(Just a quick mention, the last sentence in the previous chapter DID NOT happen, so you just aren't confused when Karliah is all of a sudden alive and well.)
Chapter Eleven
The Court of Queen Aranel
Eorlund was in good humour. His last and final apprentice was almost trained in crafting the ancient armour and soon, the Nord would return home. In truth, he never missed his wife so much. He had not received word from her (not that he could) and he knew she would be worried sick.
The apprentice, Malabrar, was almost finishd crafting the helmet, just tempering it for a better fit. The young Elf was a fast learner and clearly was the better blacksmith out of the three. He gazed up at Eorlund, his bright, blue eyes gleaming with pride, and he showed him the final peice of the armour. Eorlund took it into his hands, examining the frame.
He smiled. "Well done, Malabrar. You can now forge your ancestors' armour and weapons." He spoke in perfect Falmer, pronouncing the vocabulary without faulty.
"Thank you, master Eorlund. You are a wise and excellent teacher. It was an honour-"
He was cut off when an Elf burst into the smithy. It was the same messanger who delivered the news of assassins to Aranel two days ago. She was breathing heavily and her legs trembled beneath her. Eorlund handed a cup of water to her and she gulpped it down in one go.
"Thank you, milord. I bring a message from her Lady Aranel," she said, still trying to cath her breath. "Katyr has caught the assassins and they are to be trialed in the throne room. Her Lady wishes you to be there with her."
He was already out the door. Taking the caverns, he reached the room in no time. Aranel greeted from atop her dais. She was donned in a spectacular white dress, decorated in sapphires around the end of the long sleeves and bodice, and she wore black gown over it, with a delicately crafted, silver belt. Her ceremonial sword hung at her waist and her crown sat on her head.
"Eorlund, come and sit beside me," she said. The blacksmith sheepishly climbed the steep steps and took the cushioned stool next to her throne. The lords and ladies of the Mountain crowded the hall, chattering like the annoying birds that sang at the break of dawn and one when oneself was sound asleep.
Aranel raised her hand and silence was hushed. She welcomed everyone, her voice clear and loud. "My lords and ladies, I have recieved word two days ago that assassins from the south have come to exterminate all of us." They took up chatting but quieted as she raised her hand again. "I sent out Grandmaster Katyr to find these Tamrielans and bring them to me, and I have to say, he succeeded." She nodded and the great doors opened.
Everyone gasped as Arí and his embassy walked inside. Their hands and feet were chained together, and they were stricted of their weapons. They were dragged until they reached the center of the hall, and were released from their steel bindings.
"Tell me now, who is your leader?" Aranel asked, sitting down into her throne. A small woman stepped forward. She was a Breton, with silvery hair that once was blonde. She folded her arms and glared up at the queen.
"I am. My name is Delphine, Blade and dragonslayer."
Another murmur.
"My Lady!" called a voice behind the embassy. The Elf pushed his way through the court, stopping and bowing at the bottom of the dais.
"Lord Faeron, you honour us with your presence."
"Milady, I speak true when I say this Tamrielan is not their leader. That man..." he pointed at the Nord with shoulder-length, brown hair and blue eyes, "...is. I first met him in Whiterun as I...delivered the offer to your guest, Eorlund Gray-Mane."
The Nord stood forward. "Aye, it is true. I am Arí, the leader of this party. And your Lord Faeron here, kidnapped Eorlund and almost killed me and my son."
The Elves gasped and Aranel's eyes flared. "Faeron! You dare harm a child! Our laws still abide in Tamriel-"
"My Lady, I did not touch the boy."
"You unnerved him! He hasn't slept since you threatened to scorch his skin away-!"
"ENOUGH!" the queen yelled. The man and Elf cesed to bicker at each other. "Fate will decide...who speaks the truth." With a wave of her hand, their weapons were returned to the Tamrielans and knights marched into the hall.
"Bad idea, Elf," Vilkas warned as several Elven knights walked into a circle around the embassy, sneering at them. They were cladded in ancient Falmer armour; armour Arí was very familar with.
Vilkas's first blow crashed against a quickly raised shield, shattering the arm of one Elf and hurling him into a clattering heap ten feet away. Arí parried a sword stroke from a burly elf with his dagger and battered at the man's raised shield with his own sword. Nazir toyed expertly with an Elf in a green cloak, easily avoiding his opponent's awkward strokes and flicking the point of his scimitar at the Elf's visored face.
The steely ring of sword on sword echoed through Aranel's throne room, and showers of sparks cascaded from the clash of edge against edge. With huge blows, Vilkas smashed at a second Elf. A vast sweep of his two-handed sword went under the knight's shield, and the Elf shrieked as the great blade bit through his armour and into his side. Then he fell with blood spouting from the sheared-in gash that reached halfway through his body.
