Hello? Yeah, I've been gone for a long time. Way too long. I could try and give you guys any type of excuse under the sun. Pandemic, job hunting, writers block, anything really. But I'm not going to do that. None of that can justify being gone this long.
Heck, I feel honored that you guys even take the time to read my chicken-scratch. And because of that, I will do my best to never leave any of you waiting again. Ever. Anyway . . . I hope you guys have been having a good year and a half, yeah? In spite of everything, I mean. Probably way out of practice, even more so than normal anyway, but I've been writing this one for a bit now. Hopefully you guys will like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content from Game of Thrones or the Elder Scrolls series.
Chapter 8: The Threat
It was still in the courtyard. None of the bustling of men going about their duties, no hammers striking iron at the forge, no ravens cawing overhead, not even a breeze of air. Just a calming silence as the freshly fallen snow blanketed the castle. The ice coated stone-works gleaming like diamonds in the dim moonlight.
He sighed, watching his breath turn too mist in the frigid air. Eyes drifting upwards to the sky as the clouds parted. No lights danced in the night sky here. Nor was Masser and Secunda to be seen amidst the auroras. Just one lonely, yellow-tinged moon and a blanket of dim stars behind it. It was strange to him still.
'Would Ralof have found it strange as well?'
Darion winced at the thought. With the passing of midnight today marked day four of his friends absence. Each day and night he'd searched west beyond the wall for any sign of human life. Flying high in the sky atop Durnehviir and trudging through the white wastes on Arvak. Passing through the Haunted Forest and into the Lands of Always Winter many times but never finding anything save for dead men.
The further west he went, the more and more there seemed to be. Many times he could have nabbed a wight and flew for the Wall but each time he'd put it off. Why? He wondered to himself eyeing the new snowflakes as the sky closed together once more.
Hearing the creak of an opening door across the yard, he spied a member of the Nights Watch leaving a dark corridor. Grabbing a torch off a sconce as he passed quietly into the courtyard. Descending the steps carefully, he made his way over to the man. Cutting him off just before the lift to the wall.
"Can you point me towards the First Rangers quarters? I'd like to have a word with him."
His sudden question startled the black clad man. His pepper bearded face peering back at him in the darkness as though he was mad, bringing his torch to eye level to see him as he did.
"It's past the hour of the wolf mi'lord."
"Aye, it is."
The older man paused, his face asking the unspoken question. Seeing this, Darion fought the urge to roll his eyes.
"My business with the First Ranger is a private matter that will likely become public knowledge come dawn." He'd rather be done with it sooner than that, truth be told. Sleep had eluded him since his talk with the maester.
Despite this, the other man only watched him warily. Stepping back too ring the bell and signal the watchmen to raise the lift. "Well, I'm sure it can wait until dawn, my lord". He sneered.
On instinct, his hand wrapped around the bearded man's throat. His dark eyes bulging in alarm, kicking and squirming in his grasp as Darion pushed his back against the lifts iron barred cage. Dropping his torch into the snow as his back made contact with the cage. The watchman's hands chopping at the crook of his elbow in a futile attempt to make him let go.
Darion started to smile as he watched the man struggle against his grip. He blinked then, his face falling as the realization of what he was doing hit him fully. Seeing the watchman's red face begin to turn purple, his grip slackened and the man tore away from him gasping for air. The watchman's wide terrified eyes boring into the side of his skull.
'What am I?'
The man scurried to his feet, moving towards the bell much faster than he had before. His gloved hands just touching the frayed rope before his thu'um reached him.
"Gol Hal Dov!"
Earth, mind, dragon. A shout he'd used countless times on other dovah within the past year alone. Never had he felt sick to his stomach as his thu'um bent a rebellious dragon's will to his. Yet now as the link formed and Jesper of Darry turned around, all he felt was a wave of nausea and revulsion at the sight of those lifeless brown eyes staring back at him. Like a doll whose strings had been cut.
Wretched as he felt staring at the puppet he'd created, it had been for a purpose hadn't it? Even seeing what he could glimpse from Jesper's memories he just couldn't find it within himself to justify it. The man's only true crime had been poaching. Was he really so far gone that a tinge of disrespect could send him over the edge like this?
Though through his warring thoughts, he knew one thing for certain. Even as it had felt wrong another part of him had enjoyed it all the same. The knowing of this making him feel ready to vomit. Swallowing thickly, he addressed his new servant.
"Point me to where the First Rangers quarters are and go back to your duties. You will forget any knowledge of this encounter." He commanded.
Jesper nodded along numbly to his words. Raising his arm, he pointed him towards Benjen's quarters before stumbling off to board the lift, ringing the bell as he went. Letting out a shaky breath, Darion screwed his eyes shut, severing the mental link. Leaving it wriggling loosely like a slimy eel as it drifted away. Walking away from the rising lift, he could hear Jesper's low curses still. The watchman's mind returning to its state minutes prior to their meeting.
Perhaps the maester was right. Perhaps power could and would corrupt him if it hadn't already. He'd come on this expedition as a ruse to buy time for his people, he told himself. Yet his battle lust and arrogance had cost his men their lives. Boots crunching the powdery snow underneath as he stopped before the Starks door.
It had cost Ralof his life as well.
Knocking on the door, Darion could hear the muffled curses of the man within. The shuffling noises stopping near the other side of the door. Listening closely he could hear the sound of steel scraping against leather.
"Who is it?"
"A royal pain in your ass, I'm sure."
Arrogance had gotten himself and Aela into this mess. Maybe he wouldn't come out of this ordeal sane like Aemon had warned. The door swung open, to reveal the Stark in his night clothes clutching a dagger in his right hand, looking him over oddly.
"Jarl Darion?" He asked, puzzled at his late night visit. Ignoring him, he spoke.
"Get dressed. We need to head out and capture a wight." Benjen shook his head in response.
"That was your promise, not mine." He said, already reaching back for the door. Frowning, Darion stuck his boot in the doors path blocking it from shutting fully.
"Maybe, but whose word will your brother value more when he hears about an army of dead men?"
Benjen stared at back at the dragonborn through the cracked doorway for a long while, his mouth drawn into a thin line. A sigh passing his lips, Darion turned away from his stone faced gaze.
