Hey guys! Sorry about the late post! Life's been crazy the last few weeks between preparing for an interview for a possible promotion, helping my best friend prepare for an interview for a possible job, putting in for a transfer, annnnnd... MEETING JOHN RHYS-DAVIES! *intense fangirl screaming* I was able to get a day off from work to go see him last week and got a selfie and autograph! Anyway, another reason this chapter was delayed was because I decided to introduce a new OC, one that I pulled from my Morrowind game, as well as some... let's say some general ideas from past Elder Scrolls games. I wasn't sure how they would be received, or if they would even be really recognized since some of them are rather subtle, but it gave me a few chuckles while I was writing. If you haven't played the earlier games, the old skill systems were a lot more in depth than the ones in Skyrim and I really miss them. Whether it was jumping around nonstop to level up my acrobatics or swimming through waters fraught with dangerous creatures for my athletics, I really enjoyed leveling up the individual skills. Regardless! I'm going to shut up now, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Berin's eyes hardened.
No. It's not going to end like this. I have to get back to them.
As the dragon's head loomed over him, eyes mocking him for his weakness, Berin waited for just the right moment… and there it was. Jaws opened wide, teeth gleaming and ready to snap closed on his body to snuff out his existence. Arrogance, Berin mused to himself, was most likely the ultimate downfall of the dragons. Believing themselves above every other creature, never thinking that they can be beaten.
"FUS RO!"
The full force of the Shout hit the dragon's head point blank, barely three feet away, forcing it away and giving Berin time to jump unsteadily to his feet. His throbbing shoulder ignored for now, Berin pulled the axe from his belt and charged towards the still reeling dragon. He swung his axe in a frenzy, aiming for any area that was vulnerable, desperate and determined to do as much damage as possible before the dragon could recover. He jumped back when the dragon snapped at him, blood gushing in rivulets down its face, and began carefully circling the beast.
Suddenly, an arrow sprouted from the dragon's eye, causing it to roar and shake its head in pain. Hope grew in Berin's chest, and he turned to look for Lydia and the guards that she had gathered… instead he saw a single figure. Short, slight, and covered from head to toe in strange black and gold armor that glimmered in the sunlight, the stranger wielded an ancient looking black bow with glowing red etchings. Smoothly, he drew three arrows and, holding two in his fist, nocked the first, pulling back and releasing with blinding speed. The other two arrows followed shortly, each landing carefully in chinks in the dragon's scales.
With an angry roar the dragon took flight, its wingbeats stuttering and uneven. The stranger rushed forward, slinging his bow carelessly onto his back, and yelled at Berin.
"Get out of the way!"
Berin nearly dropped his axe in surprise at the feminine voice coming from the enclosed helmet, but quickly jumped backwards when she began to wave her hands in a complicated pattern, magicka gathering around them. Carefully tracking the dragon's movements, she finally thrust her hand out and released the spell. He couldn't believe his eyes when a great ball of fire, frost, and lighting formed in the air and flew towards the dragon, the elements spiraling beautifully around each other before finally hitting the target and exploding. Roars of agony echoed across the plains. Berin could see the lightning dancing across the dragon's scales, where the fire licked and burned at the skin between scales, and the frost spreading quickly across its wings.
"That should be enough to bring him down, but I am unsure. I have never fought a dragon before." She spoke with a strange accent, almost a mix of eastern Cyrodilic and the deep cadence of Vvardenfell. He couldn't see her expression through her helmet, but she sounded calm, almost bored as she watched the writhing dragon in the sky. Within moments her prediction came true, the dragon falling quickly from the sky and hitting the ground hard enough to leave a groove in the ground as it slid for almost a dozen yards.
Berin immediately took off at a run to the fallen beast, the stranger overtaking him easily as she pulled a thin, straight blade from the scabbard at her hip. He'd never seen a sword like that. Black as night, but with a pulsing, blood-red glow, the same shade as the gem set in the pommel. He shook his head to clear it. Questions and curiosity could wait until after the dragon was defeated.