Arí, with a deft backswing of his sword, carved in the side of the burly knight's helmet, and the Elf half-spun and fell to the floor.
Nazir feinted a quick move, then drove his scimitar through a slot in the green-cloaked knight's visor. The striken knight stiffened as the blade ran into his brain.
Karliah dropped her bow and drew her long dagger from under her cloak, running directly at an Elf with a shaggy white beard. At the last moment, she dived forward, rolled and struck the bearded Elf full in the chest with both feet. Without pausing she came up and ripped her dagger into her enemy's belly. The knife made a wet, tearing sound as it sliced upward, and the striken Elf clutched his stomach with a scream, trying to hold in the blue-coloured loops and coils of his entrails.
Tiawyn summoned a storm artonach, circling the battle with her nimble feet. Watching Vilkas smash an Elf's head in, she fired some lightning at the enemy's reinforcements. They screamed as the electricity travelled between them, their skin and hair burning and leaving an awful stench. Her artonach attacked a second group of Elven knights, blowing them away with its rocky punches and mighty magic that pulsed between them like the last group.
As the mêleé surged across the icey floor, every Elf looked at the work of their elite strength. Arí's chest rose and fell quickly as he approached the queen, dragging his sword on the floor behind him. At the bottom of the steps he stopped and raised his blade, pointing it at her. "Who are you to order an attack on a peaceful embassy, here to make a friendship and hopefully an alliance with your people?"
Eorlund's jaw clenched, not even he dared to speak to the queen as such.
The Snow Elf laughed, her voice echoing around the hall. "I, Nord, am the great-granddaughter of the Snow Prince, last Elven king of Skyrim. my spies tell me you are here to assassinate me and eliminate the remainder of my kind."
He scoffed. "Assassinate? If I was here to kill you, I wouldn't have brought along the Dunmer, the Bosmer or my fellow Companion. I have connections with the Dark Brotherhood," he cocked his head to Nazir.
Aranel gestured him to approach her. He sheathed his sword and dagger, climbing the steps. "You are telling no lies? I was misinformed and was on the path to killing you, innocent Tamrielans."
"My Lady, I swear to you, he lies! He tried to kill me when he...used some unknown magic against me and blasted me out of the window in the College of Winterhold!" Faeron exclaimed.
Tiawyn ran forward. "You took over my college! You murdered two innocent novices, you destroyed all our research and threatened to kill us all! Queen Aranel, please hear my words!"
He kicked her to the floor. "My queen, would you believe these strangers over me, your loyal servant and friend-"
"My lord Faeron! There are two sides of this story and I am beginning to doubt your's." She turned to the Wood Elf. "And your name is?"
"Tiawyn, my Lady, Arch-Mage of the College."
"What are you doing here?"
The question caught her off guard. "I promised Arí to help communicate with you, but honestly, your Snow Elf magic has been lost for thousands of years. I wish to return home with enough knowledge to share it with my colleagues...if you would show me, of course...my Lady."
"What will my kind get in return?"
"Safe haven in my College."
The queen smiled. "Very well. Your request is granted." She turned to Arí. "And your...magic that 'blasted Faeron out of the College'. Demonstrate it."
He smiled back at his embassy. He straightened and looked up to the high ceiling, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath, and... "YOL TOOR SHUL!" He breathed out a blaze of fire. Every Snow Elf shrieked at the terrifying strength of his Thu'um.
"Amazing," Eorlund whispered. "That, my Lady, is the power of Dovahkiin - Dragonborn, a mortal with the soul of a dragon."
The whole Sea of Ghosts was frozen over.
Hadvar stared in astonishment over the great plain of ice that stretched as far as the eye could see.
"What could have caused this?" he asked Gelebor. The Elf breathed in the cold air, answering, "The influence of the Snow Elves." He led the way, Lydia and Hadvar followed closely behind. They walked for four days, huddling together in the one tent and eating rations that were cut down daily. Lydia's hair froze whenever it whipped in the wind and the sweat on Hadvar's skin turned to ice as he carried their equipment.
The toll was taken on the Nords the most, and the climate or the rations never affected Gelebor. The cold seemed to give him more strength and he prayed to Auri-El whenever he could. The further they travelled north, the longer the night became until the morning never arrived. It was difficult to see in the darkness as the wind blew out any fire or torches they lit.
"I shouldn't have left Whiterun," Hadvar said often to himself, cursing and swearing to every Divine and Daedric Prince. He had not seen land in four days. There was nothing there, just ice and snow on the flat plain. He didn't understand why the Snow Elf took this route instead of tracking across Atmora. The ruins and caves there would provide shelter from the bitter cold and wind.
Things only got worse for them.
