandros gently took the letter from her grasp, sliding it into a pouch that resided on his belt.
"I'll be sure to look over it later, but first I would like to ask a few things about this, Darion."
"I will answer within reason," Lydia said firmly, not ready to reveal all of her Thane's secrets.
"Fine with me," Leandros smiled, he turned to Eorland, who was returning to his forge. "I will see you again soon Eorland," he said before turning back to the Housecarl. "Shall we?" he asked, motioning towards the stairs down to Jorrvaskr. Lydia nodded, and the two descended the stairs, and at Leandros' insistence, they made their way to the courtyard behind the mead hall, where various training dummies and racks lined with sparing weapons sat. They took a seat on one of the tables that looked over the training area, and almost as if she were summoned magically, an old woman shuffled her way out of the mead hall, the sounds of what seemed like a brawl escaping out of the door as she pushed it open. She carried over to them a wooden tray with two cups and a jug before placing the tray down and filling both cups with water. When she was done, Leandros smiled and nodded his thanks to the woman, and she shuffled away as quickly as she came.
"So, tell me about this, Dragonborn," Leandros began as he picked up his cup. "What kind of a man is he? Is he the same as they speak of in the stories?"
"What do they say in the stories?" Lydia asked as she took a sip from her own cup.
"They say he's a mountain of meat and muscle, that he could crush a giant in an embrace." Lydia could not help but spit-take at this, and looked at him with shock.
"You must be joking," she said, "He's shorter than I am!"
"I figured as much, rumours and stories tend to get in the way of the truth," Leandros said with a chuckle. "Okay, next question. Is it true his voice can summon thunder storms?" Lydia smiled then.
"Storms, breath fire, have animals fight at his side or even stop time," she looked to the Harbinger. "He's no where near as powerful as the Greybeards, but he's probably just as powerful as any story could ever say." Leandros leaned back in his chair, amazed.
"Divines, now that would be a sight to see, I can only imagine how human he must look, and yet have so much power within him." Lydia smiled again in silent reflection of their travels,
"He's a good man, though he will never admit it. He feels he's just the right amount of good he needs to be, and the rest of the time it's just whatever mood he finds himself in."
"Aye, it is often the best of among men who will deny their goodness." Leandros said, drinking the last of his water, ebfore moving for the jug. "Now, care to tell me a tale or two that might actually be true?" The two of them sat there for a while, Lydia doing most of the talking whilst Leandros listened intently. They must have sat there for at least an hour, with Lydia telling stories of discovery, triumph and adventure. As she reached the end of her tale about Darion's quest to Sovengarde, Leandros was on the edge of his seat, like a child listening to the final part of a bed time story promised to him at supper.
"…and when he returned, he was on top of the throat of the world, and the dragons were bowing to him," she finished, smiling. Though she had not been there personally, when Darion described it she could just imagine the swarm of dragons, ancient and wise beings bowing before a mortal man. "And since then we've been wandering." Leandros was silent for a moment, as if expecting more of the story to come, but he soon sighed, shuffling back into his seat, trying to comprehend the tale that had been passed to him.
"Amazing, there has not been a story that has been sung in Jorrvaskr that is a match for yours in glory. I look forward to meeting this Dragonborn."
"I'm sure you will, I know that he was eager to meet you but he had some business with the Jarl and…" she fell silent, realising just how much time had passed. "Gods! I was supposed to meet him in the market place!" She scrambled from her seat, quickly bowing to Leandros. "It was an honour to meet you, Harbinger, but I must be off."
"It is no problem at all," Leandros spoke calmly. "Stop by anytime, you and your Thane are welcome in the halls of the Companions." At this Lydia smiled, before running off as quickly as she could. How stupid could she have been? Darion probably had been waiting in the market for a while now. Though he was rarely ever bothered if she was late for anything, as a Housecarl Lydia was still worried. She had neglected her duty for idle chat with a stranger, something that she knew that Darion could shrug at, but to her it was a stain on her honour. As she ran through town, ducking and weaving between townsfolk in the wind district, she wondered whether Darion's business with the Jarl hadn't concluded, and she was worried about nothing. Regardless, she should not have lost track of time. 'I can't allow myself to be distracted,' she thought to herself. 'He's my Thane and friend, and I cannot-'
"FUS RO DAH!" At the sound of the shout, it's thunder rolling across the city, Lydia slid to a stop, her mouth falling open, her eyes widening. Though it was a sound that many dragons made, she could tell a shout from the Dragonborn anywhere. She began to move again, sprinting this time with her hand on her sword as she pushed her way through the crowd now.