The dragon was standing weakly when they reached it, whining as it tried to stretch out its wings. When it heard their heavy footfalls, it whipped its head around and growled menacingly, eyes dazed with pain and full of hate, limping carefully away from them. Berin could tell that one of its wings had been broken in the fall, the bones sticking out painfully through the flesh.
Berin and the stranger split up, edging carefully around each side of the dragon. One thing that any hunter knows is that a wounded and cornered predator is more dangerous than ever. The dragon's eyes followed Berin warily and, teeth bared, it cursed at him one last time.
"HI AAL KRII ZU'U, DOVAHKIIN, NUZ ALDUIN FEN DU HIN ZII AHST FIN LAAT!" (You may kill me, Dragonborn, but Alduin will devour your soul in the end!)
"He can try!"
Enraged, the dragon thrust his head forward with jaws agape, aiming to crush the man in its teeth. Berin quickly spun around the thrust, using his momentum to slice deeply into the dragon's exposed throat. He couldn't think of a way to end this quickly. The only truly vulnerable parts of a dragon were its eyes and inside its mouth, everything else was covered by scales that would be difficult to penetrate. It would simply be a wait to see who would bleed out first or become too exhausted to continue fighting.
Suddenly, several voices called out battle cries as Lydia and almost a dozen men charged from the hill, already sending arrows into the downed dragon. Berin nearly laughed with relief at the reinforcements and attacked with renewed vigor.
Movement in the corner of his eyes distracted Berin for a moment, and he turned his head just in time to see the armored stranger leap onto the dragon's back and practically dance up its spine, never once looking unbalanced despite its roaring and bucking. Finally reaching the beast's head she crouched, recklessly hanging onto one of the large horns with one hand, before removing her helmet to reveal a Dark Elf woman with fiery red hair streaked through with silver. Without even a glance to the side she tossed the helmet at Berin, hitting him squarely in the chest and leaving him scrambling to catch it, before swinging her upper body down so she could meet the dragon's eye.
The dragon paused, looking at the mortal woman incredulously, before throwing its head back furiously to dislodge her. Berin cried out helplessly as the elf was thrown high into the air, but all fear was lost in awe as he watched her somehow control her fall, using her own momentum to twist her body gracefully into a careful flip. She landed with a yell, the weight of her body lending strength to the downward thrust of her sword, impaling the blade through the dragon's skull.
The dragon immediately collapsed with a shudder, a whine escaping its lungs, and the men around it burst into cheers. Berin collapsed onto his rear with a groan, axe in one hand and the elf's helmet in the other. He could already feel the adrenaline seeping from his veins, leaving him to deal with the pain from burns and bruises, as well as the throbbing from his shoulder. His head was swimming and his throat felt raw, from blood loss and too many Shouts he supposed, but he was alive. That was something at least.
"BERIN!"
He lifted his head wearily as he heard Lydia call out his name, barely managing to see the blur of movement before she was before him, hands gripping his arms tightly as she examined his injuries.
"You thrice-damned idiot!" She cursed darkly, accepting strips of cloth and a healing potion from Benor as he stood behind her, already digging for more bandages for Berin's head. She opened the potion and poured half of it onto his shoulder, causing him to hiss in pain, before shoving the rest into his hand to drink as she bandaged the wound. Berin closed his eyes and tipped the potion down his throat, making a face at the taste. He sat there for a moment, eyes still closed, trying to anchor himself through the dizziness as Benor began to wrap the clean linens around his head.
A familiar, heavy wind picked up, causing Berin to sigh as he heard the guards gasp and the telltale sound of the fiery whirlwind that he knew was now rushing toward him. He braced himself for the invading presence of the dragon's mind but felt only warmth and strength as another soul merged into his own. The Word he had seen in Ustengrav flowed into the forefront of his mind, the lines of the runes sharp and crystal clear. FEIM. Where before he could only read the word, hear it in his mind, now he could feel it.
The dragon, whose name he now knew was Almunvahrukt, had used this Shout against the men and women of the Rebellion, causing all their attacks to pass through him harmlessly until he was already upon them.
