Two chapters in a single month… this must almost be a record for me, eh? Well, barely in a single month, but whatever. It's still 9000 more words for you people to enjoy!
So Chapter 35 got 17 reviews, which is great! Once again, I'd like to thank all those of you who reviewed.
And lastly, some big news: Template of a Hero has reached another milestone. Chapter 35 has gotten this fanfic past 100,000 views, which is awesome! Another big thanks to all my readers!
Well, enough of the Author's Notes. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
As a guard, Lydia had only ever been deployed within Whiterun Hold. She was unfamiliar with the world that lay beyond the borders of the Hold she called home, even neighboring ones. That had changed since she became Housecarl, where she'd afterwards found herself traveling across the entirety of Skyrim, to say nothing of her most recent foray into distant lands with her friends.
By now, she was used to extensive travel, but her group's sojourn into Morrowind, while not outright unpleasant, hadn't exactly been comfortable for the Nord — the feeling of rivulets of sweat running down her bare back and her clothes sticking to her clammy skin had become common ever since she'd stepped foot into the province, and she grew to hate them. Perhaps that was why she'd been so reluctant to agree when Archer and the others had decided to take the western road out of Shroudgrove towards the Valus Mountains, and swing into Cyrodiil before heading back north into Skyrim from the south. They felt that it would be better not to have to trek through the barren ashlands again, and that any more assassins sent after them would not find them as easily if they took this route.
Despite her reluctance, she'd just gone with the plan; after all, she certainly hadn't had a better one in mind. A couple of days after they set off from the town, however, after having finally crossed the Valus Mountains into the neighboring province, Lydia found herself thinking how silly it had been of her to worry at all.
She sat in a patch of grass with her back against a maple tree, chewing on some beef jerky as a snack. Her armored shoulder leaned against Archer's as he read from the anatomy book he'd gotten from Shroudgrove's local healer — which he assured her he'd left a small pouch of coins for before leaving. They had stopped for rest in a small clearing on the foothills of the Valus Mountains, beside a small downhill stream from which their horses now drank, where the air smelt clean and fresh, the wind playing with her hair felt cool against her face, and the earth was rich and brown like Whiterun's during the spring. This beautiful land is Archer's home, she found herself remembering. How difficult must it have been for him to leave it in search of a life of adventure?
"Okay, Archer," Lydia remarked suddenly, "how do you say… Good day, how are you, in Nordic?"
The Argonian looked up from studying a diagram of the muscle groups and tendons in the legs. His brows drew together in careful thought as he tried remembering what she'd taught him so far, during their occasional language lessons together. "Hmm… Godan daginn… Hversu ferr?"
"Now say, Good, thanks."
Another pause. "Allt gott, thakka."
"Still got a bit of an accent there, and you could probably work on your rhythm of speech; when you speak, it should sound almost like the beating of a drum. Other than that, your Nordic is… passable, for a beginner."
"Good to know," the Argonian replied, smiling. "Though I do recall saying I wanted to be able to say naughty things in public without anyone knowing. Any chance of that happening?" he asked with a scandalous look.
Lydia gave him a short laugh in response. "Alright, then… Let's try this," she responded after a moment of thought. "Repeat after me: Hjartad mitt…"
"Hjartad mitt…"
"Ek elska thik."
Archer furrowed his brows, and slowly repeated, "Ek… elska thik."
The Argonian said it softly to himself once, and then again, louder. "Hjartad mitt, ek elska thik… So what does that mean?" he finally asked, turning to her.
With a wide smile, Lydia replied, "My heart, I love you."
Archer looked at her in surprise, before giving her an amused look. "That's not exactly naughty, is it?"
"No. But I figured you should learn to say that before anything naughty. Besides… liked hearing you say it."
The Argonian laughed softly at that. "Good enough reason for me to say it more often, then."
He then studied her silently for several seconds, his golden eyes roaming over her. For a moment, she thought he was going to speak again. He surprised her by instead leaning over to slowly rub his cheek against hers. Lydia couldn't help but close her eyes at the feeling and lean into his touch, sighing with content. It wasn't a kiss, but she enjoyed this closeness nonetheless, despite the armor they wore. She certainly also enjoyed seeing Archer relaxed and affectionate like this, instead of worried and gloomy, like on that night they'd rescued Esbern.
…Of course, she couldn't help but also think of what his affection might later turn into, once they were alone in their room. They hadn't really had much of a chance to spend quality time together ever since they'd rescued Esbern.
When Archer pulled away, he shut his book and began to rise, saying, "I think we've rested long enough. Sun should go down in a few hours, so we should get moving if we want to reach the city before nightfall."
Their team followed the steep path down the mountains, leading their horses by foot to give them a rest after their trek through the mountains earlier that day. Wildflowers of all different shades of blue and purple and yellow sprouted up all around in patches and bushels. Conifers and poplars grew along the stony ridgeline to either side of the road and followed them down. They went over some more rugged hills before the road spilled out into a gentle curving decline. The tree cover thinned out, and Lydia looked out into the distance to finally catch her first sight of the city their team would stay the night at: Cheydinhal.
Gray curtain walls rose thirty feet into the air, with arrow slits in the center of each merlon on the ramparts. Tall, dour-looking bastions stood at regular intervals on the walls like brooding stone sentinels. Just behind the city walls loomed a massive, white, stone building with stained glass windows and towering spires that seemed to reach for the heavens — the Great Chapel of Arkay. It was no Dragonsreach, and it was certainly no Temple of the Divines like in Solitude, but she had to admit that it looked stunning and regal in its own right.