Minutes Earlier...
Darion stood in front of the stall, his mouth watering at the collection of meats on display. One of his favourite parts about Whiterun had to be the meat stall run by the Bosmer Anoriath, with fresh meat served nearly everyday. He spied a pair of steaks, thinking they would do well as his dinner.
"Had enough of the jerky and dried fruits on your travels, Darion?" the elf asked happily.
"You know it, I've been dying to sink my teeth into some real meet for weeks," Darion replied hungrily, noticing a rack of ribs as well.
"Well you best buy them quick, I've had a lot of people looking to buy meat so they can preserve it." The elf said sadly. Darion did not need to ask. In the time he had spent wandering the markets waiting for Lydia, he had learned that the impending arrival of the Stormcloak army was on the minds of many in the city. If they were buying meat to be preserved, it meant that they were getting ready for a siege, where food would be nowhere near as accessible, and it was better to preserve the meat rather than wait for it to become rotten. Though he had never been in a siege, he had a general idea of the kind of things that could occur during one. Infighting amongst the people, struggles for food and water, disease and pestilence. The coming battle would test the people in Whiterun in ways he could not imagine. Everyone from soldiers all the way to the smallest of the children would have the strength of their minds and bodies put to the test.
'Just one of the reasons that I need to be here' he thought to himself. 'In desperate times the people need to look to someone, a hero. And I can use that to my advantage in the days to come.' As he continued to peruse the various steaks, ribs and sausages on sale, he did not notice the two figures approaching him. The crowed market place parted ways for them, the guards keeping their hands on their swords and their eyes on these strangers. Their garbs made them out to be mages of some kind, but none of the townsfolk had seen mages wear such strange masks as these two strangers did.
As the crowd parted, they revealed the form of the Dragonborn to the strangers, who stopped, nodded to one another before pressing forward. Darion continued to be oblivious to their presence until he looked up at the face Anoriath whose eyes darted between Darion and the strangers. It was only then that the Dragonborn turned to face the two strangers, noticing how widely the crowd had parted for them. Many of the people stopped and stared at the scene, eager to see what would happen others quickly made their way from the market, desperate to be out of the way. The strangers stood at least twenty feet away now. They did not say anything, only stared at him. Their masks were identical, strange and horned, with what could only be described as tentacles hanging down like a beard. One of them had a sword at their hip and stood at least a head taller than his counterpart who held no visible weapons but Darion could sense the magic in their blood.
"You," the shorter of them spoke, their accent that of a Dark Elf. "You are the one they call Dragonborn?" Darion looked between the two of them, the taller one remaining silent.
"People tent to like calling me that, aye," Darion replied.
"Then your lies have taken root in the hearts of the people," the Dark Elf spoke again, turning to the crowd that remained to watch. "You poor fools, we know that it is not of your own doing that you worship this pretender, you are all victims of his lies." he turned back to Darion. "We must cleanse the thoughts of such trickery from the minds of men and mer, by cleansing the world of you!" He raised his hands at Darion, a fire appearing in either palm, causing the crowd to panic. Two guardsmen stepped out of the crowd, their shields raised.
"No! Don't!" Darion pleaded, but it was too late as the guards advanced on the strangers.
"In the name of the Jarl, stop right th-" they were cut of as the Dark Elf fired a fire bolt at both guards, neither having enough time to raise the shields or dodge the attack. The balls of arcane fire hit either one square in the chest, and they both fell to the ground with a scream, the smell of burnt flesh filling the marketplace. As they fell, many of the people began to run, screaming for help. The elf raised his hands once more, firing two more balls of fire at Darion, who stepped forward and raised his own hands. The Fireballs exploded, and anyone who still remained screamed. As the smoke cleared however, all could see the Dragonborn, his hands raised, a shield of magical light in front of him. Darion sighed with relief, he had barely enough time to raise the ward in front of him. Whoever the Elf was, he was a talented mage, being able to fire the shots so quickly.
The Elf snarled, and continued to throw fireballs at him, whilst the other stranger drew his sword and ran forward at Darion. As he approached, Darion blocked three more fire balls, his left hand continued to hold up the ward, whilst his right reached for the sword on his back. As the man brought his sword down, Darion cancelled the ward, raising his weapon to block the attack, the blades meeting with a metallic ring. Darion pushed the blow to the side, sending the man off balance before stepping around and slicing the back of the man's ankles. The masked man screamed, the first sound he had made since he had arrived, and sank to his knees in pain. As he continued to scream, Darion thrust his sword into the back of the mans head, feeling satisfied as he heard the sounds of tearing flesh, the breaking of the mask as his sword existed through the man's face, and the silence from him that followed.