He could still feel Lydia's hands moving across his chest as she secured the bindings around his shoulder and smirked a bit as he whispered the Word under his breath. All at once his body and its senses were numb, he could barely hear Lydia's muffled exclamations as she fell forward through him or Benor's curses as he tried to help her back up, and he opened his eyes just in time to see Lydia's worried expression change into an expression of half-exasperation and half-annoyance as she realized what he must have done. The smirk turned into a full-blown smile and laugh as the Shout's power ended, leaving him open to Lydia's chiding cuff of his ear before she went back to bandaging his shoulder.
"See? I told you that I would be fine!"
That was clearly the wrong thing to say. He thought with a wince, as her eyes darkened angrily and Benor slapped a hand to his face. I blame the head injury.
"FINE?!" She exploded, gesturing broadly to the burning plains surrounding them and his own injuries. "Yes, Berin! This all looks perfectly fine!" She took another breath to keep berating him but seeing him wince and look contrite softened her a bit. Sighing a little, she continued. "But I understand why you did it. I'm still angry with you, though, so don't you dare think that this is over!"
Berin's hopeful face fell as she spoke. "I know. I'm sorry, truly…"
He was cut off as the guards of Rorikstead surrounded them, talking over each other about the fight, such as it was, and tales of the Dragonborn. Just as Berin thought they would continue until his aching head exploded, the sudden sound of a spell silenced the men and they all turned to see the cause. The Dark Elf woman was standing calmly amongst the burning plains, summoning huge, odd-looking frost atronachs with careless waves of her hand and quietly ordering them to put out the flames. They all watched in awe, and no small amount of distrust from the guards, at the casual display of such power. She watched the Daedra for a moment before turning around and making her way slowly over to Berin.
The men around him backed away from her presence, hands on hilts, and even Lydia tensed beside him. Berin put a calming hand on her shoulder and looked up at the stranger. He could see now that she was aged, the fine lines around her eyes and mouth showing as signs of many years. The tip of one ear was torn and ragged while the other was whole and bore several strange earrings.
"My thanks for the timely rescue." He croaked out through the rawness in his throat, offering her helmet back to her.
She took it with a nod, eyeing him up and down speculatively. Finally, she seemed to come to a decision.
"So, you are the Hero of this era's crisis."
Berin's jaw dropped as he started, staring at her uncomprehendingly. Eventually Lydia, looking back and forth between them, answered for him.
"I'm sorry… he's the what?"
The woman's eyes flicked to Lydia and back to Berin before she sighed, sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of them. Her voice was colored in equal measures by pity and exhaustion.
"It is Berin, correct?" He nodded. "Stop me if I am wrong then, Berin. You woke up in the custody of an authority figure, heading either to jail or execution. Something happened to stop it, something dangerous that threw you immediately into a chaotic situation where you had no control. Am I right so far?" Berin nodded wordlessly. "Somewhere along the way while just trying to assist a person, someone decided that you were special in some way, a way that makes you the only person that can help in the impossible situation that you were thrust into.
"Now you have people all around you sending you across every rock and river of this land, either fetching some ancient artifact or finding someone who is supposed to aid you… but instead sends you to fetch something else instead." She sighed again. "It is a never-ending cycle that leaves you risking your life time and time again with very little thanks, but you cannot refuse without risking the existence of the entire world."
"How do you know all this?" Berin asked quietly, hands clenching into fists in his lap.
"I know this because you are not the first, and I am very sure that you will not be the last." She said wearily. "Every time Nirn is in danger, the Divines and Daedric Princes choose someone to defend it. One person on whom to place the weight of the world. Our lives are little more than a game, played for their amusement."
"How many have there been?" Benor asked from his place at Lydia's side.
"As far as I have found in my research into the histories… Berin is the sixth, but there may be more."
"And which were you?" Berin asked.