"Look, I know I haven't exactly been the easiest person to get along with and Mara knows far from the most trustworthy," He started, his lips drawn into a grimace. "but you need to see the army of the dead for yourself if we're to have a chance of convincing your brother."
His weight on the door didn't change, neither did the rangers face for that matter.
"Please."
The Stark glared at him for a moment longer, frowning deeply as he stepped away from the door.
"Give me a moment."
Taking his foot out the door shut completely. Leaving Darion alone outside in the falling snow. Breathing out a sigh of relief at Benjen's acceptance, he leaned against the stone bricked walls. It's ice covered surface sticking to his armor greedily.
He could be content so long as he failed no one else as he did Ralof. Tolfdir, Karliah, Rikke, Brelyna, Jzargo, Onmund, Gelebor, and all the others. So long as they all lived and didn't pay the price for his folly, that was all that mattered in the end.
All that mattered.
"I hate this." Benjen said through gritted teeth, trying to huddle closer into his black cloak. Useless as it was, the furs splaying outwards like the wings of a crow in the high winds.
"And I hate the smell of a joore on my scales."
"The feelings mutual, dragon. Believe me."
Darion smiled at the exchange, he had a little inkling of why that was. His hand coming away from the old dovah's scales, or rather, the scales came with his mailed hand. The squamous material coming apart with a wet squelching sound when he clenched it into a fist.
It had been a challenge to get Durnehviir to let Benjen ride along on his back. The old dragon barely tolerated Darion riding him as it was. Though he perked right up at the chance of another hunt however, in fact, present company was nearly an afterthought in comparison. Though thankfully Benjen had put up less of a fight than he'd thought he would. The older man had only grimaced and climbed aboard wordlessly as compared too Durnehviir's occasional grouching.
'What a want of freedom does to someone.' Darion mused.
Shaking his head, he scanned the tree line miles below them, watching as it started to give way to the familiar snowy dunes of the Lands of Always Winter. Once again, as it had been during the last four days not a single animal was to be seen amidst the snow. Not one wolf, stag, or raven. The Haunted Forest might as well be haunted by the wind and dead alone. Though even that seemed to be lacking in quantity, he'd noticed.
Squinting he could make out the burnt stretch of forest towards the east. It'd be much simpler to go and retrieve the fallen White Walkers body as proof of the army of the dead. If only the blasted thing was still there.
"I don't understand. I thought you got all the others with your breath?" He asked, puzzled as he pawed at the ground, tracing the indents and drag marks through the snow.
"I did." Durnehviir growled back, his companion scanning the tree line surrounding them for any other undead.
Looking back down with a frown, he stood, eyes tracing the drag marks as he walked alongside a set of hoof and footprints. A scene beginning to form in his mind.
"We left the walker here," he pointed to the snow packed in the vague shape of a man, the spot were the head would lay crushed into a crater some few feet deep. "and something walked, no, rode up on him. Dragged him out of this hole and secured him to a mount of some kind, a horse probably."
He stopped for a moment, eyes glancing back to where the walker had lain just a day prior.
"They didn't even leave a scrap of flesh behind. Not one strand of hair either." Pausing, he looked back to Durnehviir. "What do you think? Might be that a wildling rode up and took our prize for his own."
"Or that another of the dilon took him back."
Darion's frown deepened at the implication. "That's a worrying thought. I don't much fancy fighting anymore of those bastards."
His mind snapping out of the memory as Durnehviir lurched upwards, passing through a particularly thick cloud. The moisture from the gaseous mass clogging his lungs like cobwebs, gagging him. Its water sticking to his armor and freezing and thawing almost instantly. Though Benjen wasn't quite so lucky. A quick glance at the man revealed his current thoughts on Durnehviir's sudden course diversion.
A smile on his lips, Darion reached back to grasp onto the rangers shoulder, a weak rust colored light filling his palm as the fresh ice melted and left the older mans leathers rapidly. Not pausing for a response, he turned back around and spoke.
"Is there any game north of the wall? Surely you have wolves, bears or something out here?"
Benjen leaned forward in his seat against a large spine, quiet for a moment before choosing to speak. Raising his voice a bit so it would be heard over the high winds whipping around them.
"Normally, aye. The north of the Wall is filled with dire wolves, shadowcats, mammoths and other such creatures."
"You sure they don't keep to the other side of the Wall? Haven't seen a damn thing that breathes yet." He asked. Feeling Durnehviir tense underneath him, he glanced up to see him starting to bare his fangs a little. The dragon growing increasingly agitated with his passengers.
'Hopefully he doesn't get too fed up and throw us off. I don't think Benjen would survive it.'
The First Ranger didn't seem to notice Durnehviir's growing irritation either, much to his worry. If he did, he made no mention or tell of it.
"No, they're here. Though the bulk of the animals keep to the north and eastern sides of the lands past the Wall. The Wildlings too."
Mulling it over in his head, it did make a strange kind of sense. Even creatures like trolls and chaurus avoided areas cursed, haunted, or plagued with undeath in general. Wispmothers and other vengeful ghosts tended to claim ancient ruins and graveyards as their stomping grounds and would attack any passerby's indiscriminately. Could be that the wights did the same with the Lands of Always Winter and the edges of the forest.
Thinking back, he saw Dernim's shambling, bloodied body come to the forefront of his mind. Within minutes of death he'd been revived in Atmora to serve these Others. The same was undoubtedly true for everything else in this wasteland, especially with a lesser distance. Then again, how long before the walkers started expanding their territory and pushed east for more meat?
"Speaking of which, how many live beyond the Wall by your count?"
Even as the older man went quiet, Darion could almost feel his eyes boring into the back of his head. Likely already guessing what he was getting at.
'Not a can of worms I want to open, but one I'll have to.' Darion thought grimly.
True, he knew next to nothing of the specifics between the Nights Watch and the Wildlings other than the fact that there was little love lost between the two. Especially given Rast's little move against Aela earlier in the night. But their relations couldn't be any worse than the Forsworn and Markarth, could they?
"No way of telling," He replied, his voice strange to his ears. "we've heard whispers of the wildling clans gathering beyond the Wall, but nothing solid. The Lord Commander sent Ser Waymar's group out to investigate and see if there was any truth to the rumors."