As he turned to face the Dark Elf, anger gripped him as he saw the Elf hold a woman down on her knees by her shoulder, a woman who held a young girl in her arms. Darion recognised the woman as Carlotta the woman who ran a fruit and vegetable stand in the markets with her daughter Mila.
"You coward!" he shouted at the Elf, whose smile Darion could almost hear behind his mask.
"Drop your weapon," he said, as his free hand ignited once more, "or they die." Darion glared at the elf, seeing no weakness of possibility of hesitation in his stance. If they want to kill Carlotta, they would do so without a second thought.
"Damn you," Darion muttered before throwing down his sword, ringing as it struck the cobblestone. The Elf laughed viciously.
"We were right to kill you, Deceiver. No real Dragonborn would let compassion be his weakness. When the true Dragonborn comes, the world will know and fear his power." Darion's expression changed in an instant from rage to confusion.
"The True Dragonborn?" he asked.
"That is right Deceiver, compared to him you are nothing but a meek pretender, dancing in his shadow." The elf laughed again, motioning to Carlotta and Mila. "If you were a true Dragonborn, or even a true warrior, you would know that you must be ready to sacrifice the lives of those lesser than you." He raised, his hand, Carlotta holding Mila tighter as the fireball burning brighter. In that moment, time seemed to slow down for Darion as he viewed the situation. In the moments that passed, six different strategies flashed through his mind, four of which would result in Carlotta's death. One of them was bound to work, using his Thu'um to slow time, but that required time and concentration, time of which he was even shorter on. The last option was a gamble, and if luck was not on his side, then Carlotta and her daughter may be hurt or worse, their blood would truly be on his hands. But he had no choice, he had to leave them in the hands of the gods and pray that they keep them safe. As time began to return to it's normal state, and the elf's hand began descending faster, Darion felt the pulsing in his body, and with all the strength he could, he roared at the man.
"FUS RO DAH!" he shouted, doing his best to narrow the blast. The waves of magic and bursting air erupted in front of him, and the elf was sent flying, being struck in the chest by the narrowed blast. For a moment he remained in the air, his flight unhindered, but was quickly sent crashing through several stalls, wooden splinters and wares sent flying in all directions. When silence finally settled, over the market, Carlotta slowly began to open her eyes, seeing the Dragonborn standing before her. She could still feel her daughter in her arms, and she silently thanked the gods as she felt the absence of the elf's grip on her shoulder. The Dragoborn began walking towards her, picking up his sword and sliding it back into the sheath on his back. She opened her mouth to give thanks as he neared, but he walked right past her, navigating his way through the trail of destruction that had he had created.
When he reached the end of the path he had created, he found the elf laying on his back in a pile of splinters, a sharp length of wood protruding from his shoulder. Darion also noticed a large gaping hole in the mans chest, a bloody and ragged as pieces of flesh fell apart before his eyes. His mask had been broken also, and as it fell piece by piece from his face, Darion could see how young the Dunmer really was, with short black hair, a trail of blood running from his mouth. Darion knelt down beside him, taking hold of the protruding splinter twisting it slightly and extracting a blood curdling scream from the elf, as if it were the only injury he had.
"Who sent you?" Darion asked calmly, though even a blind man could hear the anger hidden beneath that false layer of calm.
"Darion!" he heard his name called, and in the corner of his eyes he could see Lydia arriving, her sword drawn, a look of horror on her face as she viewed the scene. "What-"
"Silence!" he barked at her, his not leaving the elf. He twisted the splinter further, receiving only a wince this time. "Who sent you? What did you mean by the 'True Dragonborn'?" The elf laughed, coughing up blood as he did so.
"You're fool to tight against fate." He tried breathing, though it was clear his was drowning in his own blood. "Lord Miraak will rise, and there will be nothing that you can do to stop him. The world will bow... as the one True Dragonborn... returns…"
"Who is this Miraak? Tell me!" But Darions words fell on the ears of a dead man, who gave one final breath before passing from Mundus. Darion's hand slowly slipped from the splinter, and fell to his side. Lydia kept her distance, not daring to approach lest he still be angry. Slowly Darion began to search the body of the elf, pulling out a coin purse which he threw to the side along with a knife and a few potion bottles. Finally he pulled a piece of parchment out of the man's pockets and proceeded to read what was on it. Lydia slowly began to shuffle forward, though she was still unsure whether to or not.