She smiled slightly. "I was the third, over two hundred years ago. I was the unfortunate soul who was chosen to be the Lord Nerevar Reborn. The Nerevarine, savior of Morrowind, though my given name is Tilse Alor." The three stared at her in disbelief, causing her to shrug carelessly. "Only a few years after the defeat of the Sixth House cult and Dagoth Ur in Morrowind, all of Tamriel suffered through the Oblivion Crisis. The hero of that time was a young Breton woman named Aera Denovo." Her eyes softened at the mention of the girl. "I was alone during my journey and miserable for it, so when I heard of the Hero of Kvatch I set off to help her however I could. During the two hundred years between the Oblivion Crisis and today, I had hoped that maybe the Divines and Daedra had decided to leave well enough alone and that maybe Nirn would be safe for good. Then the reports of dragons reached me, and I knew that another Hero had been chosen. I come to offer my aid to you as I did to Aera."
She stood up and brushed the dirt from her greaves before reaching a hand down to help Berin to his feet. "I can start by helping you with those wounds, if you'd like?"
Without waiting for him to answer, she waved her hands in an intricate pattern and touched her palm to his chest. Berin gasped as the Restoration magic slammed into him, causing him to physically stumble back until Benor steadied him. Lydia reached forward and pulled the bandages away from his shoulder, amazed to see fresh, pink skin flowing over the gaping wound, leaving nothing but the small line of a scar.
"I've…" Lydia started hesitantly, looking at Tilse in awe. "I've never seen Restoration magic work like that, not even for the Priestesses of Kynareth!"
"Two hundred years of practice, and the title of Archmage of the Morrowind Mages' Guild under my belt." She said with a smirk.
"Could you teach me?" Berin asked eagerly, touching the healed scar on his head. "Something tells me I'm going to need a lot better than the very weak healing spell I know."
"I can travel with you for a time, teach you what I can, and you can tell me everything that's happening right now."
They spent three days in Rorikstead, Berin talking to the guards about how best to protect the town against future dragon attacks and Tilse working together with the village mage to enchant dozens of charms to help protect against fire. They hoped that by placing several of the charms on each of the buildings, the town would perhaps be better prepared to combat the flames of any dragon attacks. They had tested the charms on a small animal pen with good results… but could only pray that they would protect on a large scale as well.
Every evening after dinner, Tilse would take Berin aside and begin to teach him magic. Not just new spells, but how to properly cast them. She spent much of the time talking to him about how much magic had declined in the past two hundred years, how the land itself used to be overflowing with it.
"There was once a time where a talented and practiced mage could tap into the very land around him and do wonderous things. Fairies and Will-o-the-Wisps, Nixads and Gryphons, magical creatures of all kinds that used to roam about the length and breadth of Tamriel are now rare, extinct, or have become twisted or warped versions of what they once were.
"Magic itself seems to be slowly bleeding out of the world and many mages guard their secrets jealously, causing a horrible ignorance of the art that magic once was and could be again." She pressed her palm to the ground reverently. "The old magic can still be found if one searches deep enough, both into the land and into yourself. Once the connection is made… infinite possibilities are created."
Slowly but surely as they traveled to Riverwood, Berin learned as much as he could from the elder woman. As they rode during the day, they discussed the history and theory of magic, and at night they practiced the application of all they had discussed during the day. Determined to become stronger, to survive, he absorbed as much instruction as he could, even taking his turn at watch to read the few tattered books that Tilse carried on magic and fighting techniques by the weak light of the fire.
When Riverwood came into view a week later, Berin urged his horse into a quick trot and left the others behind in his eagerness to finally see Lucia again. He dismounted as soon as he passed through the town gate and led his horse to the hitching post in front of the inn, eyes already searching the street for a small blonde head. A delighted shriek had his head snapping around as two girls ran around the corner of the inn with a boy and his dog chasing them.
A huge grin stretched across his face as he watched Lucia smile and laugh. It grew even bigger when she turned around a noticed him.
"PAPA!" She screamed, immediately running toward him and launching herself into his waiting arms. "You're back! You're okay!"