After stabling their horses, they approached the city entrance, where they were greeted with the sight of a complex knot of thorns painted upon the oaken gates in green and brown, the sigil of County Cheydinhal. Once they were inside, Archer pulled ahead of their group and beckoned them to follow, before setting off deeper into the city.
The Argonian began to lead them, taking the white cobblestone streets southwest and crossing a small wooden bridge over the river that bisected the city from north to south. Lydia could only look around in wonder at the strange yet beautiful city. Tall white buildings with plaster and wood walls rose all around them. Weeping willows grew along the water's edge, and the river surface reflected the light of the late afternoon sky, glimmering with innumerable shades of orange and pink. All around them, plate-armored watchmen with torches at the ends of poles moved from lamppost to lamppost, setting them alight for the coming night.
"So where are we headed?" Erik asked aloud, looking around at the strange city, almost uneasily. "We should find an inn soon, or else all the rooms might be taken. I don't fancy sleeping on the streets."
"Don't you worry about that," Archer assured him. "I've already got a destination in mind. It's just up ahead now, in fact."
He stopped them by a white, medium-sized building built atop a stone foundation mottled brown with moss. Its windows had decorative paneling and framework, and the roof was tiled brown and sharply sloped. A round wooden sign with the image of a green, sleeping wyrm painted on it hung from the wall beside the entrance. It read, The Dragon's Slumber.
Lydia looked back at Archer, who remained standing on the street, staring up at the building without showing any intent to budge. Confused, she walked up beside him, and the others followed, coming to stand close behind the Argonian. He seemed to have been locked into a trance, his gaze distant and absent.
"What's the matter, Archer? Do you know this place?" Lydia finally asked him.
He finally seemed to break free of his trance. Archer blinked once and looked back at her, before a thin smile crept onto his lips. It seemed to her like a smile of exhausted disbelief; as if he'd never thought he would find himself standing here now. "I would hope so… this is my home."
Her brows rose in surprise, and she looked back at the inn. "Your home?"
Archer nodded, and looked back at the building. He seemed to steel himself for another moment, before shaking himself and briskly making his way over and pushing through the door, with the others following.
It seemed like a quaint inn; Lydia would put it somewhere between The Bannered Mare and the Sleeping Giant in terms of size. Candles hanging from the walls on sconces and from the ceiling on chandeliers helped bring light into the common room. A few decorative weapons and shields painted with the heraldry of County Cheydinhal hung from the walls. Round wooden tables were dispersed throughout the space, occupied by a few dining patrons, as well as a longer, rectangular table that stood to one side, unoccupied.
Archer purposefully set off towards the bar that sat against the far wall, behind which Lydia could see a couple of large wooden casks and a stone fireplace. A Breton man stood behind it, pouring beer into several tan steins held on a tray by a Nord waitress, and lying down beside the bar was a huge mastiff with a brindled coat, its head resting against its paws.
The hound's massive head rose suddenly when it sensed their approach. Its ears perked up, and its tail began to wag wildly. Barking once in alert, the dog rose and took off towards them, making a beeline directly for Archer, at the head of their group.
Lydia reached for her sword's hilt out of unthinking, protective reflex. Instead of even adopting a defensive stance, however, Archer just sunk to a knee, right before the beast collided with him.
Not a second later, the dog was all over the Argonian, jumping onto him, pawing him, licking his face and wagging its tail with such force that it shook its whole body. Archer just laughed and pulled his head away from the slobbering tongue, roughly petting and scratching the immense dog with both hands.
"Calm down, boy, calm down! It's all right! I missed you too," the Argonian chuckled, scratching the mastiff's huge head. The dog just stared back with friendly hazel eyes, panting happily, before trying to lick his face again.
"Havoc! Down, boy!"
Lydia looked to see the waitress approaching in a huff. The woman came in and grabbed Havoc's collar, pulling him off of the Argonian. She began to apologize profusely as she struggled to contain the excited dog that must've weighed as much as she did. "I'm sorry sir, Havoc usually never does that to strangers, he's normally so lazy and quiet…"
When the woman lifted her head to finally look at Archer, she trailed off abruptly. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened, but nothing came out. A small, fond smile crept onto Archer's face. "Hello, mother," he said softly.
Now it was Lydia's turn to stare in shock. This is Archer's mother?
The woman looked around forty years of age, but she seemed far from old, despite the faint lines on her brow and at the corners of her eyes. Auburn hair the color of autumn leaves spilled over her shoulders, and she had fair skin that was typical of Nords.
At last, she finally seemed to regain her wits. The next moment, the woman caught Archer in a crushing embrace, which he reciprocated. For several long seconds, no words were exchanged as mother and son embraced; only the sound of the woman's tremulous breaths and Havoc's attention-seeking whimpers could be heard.
In a voice just above a whisper, the woman spoke. "I've missed you, Archer."
The Argonian nodded back, and responded in a cracking voice. "I've missed you, too, mother."
"Ylva? What's going on over there?" asked the bartender, looking thoroughly confused as he set down the mug he'd been polishing.
The woman pulled away from her son's embrace so she could look over at the man with a bright smile. "Antoine! Come and greet your son!"
That must be Archer's father. Short of stature and fair of skin, with soft, round features, the man looked like a typical Breton. His raven black hair, done into a ponytail, was streaked with gray due to his middle age, as was as his long, kempt moustache, but he didn't look as old as he must've been. Lydia had once heard that magic users either lived longer or aged slower than normal people — she supposed that might've been the reason for it.
Watching the Breton's face, Lydia managed to see the exact moment when the penny dropped. His eyebrows shot upwards, and his eyes flew wide open in surprise. "Archer?"