"Darion..." she said, not knowing what else to say. He was silent for a moment, before he stood up quickly and began springing his way through the crowd that had slowly gathered to view the carnage. The crowd parted for him as the Dragonborn raced his way down towards the gates. "Darion!" Lydia called after him as she tried to catch up, fighting her way through the crowd. By the time she finally caught up to him, he was already outside the stables, saddling his horse. "What is going on? Where are you going?"
"I need to leave Whiterun for a while." He said as he secured the saddle in place.
"We're leaving?" Lydia asked, shocked at his words. "Ulfrics army will be here soon! The city needs us!"
"I'm going alone, you'll remain here and represent me on the Jarls war council," he said as pulled the final strap of the saddle into place.
"Darion, no!" she protested. "If we're not staying here then I'm going with you to wherever you need to go! I swore an oath that I would remain by your side and-"
"Lydia!" Darion cut her off, causing her to cringe in fear. "If you have any loyalty to your Thane, you will remain here and do as I have commanded." She averted her eyes away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. He sighed at this, and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. "And if you respect me as your friend," he continued, his tone much softer than before, "then you'll understand that I have to do this alone." Lydia looked to him now, her eyes almost with tears in them.
"How long will you be gone?" she asked.
"I'm not sure, but I promise I will return as swiftly as I am able." He said, a small smile on his lips, his hand rising from her shoulder to her cheek. "Do you understand?" Lydia didn't like it, not one bit. She was being asked to go against her duties as a Housecarl and leave her Thane to whatever end he was riding towards. All the same though, she respected his wishes, and nodded her head in silent agreement. He pulled her head down slightly, and she became very nervous all of a sudden. But he simply stood on his toes, and kissed her on the forehead. "I know you'll make me proud." He said, before mounting his horse.
"You be safe," she warned him. "Or I'll come after your soul and punch you so hard all of Sovengarde will feel it. Darion smiled again.
"I'm sure you will." he said, before urging the horse forward, taking off from the stables at a gallop. Lydia stood there, watching ride away into the east. Though she knew she would see him again, she felt in her heart that when he returned, she would not be looking at the same man.
As the days went by Darion continued to press his horse onward through hidden trails in the countryside, doing his best to avoid the road. He had no idea how many days had passed when he brought the creature to a halt, peering through the tree line to the road. There he saw rank after rank of soldiers adorning blue uniforms, their banners embodied with a roaring bear. He was tempted to stop and see how many of Ulfric's army he could destroy by himself, but he knew that his destination was not combat, at least not in Skyrim.
'I have faith in Lydia, if there is to be a hero during the battle for Whiterun, it will be her,' he thought to himself as he rode on, putting leagues between himself and the Stormcloak army behind him. By the time he felt the icy winds of the north begin to wrap their cold fingers around him, he had already left his horse in the stables outside Windhelm. With his hood covering his face, he made his way down to the city docks. As he wandered between ships, he soon found an old Nord, sitting on a barrel smoking a pipe, clearly the captain of one of the ships as he ordered various men where to place the crates they carried. Without saying a word Darion threw him a bag of coins, which the Nord caught in surprise before looking up at him.
"I'm not into the smuggling trade," he said, "if that's what you're doing."
"I want passage on your ship, and I want you to set sail immediately." The Nord shook his head, motioning to the crates that were being unloaded.
"You'll get your passage as soon as my men have-" he was cut off by another, much heavier purse being thrown at him. The old man pulled out one of the coins, checking it's authenticity before ordering some of his men to remain behind and take care of the cargo that had already hauled from the ship whilst the other climbed back aboard. "And just where do you wish to go sir?" he asked.
"Solstheim," he said before boarding the ship. 'If what that elf said is true,' he thought to himself as the ship left the port, 'and my dream is to become a reality, I cannot risk another Dragonborn capable of thwarting my plans and challenging my right to rule.'
To Solstheim! Now you may wonder, if the story is all about Darion conquering Tamriel, then why am I elaborating on the 'Dragonborn' DLC? Well to answer that plainly, I'm not. When you join us next time you will see that my plan for this story is not solely focused on Darion's plans for Tamriel, but also on the struggles and hardships his allies, like Lydia, must face. As Darion slowly turns into a man worthy of conquest, the people around him will also begin to change, for better or for worse it yet to be decided. Thanks a ton to everyone whose already following the story, and to those who have reviewed and favourited, I'm glad to see that I've caught some people's interests, and will be more than happy to provide content as often as I can. If you have any inquiries into the story, or you want just want to say hey, send me a PM and I'll reply as quick as I can.
Until next time!
-xcaliber234