He simply laughed and spun her around happily, hearing the rest riding through the gate behind him. Soon, he heard Lucia gasp and start squirming in his arms. As soon as he set her down, she was running to tackle Lydia in a hug as she dismounted, sending them both to the ground as Lydia lost her balance. Berin burst into laughter at Lydia's surprised cry, doubling over at the waist and clutching at his stomach. Too wrapped up in his laughter to see the second little girl coming, Berin was the next to be knocked into the dirt as Dorthe ran in to hug him excitedly. Benor plopped himself down beside Lydia with a snicker, reaching his hand out to shake Lucia's while introducing himself, while Tilse reached down to help Berin up.
"We are all doomed if all it takes to bring down the great Dragonborn… is one little girl." She said with a smirk.
Berin picked Dorthe up and set her on his hip before putting a hand dramatically on his chest. "I'll have you know," He said, mockingly affronted. "That I was ambushed by a terrifying warrior princess! I only just escaped with my life!"
Dorthe giggled helplessly and hit his shoulder before jumping down to join the rest on the ground. Berin watched them all fondly for a moment as the girls listened to Benor tell his story about meeting Lydia, grinning as they laughed at Lydia's blushes as he embellished on the story of his "Strong, warrior goddess."
This is it. This is why I am willing to fight.
"Alright, ladies and gent!" Berin called out eventually. "Let's go see Alvor and Sigrid, then we have to see someone at the inn."
Lydia's eyes darkened at the reminder. She stood quickly and pulled both girls up with her. "That we do. I have some rather choice words I'd like to say to them!"
Lucia looked up at Lydia excitedly. "Miss Lydia! Are you gonna punch someone like you did Mister Benor?!"
Lydia smiled at the girl, unable to keep a dark mood in the face of the girl's enthusiasm. "Yes. Yes, I am, Lucia."
"Yay!"
Berin, stuck between being amused and concerned, decided to turn the conversation. "So, little princess, what have you been doing while I've been gone? Have you been listening to Aunt Sigrid like I asked?"
"Of course I have, papa!" She cried, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street. "You can ask Uncle Alvor! He's been letting me help him in the smithy with him and Dorthe while Aunt Sigrid works in the garden. He says that I'm a very good helper!"
"That she is!" Alvor's voice called out as he walked out onto the front porch, wiping the sweat from his brow with a cloth. "Has the makings to be a good smith one day!"
"Oh, really?" Berin asked, grinning down at the now-blushing Lucia and hugging her to his side. "That's great! I'll be outfitted with the best weapons and armor in Skyrim one day!"
Lucia looked up at him with wide eyes. "Really, papa? Do you think I could?"
"Of course I do, Lucia!"
"You'll help me make some new gardening tools for mama too, right, Lucia?" Dorthe asked excitedly.
"I will! And maybe I can make us some pretty necklaces too! I saw Miss Adrienne make one once!"
The two girls went into the house, happily talking about everything that they could make someday, as their fathers watched on fondly.
"I meant it, Berin," Alvor said, turning to him. "Girl has good instincts around the forge and she's a quick learner. I'd like to start teaching her in earnest instead of just letting her help, maybe start her into an apprenticeship one day when she's older. I've already spoken to Adrienne Avenicci about taking Dorthe on, maybe I could speak to Eorlund Gray-Mane about Lucia?"
"If that's what she wants, definitely," Berin said with a proud smile. "Hopefully we'll be able to end the dragon threat sooner rather than later and can settle down once and for all."
"Divines willing," Lydia muttered, stepping forward to clasp hands with Alvor. "I only saw one of the beasts and it's already too much. Didn't even really have to fight it, since these two mostly took care of it." She gestured at Berin and Tilse.
"I noticed that you seem to have picked up a couple new faces." Alvor said, looking at Berin with amusement. "Have you started just grabbing people off the road, son?"
"Not really. I've just been lucky enough to find a few people who want to help," Berin said, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. "Didn't mean to drag anybody else into it, but here we are."
"Come inside and have a bit of lunch. You can introduce us to your friends, then tell us everything that's happened while you were away." Alvor said with a laugh, pulling the front door open and ushering them all in.