He didn't even wait for the Argonian's nod before he was already hurrying over. The man came just out of arm's reach and stopped, stared up at Archer in wonder, and then darted forth to join Ylva and capture him in a tight hug. Being taller than either of his parents, Archer's smile, bright and wide, was visible to all. Much less so were the tiny glimmers of tears in his eyes.
"Gods above, Archer… It's good to see you again," sighed the Breton. He pulled back to look up at the Argonian, before he suddenly seemed to realize the seven other people behind him. "Who are these people?"
"What, are you saying you've already forgotten me, Mr. Durand?" Balamus asked, stepping forth. "I'd have thought I left a better impression on you than that."
Archer's parents both smiled at him. The mother, Ylva, replied, "Balamus! I didn't notice you there. It's good to see you again!"
"Good to see you, too, ma'am," the elf responded, nodding his head once with a smile. "You as well, sir."
When Havoc noticed the elf, his tail began wagging again, and he immediately bounded over to greet him next, rising onto his hind paws to lick the mer's face. While Balamus sputtered and began trying to simultaneously greet and push the slobbering dog away, Antoine spoke to his son again. "Archer… what are you doing back here? Why are you traveling with all these people? And… where on Nirn did you get this armor?" he asked, rapping his knuckles lightly against the Argonian's breastplate. Even when damaged from its treatment in Morrowind, the malachite still looked beautiful and strong.
"Gods, is that malachite?" Ylva breathed, staring at Archer's armor with awe. "It must've cost you a fortune! Why are you wearing malachite armor?"
"I'll be happy to answer all your questions," Archer responded, "but right now, I need to know if the inn has enough rooms for my party and I to stay the night. Don't worry, we're perfectly capable of paying for it all."
"You're only staying the night?" Ylva asked sadly. "But you just got here!"
Archer sighed and nodded. "I know. I'd gladly stay for a bit longer if I could, but we have to return to Skyrim with all haste."
"Skyrim? Ah, yes, Huleed told us about your travels some time ago," Antoine replied, nodding. "Oh, if only he were here now to greet you… but he's off in the Imperial City engaged in private business."
"He also told us you became Thane of a Hold," Ylva put in. "How on Nirn did you manage to do that?"
"I told you, I'll explain everything later. Now, do you have enough rooms in the inn for us all?"
"We should have enough rooms for your people," Antoine replied, eyeing the others. "So who are they, anyhow?"
"Them? They're my traveling companions," the Argonian replied, looking back over his shoulder at them. Solona and Erik were both giving a belly rub to a happy, panting Havoc, while Iskar, Esbern, Jordis, and Balamus watched them, the latter still wiping excess slobber off his face. "These people are my closest friends, and my comrades in arms. But one of them in particular I'd like you to meet first."
It took Lydia a moment to realize that Archer was now looking at her. The Argonian gave her a nervous smile before beckoning her over. Lydia purposefully strode over beside him, projecting an air of confidence. Archer turned back to his parents and put his hand against Lydia's back. "Mother, Father, I'd like to introduce you to Lydia."
She bowed her head courteously. "It's good to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Durand."
"Lydia here is my Housecarl from when I was appointed Thane," Archer explained, patting her back once. "But lately, she's become more than a simple bodyguard. She's one of my best friends, my closest confidant…"
She felt him slip his arm around her waist to pull her closer to him. "And my love," he finished, in a whisper loud enough only for them to hear.
Just like that, both of their attention was on her, staring at her with wide, shocked eyes. Here we go, Lydia thought wearily.
"She's your… love?" Antoine asked in a whisper, looking up at his son again, almost as if in shock or disbelief.
Archer nodded with an almost sheepish smile, pulling her just a bit closer. "She is. We are a couple."
An uncomfortable pause stretched out between them, where Antoine and Ylva's gazes bounced uncertainly between the Argonian and Nord. At last, the Breton cleared his throat. "Well, I'm sure you'll explain everything to us in good time, son. But now, you must be famished. How about you all get seated, and we'll prepare you some dinner, hm?"
Some time later, their entire team of eight was seated at the long table eating roast pork and potatoes with sweet, pale, Nibenay Lager. Lydia found herself sitting closer to the others, while Archer sat at the other end of the table conversing with his parents, occasionally reaching down to scratch Havoc behind the ears as he lay by his chair. As he ate, the Argonian retold the tale of his Dragonborn journey to his parents, while leaving out the parts that they certainly would have been horrified to hear.
His parents were shocked to learn that their son was the Dragonborn, especially Ylva. She'd nearly cried, but whether it was out of pride that her son was a legendary hero, or out of fear for her son's safety, Lydia couldn't tell; perhaps it had been both. Antoine clearly didn't know as much about the Nordic legends, but from the look in his eyes even he recognized the gravity of his son's true nature; both the power and the dangerous responsibilities that came with it.
"Why aren't you sitting over there with Archer?" Jordis asked quietly, sitting next to her, seeing her looking over at where the Argonian was sitting with his parents. "I think that his parents would appreciate knowing more about the woman who was…"
"Bedding their son?" Lydia supplied.
"In a romantic relationship with their son," Jordis corrected. "The last thing you'd want them to think is that you're only with Archer due to your libido."
"You're right. I know," Lydia replied with a sigh, nodding. "I'm just a bit nervous. When Archer introduced me to them as his love… you should have seen the looks in their eyes. They're suspicious of me."