Darion hummed at the rangers answer. They both knew how well that little venture had turned out. He'd had a chance to see the man he had rescued a few nights ago. Poor bastard still looked a mess with a ratty nest of hair and sunken eyes. The man couldn't even look him in the eyes after all that.
"Well, the spot that we're heading to is linked to my world through a portal. The other side of that portal is linked to my peoples ancestral homeland that's been abandoned for a couple thousand years and counting. We also inhabited it thousands of years before that. We then fled Atmora because of the worsening climate and those that remained died either by plague, starvation, or invasion." He said with a grim chuckle.
Turning in his seat to look back at the Stark man, he continued. "Do you see where I'm going with this?" He didn't like the look that Benjen was giving him then.
"I do."
"And? Will you not consider the idea?"
"It is not my place to decide such matters." He replied curtly, his face as motionless as ice. Darion looked back at him, exasperated.
"No, I imagine not. Still, you must have some opinion on the idea." He prodded, though to no avail as Benjen remained silent, his gray eyes staring back him coldly. Seeing this, Darion shook his head and turned back with a sigh.
'Stubborn old bastard.'
The thought came unbidden like an arrow and left his mind just as quickly. The sudden rush of anger, however, did not. The feeling beginning to build like a pounding bell in his head. The voice beginning to whisper in his ear again. Just as it had in his dealings with Korir, with the Listener, with the Emporer, with Tullius, and countless others.
Hand clutching at the bridge of his nose, he winced as the pressure continued to build. How did he know if Benjen was lying or not? Could he know? He didn't strike him as the type of man who would be capable of lying. He would sooner tell half the truth than lie, he felt. But if he was withholding information, would the lack hamper him in someway? His eyes scrunched up in pain at the easy solution that came to mind.
'I refuse to do that to another person again.' He snarled. The thought echoed across the chamber of his mind with nothing to meet it except silence and the treasonous whispers of doubt.
'What if you need it again? The power is yours to wield, to use as you see fit. Is it not the nature of a dovah to dominate?' The voice whispered back. He inhaled deeply as the thought came, the icy winds nipping at the corners of his lungs.
'I am of the dov,' he conceded. 'but I am not a dragon.'
As he exhaled the suffocating pressure left his mind, his eyes opening as the nagging voice of his dragon soul retreated to the depths of his mind once more.
'Is this what Paarthurnax mentioned in passing? The will and urge to dominate?' He wondered idly, watching the flurries of snow race by him as they flew across the grey skies. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he turned back to the Stark.
"All I'm saying is that it'll be a lot easier to fight the walkers with a few extra hands as opposed to killing them." He said in a calm voice, Benjen's eyes still not changing from their stony look.
"We'll speak more if we find this army you speak of and not until then."
"Careful what you wish for." Durnehviir's low voice rumbled from in front. Darion's stomach leaping into his chest as the old dovah dived down below the cloud cover, dousing them both in freezing water again.
Rubbing the moisture from his eyes, he felt as though he'd been kicked in the chest by a mule. Benjen was much the same.
"Seven hells . . ."
Countless, innumerable, an endless swarm of motionless bodies stood below them as Durnehviir circled through the air lazily. To Darion's eyes, he could almost swear the number of wights had somehow doubled.
All different shapes and sizes, whole or broken, animals or man, all stood facing out towards the seas to the south. Their rotten, icy bodies unmoving even as the white winds off the bay blew harshly over their greyed flesh. Eyeing the numerous giants in the hoard warily, his eyes roamed further amongst the crowd. Straining to see if any of the White Walkers stood among them. Not seeing any immediately, he beckoned Durnehviir fly closer towards the shore. Frowning as he looked about the crowd again.
'Strange, not even a whiff of magical energy. Not a trace of the portal either. Lorkhan be damned, the Wall has more of an energy signal than this place.' He thought with a huff.
'Could it simply be inactive? No sign of a White Walker, but thousands upon thousands of wights just . . standing here. Why?'
His mind befuddled, Darion turned around to inquire Benjen's thoughts on the matter. His ears being met with the low sound of chattering teeth when he turned in his seat. Smiling apologetically, he repeated the same alteration spell on the rangers clothes. The rust colored light sputtering and dying completely halfway through the spell.
"Damn. Guess that's it for magicka." He muttered to himself, looking down at his palm watching as the last of his magicka fizzled and died out for good. Glancing back up at the sound of Durnehviir's low growling, the dovah coming to an abrupt halt in the air.
"Do you see them Quahnarrin? Joore? The dilon there in the edge of the crowd, towards the hill on the edge of the sea?" He rumbled, his massive horned head turned to focus on them both. The dragon's orange slitted eyes narrowed and his lips drawn up into a snarl.
Squinting, as he was sure Benjen was, he tried to peer past the crowd and through the thin veil of mist that covered the fields of snow. Straining his eyes, he began to make out the outline of horses and blue humanoid figures. Seeing one ride ahead of the other walkers, he leaned forward in his makeshift seat.
"Is that what I think it is?"
Feeling a hand on his shoulder as Benjen tried to peer closer, he heard Durnehviir's rumbling voice speak first. The older dovah nodding his head in agreement.
"The dilon's thuri. He must be."
Darion could feel Benjen freeze behind him, the hand gripping his shoulder like an iron vice. The older man whispering something to himself that he couldn't quite make out over the wind.
Looking back to the White Walker in the center as Durnehviir hovered closer, he could see the same familiar blackened leather and chainmail armor that the previous White Walker had wore. Though instead of a head of wispy white hair it was completely bald save for what appeared to be a crown of ice spikes jutting out from its head.
"He moves."
As Durnehviir said it, the walker dismounted from his rotten steed. Choosing instead to walk up the snowy hill at a leisurely pace. Once at the summit, it paused overlooking the bay, raising its right hand into the air as though it was caressing something.
A strange green glow began to fill its hand, the magical energy building as it traced it through the open air. The space surrounding its hand beginning to glow as the snowflakes whirled and writhed. Darion could feel his blood run cold as he realized what was happening, the runes the White Walker was tracing.