On the fourth day, as they sat close to each other in the small tent, Gelebor revealed they were down to half a peice of horker meat. They looked blankly at it for twenty minutes until Lydia spoke up.
"How far away are we from the Snow Elves?"
"Another seven hours," he replied. Hadvar licked his lips, eyeing the food.
"Seven... We'll eat this peice in six hours after we sleep and we will get there as quickly as we can. If we get hungry on the way, eat some ice. Got it?" she said. The men nodded as they had no other plan.
Five hours later, they aroused and each ate a third of the meat. Unsatisfied, they packed away the tent and half-ran, half-dragged themselves the last stretch of the journey. Hadvar constantly sucked on a large icicle. He hadn't been this hungry since joining the Legion.
"There!" Lydia exclaimed when she first spotted the Ice Mountain. Gelebor gazed thoughtfully at the island and Hadvar sighed in relief. 'Food!' he screamed to himself. He noticed the wind ceased but the cold air lingered. He walked forward, imagining the smell of roast beef and grilled leeks. Oh, he was so famished, he longed for grilled leeks.
"Wait!" Gelebor yelled, pulling him back. "The ice, it is thin here." The Nord became aware of the groaning in the surface under them. The Elf flopped down onto his belly and crawled until he was sure the ice was safe again. He waved at Hadvar to come.
He did the same, squirming on his front and reaching Gelebor in a few mintutes, then they both beckoned to Lydia.
Things got even worse.
Out of the three of them, she was the lightest. They all assumed she would be quicker and safer as she crossed dangerous ground. The groaning grew louder as she hovered over the thinnest part.
"Careful, Lydia!" Hadvar shouted. She glimpsed up at him, a smirk on her mouth. There was another groan and then a scream as the ice cracked and she plummeted into the water.
Hadvar sprinted forward, falling onto his stomach at the edge of the ice. Lydia clung onto a large block and reached for him. Already, her skin was deathly pale and her lips turned blue.
"Hadvar," she managed to say as her teeth chattered. They both made grabs at one anothers' hand but their fingers only brushed off each other. The block slipped from her grasp and she barely kept her head above the water.
"Hadvar, help me!" she said before disappearing from his sight.
"LYDIA!"
He dived into the water and swam to the sinking Nord. In the complete dark, he caught hold of her and brought her to the surface, except he smacked his head against the ice. Hadvar panicked.
He thrusted his fists on the cold surface, screaming underwater. He pulled Lydia to and fro, searching for the break in the ice. They were trapped to die here together. Hadvar held her closer to him, thinking of the future they could have had together.
At the brink of his death, Hadvar realised...he loved her. He loved her ever since he met her on that rainy day in Whiterun when she joined in the forces to protect the city from the Stormcloaks. He loved when she chewed on her hair when she was nervous. He loved her smile, her laugh and the lavender that she always smelled of. If he was to marry anyone, it would be her. It would've her, the Dragonborn's housecarl.
A beam of light shone through the ice and someone jumped into the water, surrounded by thousands of bubbles. They hauled Hadvar and Lydia out and onto the solid surface. He gasped for air and shook uncontrollable. A thick, fur blanket was dropped onto his shoulders and he curled into its warmth...
'Lydia!'
She lay beside him, her green eyes wide open and lifeless. He cupped her face in his hands and pressed his forehead against her's.
"Until we meet again, my love," he whispered, and kissed her as she entered Sovengard.
Suddenly, several pairs of hands reached down and raised her from the ground. In his confused state, Hadvar let out a barbarian shout and scrawled at the pale arms. He leaned over her body, like a sabre cat would do to protect its prey, and cursed at them to stay back. Then, he saw two small pair of fur boots stroll forward and stopped inches away from him. He gazed up and looked upon the face of a Snow Elf woman. She had a brave, strong stance, her hair was cut to her shoulders and her eyes were so white, it seemed that there was only the whites and pupils in them, and no irises.
He stared into her two, mystic orbs and in a quick move, she struck him with the hilt of her blade and knocked himunconscious. The Snow Elf turned to Gelebor, saying with a stern voice, "Welcome home...brother."
...Yeah. I had the middle section written a few weeks ago (my English teacher contributed) and the other two parts just flowed out. I know, I wrote this pretty quick but there's also times when a writer can't stop writing!
And they finally arrived at the Ice Mountain. Yay! So, anyone suspect a bad guy by now?
Lydia! Poor Lydia, a dagger peirced my heart when I wrote this, and Hadvar! Poor guy.
Any thoughts? Why not review, whether you have an account or not!
Please excuse any grammer or spelling mistakes that slipped past me (and my dad who was kind enough to stop and proof read this).
Onto Chapter 12!
Mise le meas
-Aeon
(By the way, I updated the last chapter)