"I'm sure they're just being protective of their son," the other woman replied, swirling around the dregs of her lager before downing the remaining contents of her stein in one gulp. "You're a stranger to them; they have no idea of all the things you two have gone through, and how close you truly are. If you show them that you're a good person worthy of their son's love, then they shouldn't give you trouble."
"You think so?"
"I do. Just be yourself, and let them see who you truly are. I'm sure they won't be disappointed."
A small smile crept onto Lydia's face. "Thank you, Jordis. Your words bring me comfort."
She then heard Archer speak up. "If you're all finished eating, my father and I will be showing you to your rooms for the night."
The team began to rise from the table to follow, but before Lydia could get up, Archer told her, "Hold for a moment, Lydia. My mother wishes to speak with you."
Lydia cocked an eyebrow at him. "She does? What does she want?"
"Honestly? She probably wants to interrogate you," he admitted lowly. "And I mean that in the nicest sense of the word, but…"
The woman shook her head and gave him a confident smile. "Oh, relax, Archer. I held out against Thalmor interrogators. I doubt your mother could do worse."
He offered her a short, humorless chuckle. "She's always been protective of me, but on the inside she's really a softhearted person. Try and keep that in mind, okay?"
Archer leaned forward to plant a kiss on her brow. "Good luck," he whispered, before turning to follow his friends up to the second floor of the building.
Lydia watched him go, before turning back to see Ylva seated at the table alone, her hands unassumingly laid over each other. The Housecarl steeled herself before walking over and sitting herself across from the woman. Both Nords studied each other in silence, waiting to see if the other to speak.
"Lydia, correct?" Ylva asked, breaking the silence. She waited for her nod before continuing. "So you're the woman who my son has taken a liking to. Quite a bit so, if that little display of affection back there is anything to go by."
She nodded again. "The feeling is very much mutual, I assure you."
"Is it, now?" the other woman responded. "You'll forgive me for assuming, but most people wouldn't even share a bottle of wine with an Argonian, much less… love one."
"Well, I'm not like most people. I assure you, madam, my feelings for Archer are genuine. I care for him with all my heart."
Ylva folded her arms across her chest. "It's going to take more than that to convince me. I don't want my son with someone who will break his heart and leave him if some strapping young human lad comes by and catches her fancy next."
Lydia had to resist the urge to scowl at that, and forced herself to hold her tongue. Taking advantage of her silence, Ylva leaned in closer. "So tell me: if you are so close to him as you claim, then what is it about my son that has drawn you to him? Why have you chosen him instead of a Nord, for instance? You're a comely woman, surely there were some Nords back in Skyrim whose eyes you'd caught."
Lydia stared at the older woman for a few hard seconds, emerald green and deep brown gazes locked. At length, her gaze turned downcast. She sat there in silence for several long seconds, organizing her thoughts as she stared into the tabletop.
"Archer and I… did not begin our partnership as Housecarl and Thane very well," the woman began, her tone apologetic. "I'd been too quick to judge him, just for being an Argonian. I assumed he was a man worthy of scorn because I didn't know better. There were no kind words in me for Archer."
Ylva's look slowly hardened into a glare, and Lydia acted quickly to disarm it. "But things changed after that first week, very quickly. We spoke with each other. Settled our differences. I finally decided to set aside some of my prejudice to give him a chance — and to this day, I don't think I've ever made a more life-changing decision."
Lydia offered the woman a smile. "Months passed, and I began to truly see who Archer was. Not some dispassionate beast or cruel monster. He was a person — and an incredible one, at that. He always helps others, even if it inconveniences him… And he was always willing to see the good in me, in spite of my all my faults... even when it would have been so much easier to scorn me. I still sometimes wonder what he saw in me all that time, what it was that made him give me a chance."
She shook her head again, feeling the urge to laugh to herself, suddenly realizing just how much meeting Archer had changed her. Her words, once coming out haltingly and abruptly, now flowed as freely as her stream of consciousness.
"Archer has helped me learn and realize so much, given me insight I don't think I'd ever have found on my own; about the world, and about people. And in the process, he's made me feel better about myself, too. I still have my faults, and I know he knows that, too… but when I'm with him, they don't seem to matter so much — and I swear, sometimes I feel like he thinks he can see the stars in my eyes… as if in his mind, I were some sort of hero. His hero."
Now, she did laugh softly to herself. "Those are some big expectations to live up to, come to think of it… But being with Archer always makes me strive to meet them, both for his sake, and mine."
"So in short, to answer your question… I don't think there's any one thing that has drawn me to your son. I haven't fallen in love with Archer's qualities, or his actions… I've fallen in love with Archer."
Her gaze had drifted onto the tabletop. When she raised it again, she could see Ylva still studying her intently. The woman spoke again. "I've always been good at telling when someone was lying to me, you know…"
She sighed, and for the first time since they'd been introduced, Lydia saw her smile. "But I can tell that you meant every word of what you've told me."
Lydia nodded. "I did."
Another pause stretched out between them, this one much less tense than the last. Again, Ylva interrupted the silence first. "You do realize how much you've put at stake for falling in love with an Argonian, do you?"
"I have a feeling about it," Lydia replied somberly. "I know my honor is on the line, and perhaps even my place in Sovngarde. But I will not leave his side, come Oblivion or high water."
Ylva nodded approvingly. "Then I am satisfied. My son has clearly chosen someone who cares for him as much as he cares for her. I can see why he speaks so highly of you."
"He spoke about me?"
"Oh yes. He told us all manner of things about you. Nothing personal, of course, but he kept telling us how incredible you were, about your compassion and kindness… I don't have a doubt in my mind that he's absolutely smitten with you."