It's hand split down through the air then and where once the white winds of the Lands of Always Winter blew now shown the sickly golden-green light of Apocrypha. Inky black tendrils poured forth from the light, latching onto the snow padded earth and growing taut as it opened. The portal pulsating and growing larger as a second mass of tentacles grew in the center of the golden light, a bulging mess of squid-like eyes opening within.
'Shit.'
He'd known that Hermaeus Mora used the Others as a tool once, but he never knew that they had communicated freely like this. Watching in a sort horrified awe as the tendrils enveloped the crowned White Walker tenderly. The ice-made creature remaining unperturbed by the grasping appendages that roamed across its body.
The largest eye curled upwards then as the tendrils receded, a deep, barking laugh coming from the black mass as it dissolved fully. The White Walker turned around then, its ice blue eyes trained on them alone. It was smiling. It smiled as it raised its arms. Smiled as the thousands of wights below shifted to stare back up at them. A slow chorus of brittle, crackling bone and a sea of glowing blue eyes stared up at them hungrily.
It backed away into the golden green light, that patronizing smile never leaving its gaunt face even as it disappeared inside the portal to Nirn.
Feeling a fresh wave of anger beginning to overtake himself, he tightened his grip on Durnehviir's spine, snarling as he made to tell Durnehviir to give chase. The portal looked just about big enough for a dragon to fit through anyhow. Volendrung might not kill it, but he still had a card up his sleeve he'd yet to try. Besides, who better to be the test subject than Hermaeus' favored?
As the dragon began to move towards the portal, the air around them rent open as several black, inky masses of tendrils grasped at the open air greedily, a series of grotesque, misshapen eyes blinking at them from all sides.
"Now, now Dragonborn. We can't have you rushing off to end our little game just yet." The Daedric Prince whispered in that deep baritone rumble of his, the sound not unlike nails on a chalkboard. A new mass appeared, a single large yellow eye staring unblinkingly mere feet from his face.
"It would not do for you to die so soon."
Snarling, he lashed a mailed hand through the inky mass, dispersing it with a wet squelching sound. As the air cleared, he grinned.
"I've survived worse. As I'm sure you remember, Hermaeus." The eyes surrounding them only blinked slowly, a low, rumbling laughter echoing from them.
"Indeed. Your flight from Apocrypha will never be forgotten just as my traitorous kin will not." The voice deepened ever more as it spoke. The nearest eye curling upwards in amusement right after, his voice light and airy. "But no matter, all who come to my halls are fated to return ever more."
His attention shifted then, the yellow eyes focusing instead on Benjen. The ranger remained frozen behind him, his hand still gripping onto his shoulder as though it was his life line.
"Ah, a man of the Night's Watch. A carrier of the blood of the First Men and the Kings of Winter. Do you wonder at me? Do you ponder if I am one of the 'Old Gods' you worship beneath your weirwood trees?" His voice rasped, the writhing masses inching closer as the Daedric Prince's suffocating presence grew ever stronger.
The veil between Westeros and Oblivion was so very thin, and it began to show more and more as the seconds passed and more of the prince's sickening energy permeated the air. Only in Apocrypha had he felt the true power of a Daedric Lord, yet, even in this material plane he couldn't help but feel that there was precious little, if anything, stopping Hermaeus Mora from walking the realm in his full splendor.
His eyes glanced back at Benjen, feeling the other man tense behind him at the Daedric Prince's words.
"You are no god of mine, foul demon." He bit back, though his voice shook, he felt he had to give the man some credit. He was brave for someone just meeting a Daedric Lord.
"And how can you be so sure of that?" Herma Mora tittered. The eyes swirling around them slowly as he spoke. "Did your Old Gods intervene when Rhaegar kidnapped your sister? Or did they whisper in the Mad Kings ear when he burned your father alive? If not your god, then surely I am far less cruel than your own."
He chuckled throatily, a squid like eye stopping to Benjen's side. Blinking at him sluggishly.
"You sit in silence when you pray under their leaves. Your good-sister feels naught but cold air in her sept. Have you ever wondered why?" He laughed then, the sound deep and guttural. The yellow eyes turning their gaze onto Darion.
"My wayward champion knows why they do not speak. Don't you, Dragonborn?" His slimy voice whispered. If Hermaeus Mora could smile, then he'd be grinning ear to ear right about now, he thought.
His eyes darted to the ranger behind him seeing Benjen's grey eyes staring back. Confusion running rampant within them. Hermaeus Mora may have been a prince of knowledge but that didn't mean he didn't delight in cruelty like the rest of his kin.
He'd pondered about the truth in this worlds possible origins briefly with Durnehviir on their first flight across its grey skies. Though, what Hermaeus was implying . . . it sickened him to think of it.
"The Aedra that made this world, they're dead, aren't they?"
Hermaeus Mora was silent then, the squid like eyes staring back at him unblinking. Turning back from Benjen's accusing eyes as he continued.
"It took almost all of the Divines power to create Nirn and even then, they almost perished. Trapped in Lorkhan's web of creation. The amount of magical energy needed to even enable creation," Darion shook his head. "this Aedra gave their essence to make the world and was thus in turn absorbed by their own creation, killing them."
'Or at least, rendered mortal if the elves happen to be right.' He thought to himself. Watching as the eyes curled upwards slightly, their gaze looking almost pleased.
"Perhaps."
An eye stopped closer to his left side, staring back at him. Its prying gaze never leaving him for even a moment.
"You can feel it too, can't you Dragonborn? The dull throb of the earth, the stale breath of the wind, the snow that falls around you even now," He extended a black tendril, letting a single fleck of snow fall onto its tip. "how devoid of life it feels on your skin?"
The flake dissolved then, the tendril bulging and swallowing it hungrily. The yellow eye drifting closer too his face.
"This world is stale, old, and dying."
The eyes turned back to Benjen now. "Months of summer have turned to years and soon the years of winter will turn to decades. On and on it will go until this world is naught but a lifeless husk. Without a gardener, the weeds will grow unchecked. The weeds will suck away the water and then the crops will wither and die."
Hermaeus Mora paused then, the eyes surrounding them growing larger as his voice turned silky and soft.
"I could be this gardener. For a price."