Sigrid was there to greet them all, even the bemused Tilse, with hugs as soon as they entered the house, and they spent over an hour on introductions, food, and regaling the family with tales of dark crypts and raging dragons. Finally, as the sun began to set, Berin and the others trekked over to the Sleeping Giant Inn to rent rooms for Lydia and Tilse before meeting the (as Lydia put it) "Thrice-damned, time-wasting son-of-a-drunken-horker."
A roaring fire greeted them as they filed through the door, the smoke drifting up to gather in the rafters before escaping through a hole in the ceiling. Sven stood in the back corner of the inn plucking a soft tune from the strings of his lute, creating a soothing ambience to contrast Lydia's barely contained temper. A few villagers sat at the tables lining the room and Berin absently returned their loud greetings, walking quickly past them to reach the bar where the innkeeper stood.
"Welcome to the Sleeping Giant Inn. My name's Delphine and I'm the innkeeper here, what can I help you folks with?"
"Hello, I need two beds for the women," Berin answered, gesturing behind him. "And I need the… uhh… attic room?" He ended in a question, glancing up at the rafters and ceiling above him. How could there be an attic room?
"Attic room, eh? Well we don't have an attic room," She said suspiciously, eyeing them up and down. "Not sure where you heard that, but you can have those two rooms right there. They have one bed apiece and cost ten gold a night."
"I suppose we'll take them then." He handed her the coins and watched as she pocketed them.
"Thank you. Supper's served in an hour, make yourselves at home until then." And with that she turned and walked away.
Berin turned to the others, eyes showing his confusion, and shrugged. "I guess we'll settle you in the rooms for now. We can meet in a few minutes and see about what happens next. I'm not any happier about this than you are, Lydia," He interrupted when Lydia began to object. "But we don't have many other options here. I don't have a good feeling…" He trailed off uncertainly.
Lydia waited until they stood at the room doors before speaking, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. "The innkeeper has to know who left that note. Why else would they say to ask about that attic room? She has to be in on this, at least as an informant."
"Indeed. She's been watching us since we walked over here. Subtly though, doing little more than keeping us constantly in her peripheral… this is someone who is well acquainted with paranoia." Tilse replied, watching Delphine from the corner of her eye.
"Lovely," Lydia griped, pinching the bridge of her nose. "So we can assume that whoever left the note won't approach Berin until he's alone."
"Probably," Berin replied with a sigh. "Which means that after a few minutes, Tilse can leave me alone in the room and we'll see what happens."
"This is beyond ridiculous! Why go through all this trouble just to meet you?"
"I don't know. I agree, this is both ridiculous and dangerous, not to mention irritating as all Oblivion, but they have what we need. We have to play their game a little bit longer."
With a wordless groan Lydia pulled the door open and walked in, hands flexing like she wanted to hit something (or someone), leaving Benor to shrug helplessly at Berin before following.
"She's… not very patient, is she?"
"She gets very defensive and very protective," Berin replied. "Apparently people think Dovahkiin means 'glorified errand boy' and she's not very happy about it. I'm upset about it too, but I guess I'm more resigned to it. At the end of the day, we need their help," He paused to enter the room. "Even if it's maddening to have to prove that I am what I am, even if I certainly don't want to be anything."
"It was the same for me back in Morrowind. 'Seek the Ashlander Ashkhans and the Great House Councilors. Four Tribes must name you Nerevarine. Three houses must name you Hortator.' At each Tribe and House, after traveling for weeks just to get there, I had to do some errand to convince some one or other to support me." She shuddered delicately, dropping her pack on the small bed. "Once, I had to kiss a perverted old man to get his vote."
Berin winced in sympathy. "Here's to hoping I don't have to go that far." He joked weakly.
"He calmed down after I threatened to remove some of his fingers if he pinched my backside one more time."
That shocked a laugh out of Berin as he plopped down into a chair. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Tilse stood, nodded to him, and left the room. It only took a few moments before the door reopened and Delphine strode through.
"So. You're the Dragonborn I've heard so much about."