Ylva's smile grew wistful. "In fact, it reminds me about how I felt, when I met Antoine."
They heard footsteps, and both women looked to see Archer approaching with Antoine at his side. "Are you two finished speaking?" the Argonian asked, eyeing them.
"We are," Ylva replied, nodding once.
"Good. Do you need help cleaning up down here?"
"We can handle it," Antoine replied dismissively, waving him off. "You can go and turn in for the night."
"Alright, then. Good night, both of you."
Lydia joined Archer up the stairs, and began following him down the hall. "So, how did things go between you and my mother?" the Argonian asked.
"She seems to have taken well to me."
"Good to hear. In that case, it seems like we were both successful, then; my father had the same conversation with me after everyone else had turned in for the night. Though to be honest, I don't think there was really ever any doubt about you."
"I guess not," Lydia replied with a relieved, proud smile. Somehow, it felt as if she had passed some important test.
"Here we are," Archer said once they reached the room at the end of the hall, digging around in his pocket for something. He finally pulled out a key, which he fitted into the lock and opened the door. Instead of the typical room setup she'd been expecting, Lydia found before her what looked more like a room where someone had chosen to actually live in, once. She saw a bookcase, a table and chair, a closet, a chest, and a decent-sized bed next to a sole window, as well as a number of miscellaneous items all around.
"Somehow, I doubt this is an ordinary room," Lydia commented, stepping into the chamber.
"And you'd be right; this is my old room, where I used to live before I left home," Archer replied, closing the door behind them.
Lydia looked around. "Well, it's certainly got a cozy feeling. Not very big, though, is it?"
"No. This used to be an ordinary inn room for rent, before my parents added everything that made it my room," Archer answered, before going over and beginning the long process of removing his malachite armor, placing each piece on a tabletop nearby. "Bed should be big enough to fit two, so no need to worry about being cramped up."
Lydia went ahead and began doing the same as him, and managed to remove all her armor long before Archer did — his malachite armor had more parts and was more complex than hers. While he continued removing his armor, she began a circuit about the room, passing her hand along the aged wood of the furniture, looking out the window that Archer must've looked out from countless mornings and nights. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something leaning against the wall beside the bed. It looked to be a small, unstrung bow, made of old, rough-hewn wood, with very unprofessional craftsmanship. "What's that over there, Archer?"
"Oh, that. That's the bow that I had with me, when my father found me in the Blackwood swamps," the Argonian replied as he removed the last of his armor, his boots, and sat on the edge of his bed. "Shortly after my parents had married, my would-be grandfather on my mother's side passed away and left her with this inn. My father was still a merchant at the time, but he decided to finish on one final business trip in Lewayiin. It was by sheer luck that he found me, while traveling in the swamps. According to him, I had nothing with me save for a ragged breechcloth and that bow. He reckons I must've made it myself. In fact, he says that that bow is the reason they gave me my name."
Archer paused in thought. "My mother is infertile, but she'd wanted a child, and my father was always softhearted, so he decided to take me in. Once finished with his business he took me back here to Cheydinhal, where my mother awaited with her newly-inherited inn… and that's how I was adopted."
Lydia looked down at the old piece of wood in her hands. It was hard to imagine Archer as a child, traveling alone in some murky woods with this rickety bow in his hands, shivering and scared. She gently set it back down and turned back to the Argonian, who had lain back onto his bed. She decided to go and sit down beside him. "I wish we could stay here longer, so I could get to know your parents better. They seem like kind people."
"So would I," Archer sighed wistfully, looking around at his room. "Perhaps after this whole Alduin business blows over, we can return here so you can properly meet them. We could make it a vacation, if we wanted."
Lydia chuckled mirthfully. "Look at us, already making plans for the future together. It's hard to think that just a few months ago, I used to believe we would be like oil and water…"
Archer shot her an inscrutable look. "But we are like oil and water. Though I'm probably the oil, and you're the water."
Lydia cocked an eyebrow at him. "Really? How so?"
The corner of his lips turned up in a slight smile. "When they are joined, the oil is on top."
It took her a moment before Lydia finally saw the joke. Instead of immediately replying, she allowed her most salacious smile to creep its way onto her face. Time to have a little fun.
"Is that so?" she asked in a low purr. Lydia began slowly stalking towards him on her hands and knees, clambering over him until she came to straddle his hips. He gasped slightly when she let her weight sink down against him, and his hands reflexively went to support her hips. "Seems like somebody needs a firm reminder that he has been the water just as often as the oil, hm?"
Archer's eyes widened. "You really want to… here? Now?"
"Oh, yes. It's been a while since our last time together, and now that we're safe and warm in an inn, I want to take full advantage of it."
Lydia stopped suddenly, remembering their night in Valen's inn at Shroudgrove. "Unless… you don't feel like it, that is."
He seemed to realize what she was thinking about, and he quickly shook his head. "No, that's not it at all. It's just… what if my parents hear us?"
Lydia cocked an eyebrow. "Where is your parents' room?"
Archer thought for a moment. "…At the end of the hall."
She smiled again, and said in her best sultry voice, "Then there shouldn't be anything to worry about. Right?"
Before he could answer to that, she lowered herself onto him to press a kiss against the hollow of his throat, nipping lightly at the silky-smooth scales present. Her hand went around to caress the other side of his neck with slow, languorous movements. A deep, basso rumble emanated from within Archer's chest, and Lydia shivered in response, feeling a hot, tight knot forming in her gut.