Darion had to suppress a shiver at Hermaeus' offer of patronage. Dying world or no, it would be a far kinder end for the people of Westeros to starve and freeze in their castles than whatever Mora would do. He already had an idea of how such an act would end. After all, Molag Bal had once tried a similar thing with Nirn back in the second era.
His eyes glancing towards Durnehviir first, at seeing his narrowed eyes gazing back he knew they were both of the same mind. An offer of patronage from a daedra was both fortuitous and poisonous to the favored. They both knew it well, but would Benjen know better?
'Still, it might help to keep the old fossil talking. Anything worthy of his notice should be something I'll need to keep an eye on.' He thought.
Unaware as the older man shook his head slowly at the prince's words. His eyes missing the look of disgust on the rangers face at the offer.
"You'd offer your aid now? After you've helped the Others? Embraced the Night King?!" The ranger was shouting now, his long face twisted in anger.
"Whatever price you ask, whatever aid you promise will never be worthy of betraying my gods or my home. I will have no part in your poisoned deals." Outwardly he smiled at the other mans heated words though he couldn't help but curse to himself inwardly.
'Godsdamn it, Benjen.'
Hermaeus Mora pulled away then, his many eyes staring back at them unblinkingly. A low rumbling chuckle seeming to echo around them.
"No matter. I will have what I seek with or without your assistance. I might have even offered you the same price if I knew that you'd not refuse it." His eyes drifted across Darion and Durnehviir both as he spoke.
Curious as he was about the Daedric Lords price, he knew it'd be best to just leave it to lie now. Once a Daedric Lord had made up their mind on something there was nothing that could change it.
The eyes and the inky black masses that spilled through the air started to recede. The Daedric Lords crushing presence starting to disappear from the wind. Though he faded from the realm, his voice remained.
"You could end our little game early and return to my service, Dragonborn. I still have need of an agent to do my bidding in Mundus."
"Never going to happen."
"And so we go in circles," He tutted. "remember Dragonborn, you have but one year. One year to return to my service else I will shut my gates to you forever. Stranding you to die with the rest of this worlds inhabitants. Good luck, my wayward champion. You're going to need it."
Before he knew it, Durnehviir roared in pain, and then they were free falling through the air. The wind rushing past his ears as they fell rapidly, the cold winds stinging his eyes whilst he smoothed himself flush with the dragons back.
"Damn it! Come on, Durnehviir! Pull up!" He shouted, the winds sailing past them at breakneck speeds. The ground coming closer and closer as Durnheviir flailed wildly in the air, trying to right himself.
Eyes catching a quick flash of blue, he gripped the black spines tightly. Pulling himself up and closer to Durnehviir's shoulder. Another scream of pain rent from the dovah's maw as he jerked to the side, sending Darion tumbling down the back of his wing. Eyes wide and panicked, Darion twisted in the air scrambling to find purchase on whatever he could. His hand finding a grip on the innermost of Durnehviir's claws.
Dangling loosely below his chest he could see the two ice spears hurled by the White Walkers embedded in Durnehviir's ribcage and left shoulder. Feeling the wing come back on an upswing, he let loose his thu'um.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
The cone of swirling blue energy crashing into Durnehviir's flank and sending the ice spears careening down into the crowd just below. The necromantic dragon rolling over and righting himself in the air just moments before impact, his clawed feet raking through the sea of wights as the air filled his wings.
He climbed higher into the skies, twisting, dodging and folding his wings inward as more of the walkers spears soared through the air. It took everything he had in him to hold on as his fellow dovah ducked, dived, and turned so suddenly. Ice spears, boulders, and other makeshift projectiles hurled at them all the while.
"GRAB MY HAND!"
Looking up to Durnheviir's neck, he could see Benjen leaning over the side with his left hand outstretched, reaching for him. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Shouldn't this be the other way around?
"Come on! You have to jump, lad!"
His erratic flight patterns calming briefly as they climbed higher into the clouds, Darion took a shaky breath, his entire body tensed and waiting for the wings upswing. Feeling it reach the apex of its revolution, he threw his entire body upwards, his arms outstretched in front of him. Benjen barely managing to catch his right arm in the leap. The sudden dead weight nearly pulling the ranger overboard from his seat.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled upwards with a roar. Darion's feet finding a foothold on the edges of Durnehviir's scales as he scrambled up the dragons spine. Sitting amidst the massive spines again he breathed out a sigh of relief.
"Thanks for that, Benjen. I'd have not made that jump otherwise." He said somberly, his left hand slapping the older man on the back as he did.
The other man hissed at his touch, leaning forward with a pain filled grimace. Puzzled, Darion looked him over briefly, just now noticing the misalignment in his shoulders.
"Arm out of socket?"
"Aye."
"Guess I'm heavier than I thought." He said with a grin. Benjen actually laughed for a moment at his words, still wincing as he made his way back to his own seat.
"Yes, you are indeed a fat arse."
Now it was him laughing. Gods, when was the last time he'd laughed? Not a laugh filled by battle lust, but just being jolly? The last few times that even came to mind was with Maester Aemon earlier and back in Winterhold almost a month ago. It couldn't have been that long, could it? His laughter dying down a bit, he turned to make way further along Durnehviir's neck, sitting behind his crowned head. They weren't done with the walkers. Not by a long shot.
"You still good to fly, Durnehviir?"
"Ol pruzah ol zu'u fen alun kos."
"Good, then I suppose you won't mind if I drop a natural disaster on top of their army. High time we show these bastards who they're messing with. Bring us in closer, if you'd please." He said with an evil smile.
One that Durnehviir reciprocated with a dark chuckle of his own, his body already turning to dive back down towards the edge of the snowy bay. Wings tucking into his sides as they dove down through the cloud cover. Darion turned in his seat to look back at the Stark man, smiling from ear to ear.
"Oh and Benjen? Do try to hang on, will you?"
The First Ranger's eyes widened a bit, already moving to entrench himself as best he could amongst Durnehviir's spiked back. Turning back to face the rapidly approaching ground, Darion chuckled lowly as a few more ice spears flew past them, missing their marks entirely. He'd only ever used this particular shout three times thus far in his life, and he had to admit, he'd be lying to himself if he hadn't been itching to use it again.