At last, she felt his arms encircle her comfortably; one hand remained on her upper back, while the other began a slow descent down the small of her back, caressing her. She sighed and bestowed some more kisses against Archer's throat, nipping gently against his skin as she slowly traveled down to his collarbone. She delighted in the sound of the pleasant, relaxed sighs he made in response. When she pulled away enough to look him in the eye, the steely heat in his gaze was enough to bring another shiver down her spine. Oh, how she had looked forward to this…
But as many things were with Archer, there simply had to be another joke somewhere down the line.
"If the others hear anything, do you think we'll be able to pass it off as wrestling practice?" he asked with a weak smile, his voice husky and strained.
Lydia had lost her patience for words. She grabbed his face and pulled him in for a deep kiss, and what little self-control he'd retained up until that point evaporated instantly. He kissed her back, all pretenses of restraint and composure swiftly abandoned. His fingers wove their way into her hair as it tumbled in a dark curtain around their faces, and she released a long, low moan into his mouth. All that came afterwards was delicious heat and wild, driving passion.
Their company woke up early the next morning to get a head start on their travel after a quick breakfast. When Archer and Lydia came downstairs, however, they found that a few of their team's members didn't seem to want to look them in the eye. Archer's cheeks had burned with embarrassment as he realized that perhaps their quality time together hadn't been so quiet as they'd thought — neither last night, nor this morning. He was only too thankful that his parents didn't seem to have heard them.
When they'd finished their breakfast and gotten all their equipment ready for departure, Archer bid his parents one last goodbye. His mother embraced him as tightly as the first day he'd left her, with tears in her eyes again, but this time she smiled at him with pride as she pulled away. "My boy, all trussed up like a knight in shining armor… you're destined to be a hero, Archer. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Now, go on and make me proud, Dragonborn."
"I'll try, mother," Archer replied, with a soft smile.
Antoine approached next, capturing the Argonian in a hug. When he pulled back, the look in his father's eyes was more despondent than last time; yet somehow, he also had a sort of proud look about him, the look of a man who knew his son would accomplish great things. "Please stay safe, son, as much as you can, anyways. And do remember to write back. We'd like to hear more from you in the future."
"I shall do my best," the Argonian replied, nodding once. He looked between the pair one last time; but this time, it felt less like he was leaving home, and more like entering the next leg of his long journey. That didn't make his last words to them any easier to say. "Goodbye, mother and father. Until next time."
Traveling hard, they took the Blue Road leading west of the city, briefly plunging into the rolling countryside of the Cyrodiil Heartlands before swinging north onto the Silver Road. Frigid winds and snowfall greeted them on the end of their second day as their team approached the Jerall Mountains, bordering south of Skyrim. After just managing to reach Bruma before the city watchmen closed the gates for the night, they replenished their supplies and donned all their winter gear before taking the road north the next morning, entering Skyrim once again through a narrow, frozen pass.
They made a quick stop at Falkreath once they'd arrived. When they reached the city, Archer stopped and turned towards Iskar, rifling through his pack. He finally withdrew two one hundred-coin pouches and handed it to the larger Argonian. "Well, you've escorted us through Morrowind and saw our safe return to Skyrim, so here is your pay. I thank you for your services, Iskar."
"It was no problem," the mercenary replied. He paused unexpectedly, studying Archer for a few moments, holding the coin pouch in his hands. At first, Archer thought he was going to ask for more money. Iskar surprised him by un-shouldering his quiver, grabbing a small handful of arrows, and handing them to him instead. "Here, for you. Consider it a gift."
"A gift? What for?" Archer asked in confusion, accepting the proffered arrows.
"Because I like you. You're a good fighter, and you take command of the situation when the need arises. Besides, I can always make more of these myself." The Argonian tapped a taloned finger against the arrows he'd given Archer. "These arrows are enchanted with Silencing and magicka draining properties. Good for taking out magical creatures or disabling pesky mages. Use them wisely."
Archer looked down at the formidable broad-headed missiles, before nodding appreciatively and slipping them into his quiver. "I shall. Thank you, Iskar."
The Argonian nodded back and turned to leave. He'd only turned around about halfway, however, before he stopped, turned back towards Solona, and pointed a finger at her. "And as for you, Imperial… if we ever cross paths again, we're having another chess match, and I am going to win it next time."
Solona bestowed upon him her most eager, yet cocksure smile. "I look forward to that day, Iskar."
Having entered Skyrim through Falkreath Hold from the south, the company had first been greeted with the sight of scenic, autumnal forests. That changed soon after leaving the town; darkening, overcast skies heralded the arrival of increasingly heavy snowfall after traveling a few miles north of the city of Falkreath, while carefully avoiding the ruins of Helgen. The snowfall increased, and before long Archer felt the familiar bite of winter's iron teeth against his exposed scales. And there are the frigid windstorms I'd missed so very dearly. This is home sweet home, all right.
When Riverwood finally came into view, Archer couldn't help but release a sigh of utter relief. They dismounted by the Sleeping Giant Inn and entered. Delphine was sweeping the floor when she heard them enter and looked up. When she saw Esbern step forward, the Breton gasped and set aside her broom, hurrying over towards them. She stopped before their assembled group, studying the old man for a few seconds, before nodding once, courteously. "Esbern… It's good to see you again, old friend."
"Good to see you as well, Delphine," the old Nord replied, nodding back with a slight, weary smile. "It has been too long."
"So what happened that took you so long to find him?" Delphine asked, turning towards their group.
"Esbern decided to run into Morrowind when he heard Thalmor were after him," Balamus remarked. "Quite the journey, if I do say so myself. While I appreciate being able to revisit my homeland, after being attacked by cliff racers every ten minutes I suppose I've had my fill of Morrowind."
"Turns out that we had a tail, as well," Lydia added grimly. "Khajiit assassin under the employ of the Thalmor. Tried to kill Archer, but she failed, and he killed her instead. We think we've lost track of any other pursuers before coming here, though."
Archer was last to speak. "And we've learned something from Esbern here about this Dragon Crisis… Remember the big black dragon from Kynesgrove who resurrected the other one? That was the physical incarnation of Alduin."
Delphine's eyes widened with abject shock. "Truly? By the Nine… this is bad news, indeed."
She turned to Esbern. "Let's go somewhere more private where we can speak. Come with us, Archer," she added, nodding once in his direction before turning towards her bedroom.
The Blade led them into her secret room. As Archer closed the door behind them, Delphine spoke to Esbern. "So, I assume you're already familiar with Archer's true nature?"
"Oh, yes. The Dragonborn… I'm still in shock, to be honest. I never imagined that the Dovahkiin would be an Argonian. Though I suppose—"
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before," Archer interjected, coming up beside them. "What an amazing thing, that the Gods chose an Argonian to take up such a mantle, truly incredible. Now let's please get down to business."
Esbern suddenly seemed to regain his train of thought. He nodded absently and began to pace throughout the room, speaking in a muttering, detached tone. "Yes… yes, of course, we've no time to lose. We must locate… well, here, let me show you."
The man rifled through the satchel at his hip for a moment, muttering some more to himself before he finally withdrew a thick tome. Its parchment was yellowed and its decorative, leather-wrapped cover had faded with time. Archer and Delphine crowded around the table as he set the tome down. "Here it is: Annals of the Dragonguard. It is a chronicle of the Dragonguard during the late First Era. It speaks about a temple-fortress known as Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim."
Delphine glanced at Archer and mouthed, What is he talking about?
Archer shook his head and mouthed back, I have no idea.
"This is where they built Alduin's Wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore," the old Blade continued, oblivious of their confusion. "An ancient wonder of the world, its location lost… until now."
"Esbern, what are you getting at?" Archer asked, exasperated with the old man's ramblings. "What is this Alduin's Wall you keep mentioning? How can it help us defeat Alduin?"
The old Nord looked between the two. "Like I said, Alduin's Wall is where the ancient Blades kept all their records of Alduin and his return, but its location had been forgotten."
"So you think Alduin's Wall will tell us how we can defeat Alduin?" Delphine asked.
Esbern gave her a grave look. "I cannot guarantee anything… but if there were any place we'd find something to use against the World Eater, it would be there. There would be a wealth of knowledge at our disposal, if we were to reach it. Knowledge of any weaknesses of Alduin's we can exploit, perhaps? But we won't know, until we see it for ourselves."
Delphine looked sidelong at Archer. The Argonian simply shrugged. "I guess we're off to Sky Haven Temple next, then. Where did you say it was, Esbern?"
"In the Reach," the old man replied, "in the Karth River canyon."
"That's near the Karthspire," Delphine commented. "I know that area. I could lead us there."
"Then it's settled," Archer said. "We should stop by Whiterun for the night for supplies and rest, and then take the road west towards Markarth."
For some reason, Delphine's brow furrowed in concern, and she shook her head. "I'm sorry Archer, but I'm afraid that's not a good idea. The city's on high alert; Balgruuf isn't allowing any supplies out of Whiterun, and most travelers are being turned away at the gates."
Archer cocked his head in confusion. "What? Why?"
As always, when delivering hard news, Delphine let the full weight of the hammer fall in one blow. "Because Whiterun is going to be under siege by the Stormcloak army in a few days."
Archer's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped. "What?" he asked, desperately hoping he hadn't heard her correctly.
"I'm sorry Archer," the woman repeated despondently. "I know it's hard to hear, but it's the truth. Imperial soldiers have been coming in from all around. A company passed by earlier this morning, about a hundred men in total. The soldiers I asked said that Ulfric was finally moving on Whiterun with a massive Stormcloak army, and that Balgruuf had requested Imperial aid. But from what I've seen and heard, perhaps only a couple thousand legionaries have made it to Whiterun thus far."
"But why would the Stormcloaks attack Whiterun? It declared neutrality!"
"Because it holds a strategic position in Skyrim," Delphine responded. "It's a crossroads of a sort for the whole province, and it has resources his armies could use — food from the farms, lumber for siege engines, that sort of thing. Whiterun has things Ulfric wants, so now it's his next target of conquest."
Archer stared at her in shock and awe. His mind was abuzz with thoughts; he couldn't even bring himself to speak. Delphine, however, didn't bother to wait for his response before continuing.
"Since Whiterun is no longer an option, I think our best bet would be to go into Falkreath and take the south road towards Markarth," the Breton suggested, after pulling out a map of Skyrim and placing it on the table top. "If the Imperial Soldiers haven't sequestered the supplies there, too, we should still be able to rest and replenish our rations before heading west—"
"No."
Delphine looked at the Argonian. "I'm sorry, what?"
Archer leveled a glare at the Breton and shook his head firmly. "I'm not going to let Whiterun fall under Stormcloak hands. I'm going over there, and I'm going to pledge myself to the defense."
Now it was Delphine's turn to stare at him in shock. "Archer, you can't be serious!"
"I am serious!" he snarled. He held his glare for a few moments, allowing his fire to cool down a bit before continuing, "Whiterun… it's become a sort of home for me. Not like the one I left behind in Cyrodiil, but it's home all the same. And I refuse to let people like the Stormcloaks gain control of it."