"Strun Bah Qo!"
The world seemed to crawl to a stand still in that moment. Its cold winds disappearing without warning. The falling flecks of snow growing still before the wind shifted into a violent updraft. As Durnehviir's wings stretched and leveled them out just above the gathered masses, the first of the bolts of lightning arced through the early morning sky. Incinerating dozens of hapless wights on contact.
The clouds above beginning to swirl together into a mighty tempest as hail and lighting fell in equal measure. The winds whipping into a frenzy as Durnehviir's own thu'um joined the chaos down below. His flames scorching entire swaths of wights. Giants, animals, men, neither lightning nor fire cared. All that mattered was if they burned, and burned they did.
'Though not all.' He noted.
Watching as a bolt of lightning failed to incinerate a wight, and then another, then a giant unsurprisingly. The surviving creatures only seeming to convulse for a moment before standing again like nothing had ever happened. Storm Call wouldn't kill them all but it was certainly a damn fine start, if anything.
So caught up in the destruction below, he almost missed the whistling noise coming from their left flank. Eyes peering through the rain and hail he caught a fleeting glimpse of blue inside the lightning's flash.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
The swirling vortex of power cutting through the storm with ease. Its energy illuminating all that it pushed aside in its path through the storm. Pushing aside one, two, then three more crystalline spears before the shout fizzled out.
'It would be suicide to stay here. They'll hit us again sooner or later.'
Narrowing his eyes, Darion looked back down to Durnehviir. Preparing himself to swallow his pride and do what they had came here to do in the first place, much to the displeasure of his dovah sil. Glancing back down to the carnage below, frowning as they passed over the portal. Observing the energy that sustained it, watching it dim and brighten as they flew closer and farther away respectively.
'Back to the original plan then.'
"Durnehviir! Snag us a wight and let's be done with this." He ordered, fending off another spear with a quick shout of fus. The older dovah cutting his thu'um short, his draconic eyes glaring at him disdainfully, challenging his order.
He had every right to be angry, he knew, but there was a time and a place and this was far from it. Steeling himself, he stared the older dovah down even as the flames licked at the corners of his toothy maw. Then with a irritated warble the challenge was over and Durnehviir's eyes turned back towards the front.
"At once, Quahnarrin."
Floating down into the lower depths of the storm, he skirted the edges of the crowd before choosing his prey. Diving abruptly and picking up one of the screeching creatures in his talons. The wight still thrashing around and trying to escape even as the dragons wings carried them away from the storm.
Lips drawn into a thin line, Darion turned to face the storm he had summoned. The mile-long storm cell already starting to shrink a tad. Standing from his spot, he walked to the center of his spine just in front of Benjen. His eyes never leaving the sea of glowing blue eyes that stood wreathed in shade of his storm. Thousands of wights staring back at him defiantly, Darion's eyes narrowed at the sight. Perhaps one more shout wouldn't be remiss in punishing the Others.
"Ven Gaar Nos!"
The cyclone shout working before his eyes faster than he even imagined. The twister sucking up the gathered mass of clouds greedily. Growing in size exponentially until it swallowed the storm whole, fusing with it. He could feel himself grinning like an idiot as the first of the wights began to fly into the distance.
Turning back to his seat in front of Benjen, he chuckled. Feeling the soreness in his throat building as the adrenaline rush started to wear off. His face soaking in the first of the early rays of sunshine, he sat heavily. Asleep as soon as he sat in the groove between Durnehviir's spines.
"Ralof, come play with us!"
"C'mon Ralof, don't leave me alone with her!" The redheaded boy begged. Ignoring the blonde girls appalled gasp.
"And just what's wrong with being alone with me?" Gerdur yelled, smacking Hadvar on the arm. The smith's apprentice turning nervous as he rubbed it. His sister had been such a firebrand back then.
"Nothing, nothing at all," He said hurriedly. His voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear. "Nothing if your sister didn't act like a troll all the time." He smiled, watching his younger self snicker as Gerdur smacked Hadvar again.
'Shor's bones, when did it all go wrong?' He wondered, leaning against the railing of his childhood home.
"Well . . . I don't know if I can play with you today. Pa said he's gonna need help at the lumber mill since Nothri got sick." He explained, shuffling his feet.
Gerdur looked down sadly at his words. Their father wasn't getting any younger and his health had been getting worse ever since ma had passed last winter. The mill hadn't been doing too well at the time either, if he remembered correctly.
"I know!" Hadvar started. Looking between them with a wide smile. "My uncle got us some fishing poles a few days ago! We could fish for trout next to the mill!"
Gerdur crossed her arms, skeptical of the idea. "But Ralof wouldn't get to fish with us though. There would be no point." She said, nodding to her little brother.
"We can just bait his and set the line out. Then call if his pole gets a bite."
His sister brightened up at the idea instantly. Already dragging him away with a yelp before the words 'we can do that' passed his lips. Hadvar jogging alongside them before splitting off to head back to his uncle's house.
"A pleasant childhood." The voice startled him. "Not many have one as idyllic as this."
The man before him was old, very old he decided, noticing the crows feet speckled beneath his eyelids. Seeing the dozens of wrinkles that lined his wizened, pale face and the short cropped silver hair and beard that clung firmly too his skull. He smiled at him, his red eyes amused at Ralof's confusion.
"Who are you!" He shouted, finding his voice.
The unknown man smirked as he walked closer to him, his long black robes fluttering like thousands of raven feathers in the spring breeze.
"A friend. I mean you no harm, this I assure you." He paused, looking him over as though appraising an ox for market. "Come, walk with me."
He turned to walk down the street deeper into Riverwood, not pausing for Ralof to respond. Eyes narrowed and curiosity piqued, he jogged up to walk by the old man's side. Passing by the shop that Lucan would one day call the Riverwood Trader as they did.
"Tell me, do you know where we are?"
"A dream?"
He chuckled at the uncertainty in his words.
"No, not quite. Though for you, I imagine that seeing a long forgotten day from your childhood must seem like a dream."
Ralof looked away from him, schooling his temper to ignore the growing irritation at the old man's cryptic words. They rounded the corner then, the lumber mill his grandparents had built so long ago, coming into view.
"We are somewhere in your earliest memories. Now 'when' is something that you would know far better than I."
"What do you want with me, mage?" He asked, his voice cold and doing little to conceal his true feelings on their walk so far. The red eyed man stopped for a moment, looking back up at him with a serious face.
"Something that you wanted not long ago." He said calmly. "A second chance."
He continued walking at this, leaving Ralof to catch up to him again. The unlikely pair stopping just at the edges of the lumber mill. It was just as he remembered. The river burbling quietly as it meandered past the waterwheel. The long, thin bladed cat tailed grass rubbing against his legs still weighing heavy with the mornings dew. Even the pine trees that towered over the village, all standing tall and proud in the orange-blue light of First Seed's morning.
Ralof's eyes widened at the sight of his father laughing with his younger self, the balding man beckoning him to go set his pole by the waters edge with Gerdur and Hadvar. His father's blue eyes shining with warmth as his younger self hurried along passing through Ralof as though he was a ghost. Feeling his body reform with a hum, his eyes watched his father for a moment longer. It pained him to think that the stout would be dead in the near future. His affliction of Rockjoint finally claiming him in his sleep only four winters later.
"The past brings you great joy to remember, doesn't it?" He queried. Ralof turning then to watch his younger self bait his hook with Hadvar's help. A gob of earthworms being placed on the hook, much to Gerdur's dismay. His sister leaning away from them as they hurried about setting the lines.
"It also brings you great pain to see what once was."
"Hadvar made his choice." He said slowly. Turning back to look back at the sorcerer, his face stern. He'd had enough of this mans prodding to last a lifetime now.
"But my past is of no concern to you."
"Is it?" The silver haired man began to circle him slowly then, his hoarse voice raising in pitch slightly as he spoke.
"Is it not my concern when the friend of a man blessed by the gods walks my world? And you who fought with him, bring more death and destruction in your wake?" He asked, stopping beside his left shoulder now. Ralof stood puzzled by his words for a moment before their meaning clicked in his head.
"You've been looking into my memories." He whispered, eyes wide and accusing. The black clad man only shrugged, disinterested in his reaction.
"I did." He admitted unashamed. "I had to know whether I was dealing with a friend or foe."
"And? Am I a friend?" Ralof snarled, his muscles tensing. The beastblood within himself roiling and fueling his anger. The other man gave a sad smile as he raised his hand.
"All the living are friends in the face of the true threat."
With a snap of his bony fingers, the scene around them changed completely. The warm rays of Nirn's sun nowhere to be seen, the vibrant green grasses and pines of Riverwood replaced with cold, white expanses of snow that stretched on for miles around them on either side.
Backing away as a flurry of snow struck him in the face he stopped suddenly. His back touching something equally as cold. Turning around, Ralof jumped in fear at the giant he'd backed into. His hand reaching for his sword on instinct but finding the sheath empty.
The giant moved towards him, its fleshy grey hands reaching down to him. The fear in his gut disappearing somewhat as the undead picked a boulder from the snow instead. Rearing its arm back and hurling it upwards with surprising speed. Though he tried to follow the boulder's path in the sky he couldn't see what the creature was targeting, only catching brief glimpses of movement through the clouds.
"The dead cannot see us here and now. Not without their king." The red eyed man said from beside him, appearing in wisp of black smoke and feathers. Startled by his sudden appearance, Ralof exhaled, the idea of strangling the man beginning to look more and more appealing.
"They have bigger things to worry about than an old raven." His eyes looking away from him, he pointed up into the skies above them.
"Look there, do you see them?"
Humoring the old man, he squinted, staring up at the dark clouds overhead even as more boulders flew through the air. An occasional spear of what looked to be ice whistling past them into the clouds. Then, diving through the thick cloud cover he spied the enormous scaled monstrosity. Horns curved into a crown like some strange goat and massive spikes as black as ebony covering nearly every inch of its mottled body.
Its wings unfurled above them and the air echoed with the clap of thunder and words. Catching sight of a head of white hair behind the dragon's crowned head, he gaped.
"Darion?"
"The very same."
The pair of men watching as the air above them was swept up into a vortex. The sudden rotation knocking many of the wights surrounding them unsteady in the clawing winds. He felt the ground shake before he saw the blinding flash of purple light. An undead just feet away being struck with lightning from the heavens. Screaming hideously even as the electricity turned its very bones to a smoldering pile of ash.
"Your friend holds power the likes of which this world hasn't seen since the Doom of Valyria. Perhaps even greater than then," He remarked, the dragon turning in the air abruptly. "he will be sorely needed in the war to come. As will you."
Ralof turned to the man, his face betraying the anger he felt. Here this man stood, looking into his memories and proclaiming that they had a part to play in someone else's war? Bold and foolish.
"No more of your games, mage. Who are you really?" He demanded. The shady man only chuckled to himself, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"There was a time I was called Brynden Rivers, or Bloodraven as the masses dubbed me. I am known to most now as the Three-Eyed Raven." Dragon fire washing over them harmlessly as he spoke.
Bloodraven paused a moment, turning from him to point towards a nearby hill. An eldritch portal stood gaping at its summit. "You are trapped here by powers I know not because of Darion's rash actions." He told.
Ralof's eyes watched then as the portal writhed, a wight popping out from its inside. Brynden's words ringing in his ears as the creature scrambled to its feet only to be struck with a bolt of lightning. The creature being replaced by another only moments later.
"That portal is your only ticket home, I fear. The longer you wait the more of the walkers you will have to cleave through to leave."
"And why do you care if we are stranded?" He shrugged. "You said it yourself, Darion has more than enough power to get us out of this mess." Bloodraven paused for a moment. Eyeing him curiously.
"Do you know what a greenseer is, Harbinger?"
Ralof snarled at the question. Did this man only speak in questions and riddles? Whatever he was getting at, he wasn't of a mind to listen at this stage.
"No. Enlighten me."
"A greenseer," Bloodraven started. "is a being who can see the past, the present, and even some of what could be." He told. Another gout of dragonfire washing through the crowds of wights beside them.