"Archer, we can't afford to waste time," the Blade snapped. "Alduin is out there! For all we know, he is gaining strength as we speak. If we tarry too long—"
"Hold a moment, Delphine," Esbern intervened, turning towards the Breton with a placating gesture of his hands. "I do believe that there would still be benefits to keeping Whiterun out of Stormcloak hands. I've a feeling that there will be a great deal more travel ahead for the Dragonborn, even if we successfully find Alduin's Wall after all. How much more difficult would it be for him to travel if he lost access to Whiterun as a rest stop? It wouldn't surprise me to hear if the Stormcloaks began turning away Argonians at the gates. Archer has also told me that he was named Thane of Whiterun — if the Stormcloaks capture it, they might see him as their enemy from then on, as well, for merely being associated with a belligerent Jarl's court."
Delphine pursed her lips, looking between the pair. Archer didn't give her the chance to speak. "I'm going to tell my people about this. I'll hear what they have to say before we do anything."
He entered the common room and found the others seated at a pair of tables beside each other, having some drinks. The Argonian steeled himself, taking a deep, steadying breath before walking over to where they sat.
"Everyone… we have a problem. A big one," he said. Archer waited until all eyes were on him before continuing. "Firstly: our next destination is the Karth River canyon, in the Reach. When I suggested to Delphine that we go to Whiterun to resupply before heading west… she told me that a massive army of Stormcloaks was marching on the city in a few days, with intent of laying siege and capturing it — so she wants us to avoid Whiterun entirely."
They all gasped in shock. "Are you serious?" Lydia asked in shock.
Archer nodded grimly in reply. "I, for one, refuse to stand by and leave Whiterun to be captured. I plan on going to Whiterun to pledge myself to its defense."
"Hold on a moment," Solona interjected, "are you certain that is such a good idea, Archer? Whiterun is a large city — that means that the Stormcloaks will need an even larger fighting force to take it. You're going to be in a battle that will involve several thousand soldiers. You could very well die. We might all die."
"We survived when the Wolf Queen attacked Solitude," Lydia argued. "We can handle the Stormcloaks. They're not magic like the undead, they're not endless like the hordes of Oblivion, and they're certainly not unstoppable."
"But we all nearly died in Solitude!" came Balamus' retort. Archer winced, suddenly remembering Varan's scar. "And we only survived because we were lucky. No, Stormcloaks might not be daedra or undead, but war can still take any of us in an instant. A stray arrow or crossbow quarrel, perhaps even a trebuchet shot if we're especially unlucky, would kill any of us without warning. And I very much enjoy living."
The Dunmer shook his head sadly. "Sorry, lads, but I think it'd be safer if we just trusted in the Legion to defend Whiterun."
"The Legion is a powerful fighting force," Jordis agreed. "They're elite soldiers. If anyone can beat back the Stormcloaks, it would be them."
"Delphine told me that only a few thousand Imperials have made it to Whiterun so far," Archer responded gravely. "I don't know if they have enough men to successfully lead a defense against a much greater force. Say all you want about how much better Legion troops may be — but quantity also has a quality all its own, regardless of fortifications."
The Argonian looked amongst his team. "I haven't changed my mind. I am going to Whiterun, and I'm going to defend my home away from home. Can I count on you all to join me?" he asked, looking at each member of his team.
"I'm going," Lydia declared. "I know my brother is a Stormcloak, but I doubt that Asmund will be among those fighting, after all the travel he's had to do to return to Windhelm. I won't shy away from killing his comrades, if only to defend my home."
"Me too," Erik announced, his brows drawn together into a scowl. "I had my last home burned to the ground, and I refuse to let this one be taken from me, as well."
Archer looked at the other three. They looked at each other uneasily for a few seconds. Solona clenched her fist suddenly, her fair features turning dark with determination. "If you're all going, then I'm going too. I won't let my friends go into a battlefield without me."
Balamus pursed his lips, but at length he sighed in resignation. "Very well. I'll come, too. Can't let you lads have all the fun, right?" he asked, grinning weakly. But behind that mask of a smile, Archer could see fear and apprehension.
He's not afraid of dying — death has never scared Balamus, Archer thought grimly. No, he's not afraid of losing his life; he's afraid of losing his friends on the battlefield.
When everyone's gaze turned to Jordis, the Housecarl bowed her head demurely. "I go where my Thane wishes. I shall follow you to Whiterun, Archer," she said, unenthusiastically.
The Argonian nodded to them, feeling a growing sense of conviction. Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned to see Delphine and Esbern standing a few feet away. The Breton asked, "Have you come to a decision?"
"We have," the Argonian confirmed. "We're going to Whiterun, and we're going to help defend it."
Delphine stared at him for several long, hard seconds, before huffing. "Fine. I'd tell you that we can't afford to lose you, Dragonborn — but I've a feeling that you won't give a damn about what I have to say. So instead, I'll say this: don't put yourself in undue risk. Without you, all hope for the world would be lost."
She looked around at the others. "In the meantime, Esbern and I will make for Markarth. We'll wait for you there."
"Very well," Archer replied. "We'll see you then. Stay safe."
The woman nodded, before walking out of the inn with Esbern in tow. Archer stared at the empty doorway for a few seconds, before turning to his people. "Finish your drinks; we're going to Whiterun as soon as possible."
End A/N: Hope you all enjoyed that. I almost had half a mind to split this chapter in half and end it at the ending of Lydia's POV, after her… quality time… with Archer. But then it would've been only about 6k words long, and I'm not sure if you guys would've appreciated me uploading a chapter half as long as I've been doing all this time.
As always, please leave a review for the chapter!