"I am one such being. A greenseer. All the worlds knowledge. Every book, every secret, and every memory is mine to keep and know. And yet I have watched the memories of the world twist and turn so many times since your arrival that were it not for my prior knowledge then I would never have known the difference between the truth or the distortion."
Bloodraven paused then. His red eyes looking away to the dragon that still flew overhead. He shook his head, his blood red eyes never leaving the dragon in the distance. The beasts stream of fire cutting short before they finished their pass through the crowd.
"I doubt he even knows it. But his very presence is unraveling the fabric of our reality. All three of you are to some extent." Ralof's head snapped up at that.
"Three?"
"Your fellow Companion, Aela, sits quietly in Castle Black awaiting your friends return."
Ralof felt a weight ease from his mind then. Darion must have brought her with him after he had been thrown through the portal, he realized. Happy as he was at the news, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit perturbed. The Three-Eyed Raven smiled at him knowingly.
"He did look for you, you know." He said candidly. "Four days with very little food or rest. He never found you. Though it was no fault of his. It was mine."
Ralof's eyes widened as the storm surrounding them began to relent. The bolts of thunder that arced through the sky growing far fewer in number than they had before. An ear shattering screech and wights were flying limply through the air. Their dead, shambling bodies raining down around them.
"You knew? You knew he was looking for me and yet you kept Darion from finding me? Why?" He asked incredulous.
"Darion prepares to ride south and gather the lords of Westeros for the war soon to come. He is unwavering in his loyalty from what I have seen thus far," He said with a nod. "and it is that loyalty that would keep him at Castle Black if he found even a trace of your presence. We simply do not have the time to indulge it."
Bloodraven walked towards him then, resting a weary hand on his right shoulder. Ralof blinked at the touch and then world around them changed completely. The endless throngs of wights and the storm that harrassed them were nowhere to be seen. In their place sat an ocean of crude fur tents and the leather and fur clad people that stood among them. All milling around and going about their everyday lives, completely oblivious to them both.
"These are the Wildlings, or the Free Folk, as they like to call themselves." He explained. Walking along the edges of the sprawling encampment. Looking around with wide eyes at trhe gathered people surrounding them. Catching sight of a pair of hulking giants tending to a mammoth and her calf as they passed further into the camp.
"The Others will come for them soon. They do not have the luxury of safety that the Wall offers. And though it was not your intent, your arrival has put them in even greater peril." He said, stopping beside a tent. A teenage girl playing some sort of flute beside it's entrance.
"Atmora."
Bloodraven nodded now, a grim look on his old face. His mocking smirk from earlier now faded away completely.
"Thousands will die trying to reach the south of the Wall. A far greater number stand to perish if you do not help them at all."
Ralof turned away from Bloodraven. Breathing in the crisp evening air, the scent of cooking venison filling his nose. His blue eyes watching as the fur clad people went about their lives. A few men could be seen butchering a stag, the women talking while cooking and sewing, children running about playing roughly as elders told stories around the campfires.
"Is this not what you wanted, Ralof, son of Gundar? A second chance to prove your worth?"
Seeing the red haired girl beside them run up to a massive, equally red haired man, Ralof cursed. Running a hand through his blonde hair as he watched on. Seeing the father of the child toss his gleeful daughter into the air, catching her whilst laughing. Bloodraven's voice calling from behind him questioningly.
"A second chance to do right?"
Ralof stopped then. His eyes closed shut and the Three-Eyed Raven's words rolling through his conflicted mind. Much as he disliked the man. He knew him to be right.
'Damn you. And damn me.'
Turning back around to Bloodraven's placid face and clasped hands, he breathed out a ragged sigh.
"What would you have me do?"
Seeing Bloodraven's little, smug smile come back irritated him to no end. Even though he knew it to be the right thing, something that he believed Darion would do himself were he here, Ralof couldn't shake the feeling that he had somehow been duped.
"I would ask you to ride east. Find Mance Rayder and help him gather the Wildlings. Help them reach the safety the south will provide them."
"I need numbers. How many Wildlings am I to gather?"
"One hundred thousand give or take."
Ralof whistled at the number. That was more people than most holds in Skyrim as it was. Certainly more than had fought in the war for Skyrim's independence, both sides included. Biting his lip, he nodded too himself. He hadn't backed down from a challenge yet, and he wouldn't start now. Neither Darion or Aela would ever let him hear the end of it otherwise.
"I'll need a horse to do any riding."
"You will have one. The children have made sure of that."
Ralof's brow furrowed for a moment at that. Briefly wondering what Bloodraven had meant, before shaking his head and thinking better of asking after it.
"My arms and armor?"
"Still on your person."
Ralof exhaled mightily. A strange land and a quest to gather a foreign people threatened by the same force that had drove the nords from Atmora centuries past? What could possibly go wrong?
"Then I consent. Send me back to my body, Bloodraven."
Barely a moment before the words had passed his lips did he awake with a start. His lungs gasping for air, electric blue eyes wide as he sat up in the snowy forest. Turning around, he could see the white barked tree he had been lain against. A roughly carved face of some sad god staring back at him. It's eyes crying tears of blood-red sap down the length of its trunk.
Standing unsteadily, he felt around on his body. Finding Ysgramor's shield and his skyforged sword to be on his person just as the Three-Eyed Raven had promised. Seeing a black horse standing off to the side beneath the scarlet leaves, his eyes narrowed.
Grabbing ahold of the horses reigns, he mounted swiftly. Riding off from the red leaved tree at a full gallop. A murder of crows cawing overhead as he rode.
Well there you go! Go ahead and let me know what you guys think if you feel like reviewing! Cause like I said earlier, I am probably way, waaaaayyyy out of practice.
But yeah, some of the bigger stuff was put into this one. Talk with both Hermaeus and the Bloodraven in particular. Now some of you did mention that Darion having some sort of madness last chapter did kinda come out of left field. I acknowledge that fully. I should have built on that a bit more than just one line in chapter two.
But you should be starting to get what his "madness" is. Its both him and not him. I will most definitely be expanding on this as we go further. It's something I've always wondered about in terms of our dovahkiin honestly. I like to think that everything came out fine, probably wrong, but do let me know what you thought of it.
Anyways, I'm already starting work on the next chapter as I write this. So I'll try and have it out sometime soon. Take care until then!