Whiterun
The earth shakes and the ground shatters. With each blow, Radahn the Starscourge sends quakes through the earth. His towering might gleams under the golden sky, his red hair afire and gravity itself bends to his will. Once more one of his cleavers shatters stone, and his magic sends the debris hurtling towards his opponent.
Malenia slides feet first under the barrage of stone, shooting back up in an instant. Her boots echo on cobblestone, chasing after her every step. She twists on her leg, bringing her blade up in time for its edge to spark against the edge of Radahn's obsidian cleaver. So clean and polished are the blades she can see her golden eyes reflected in them.
Then they are gone again and she is jumping into the air towards Radahn. His second cleaver cuts forward, faster than its size should allow it. Malenia twists, using her legs as a counterweight to send her flipping over the cleaver. She lands on it, sliding forward while her gilded blade carves furrows along the cleavers side.
Then she leaps forward again, blade rushing forward and halting an inch from her brothers golden eye. The air is silent, only broken by the sound of gravity asserting itself over the land and bringing debris crashing back down to the earth. Finally, a flash of brilliant white splits Radahn's star-burned skin.
With a flick of his finger, the graviturgic forces under his command slowly lower Malenia to the ground. She smooths the wrinkles of her dress before smiling up at her brother.
"I had you, brother." she says, matter-of-factly.
Deep laughter booms from Radahn's chest, the giant of a man clapping a massive hand on his stomach as he does. "Almost doesn't count, little sister! I only need one eye to see you!"
"And apparently no brain to keep fighting." Malenia replies.
Another laugh and the ground quakes as Radahn falls into a sitting position. More granite tiles shatter under his weight, but that is of no concern. The Leyndell Colosseum is built to withstand the punishment of two demigods at war with one another. By tomorrow the ruined arena would be functional once more.
Malenia sits across from her half brother and begins rubbing her left knee. Radahn's jovial expression changes to one of gentle concern, "Do you need a break? Shall I fetch Miquella?"
Malenia shakes her head and smiles again, "He is busy arguing fundamental philosophy with Radagon. I would not rob him of an opportunity to prove himself."
A frown this time, from her half-brother. "I understand your distaste for him, but even father deserves some respect."
"Coming from you, of all people? Did Rykard put you up to that?" Malenia demands, only half serious. The snake loves whispering his solutions in the ears of others instead of simply stating them aloud.
"I don't approve of fathers treatment of my mother, no." Radahn admits, "but I respect his capacity as a warrior and a lord. And he has been nothing but respectful to you and Miquella."
"In public." Malenia mutters.
Radahn sits up, his armor creaking under his bulk, "What?"
There is a dangerous tone in his voice, and Malenia quickly changes the subject. She stands back up and stretches her leg. The bandages and salve are still good; the Rot has not claimed it from her yet.
"Forget I said anything brother. It is of no concern." she picks up her blade, lets its edge trail through dirt until she has carved a circle around her. Then she points it at Radahn.
"Now, I was promised a day of battle with my brother. I still hold thee to that, o brother mine."
Radahn rises again, that grin on his face. Gravity surges about him, his twin cleavers grinding through the dirt and stone until they find themselves within his grasp once more. He holds them wide apart and lowers himself. The purple glow of graviturgy crackles across his epic form.
"Very well then. Heed my words, dearest sister; I have never known defeat."
Malenia finds herself grinning, "Then allow me to educate you!"
The colosseum is alive once more with the clash of blade, the hum of graviturgy and the crashing of debris. This is what Malenia lives for. Her brother is a true leader, a wise and kind man worthy of being followed.
But this? The flurry of blows, the adrenaline burning her veins, her heart hammering as Radahn's blades pass so close a lock of her scarlet hair is cut on its edge. This is what Malenia lives for. The din of battle is her canvas, and she forever strives to be its greatest artist.
She ducks under another of her brother's wide blows, running for his leg to use as a springboard towards his face. But she does not see the crevice in the floor. Does not feel it as her foot finds purchase within. Only when she twists, does she realize what is happening.
There is a sound of wet tearing and dry cracking, and she is suddenly on the ground.
Pain is all she knows.
Her vision is scarlet, her throat is raw with agony. The golden sky and branches of the Erdtree vanish under a shadow. Large hands wrap around her, lifting her thrashing body with practiced ease.
"I have you sister." Radahn's rumbling voice cuts through the pain, briefly. She blinks through tears to see his stoney face staring down at her with fear on his face.
That's not right; the conqueror of the stars should never know fear. Malenia looks down at her leg despite her brothers protest. It is a mistake.
Rot festers along what remains of her left leg from the thigh down. Flesh has split like rotten fruit, spilling out in a pool of dark scarlet ichor. Maggots writhed in flesh and blood alike, boils fester along her calves, lesions eating at the pale skin with a terrifying ferocity.
The terror begins to overtake her, a sickness roils in her gut. Radahn covers her face with one hand as he carries her. Over and over he says, "Focus on my voice. Do not focus on the Rot. Focus on my voice, do not focus on the Rot. Focus on my voice…"
Again and again.
She does, as best she can, through the pain and the terror. If she can control herself, if she can compose herself and hold onto herself, the Rot will slow. These thoughts have slowed it before, but they are joined by a new one, a small voice that grows louder until it is screaming over all others.
One day, the Rot will claim you.
Malenia's eyes snap open, and she sees the wooden rafters of Alvor's home overhead. It was just a dream, just a memory. There is no more Rot. There is no more home.
She lets out a slow, shaking breath and composes herself. Her heart races through her chest, and her hand shakes. It takes a force of will to force herself to sit up, and another to slow her shaking. For ten minute she breathes slowly, calming her nerves and purging the imagery from her mind. Of all the memories to return, why that one?
There is no answer for her, only silence.
There is a wetness in her eyes. She quickly touches it, and pulls her hand away, revealing water. Tears. Her hand tightens into a fist, and her resolve hardens. Such things are beneath her.
She throws off the blanket and looks at the remains of her legs. Still fresh and reborn; no Rot in sight. The golden cross stitching on her legs shines ever so faintly under the pale light from above. A small part of her realizes that the morn has come, as she traces her fingers over the stump of her left leg.
"O Radahn… dear brother… forgive me." she whispers.
There is no answer. There will never be an answer. Whatever there once was, cannot be again. The bridge has been burned, and she was the one to light it. She will never know forgiveness for what she did to him. And perhaps, she does not deserveit.
There is only one option left to her at this current standing. Malenia turns and grabs her prosthetics. She is well practiced in their function, and is standing tall once more in under a minute, gazing towards the stairwell.
Her sins are many, her failures vast. But she has made an oath, and she intends to keep it.
"I know it's not exactly the widest selection, but it would make us all feel a bit better if we knew you were at least armed when you left." Alvor gestures at the workbench. A dozen or so blades of varying size and quality are carefully laid out before an awkwardly hunched over Malenia. Any one of them is free for choosing, at Hadvar and Alvor's insistence
A part of her feels that she does not need an extra blade at this point. After all, it is at most a day and a half's journey to Whiterun from Riverwood. Possibly shorter since she will not have to slow her pace for another on the rest of her journey. Yet the practical side of her admits that it is better to have a blade and not need it, than to need it and not have it.
So she selects the lone greatsword, a steel blade nearly as tall as a man. Its hilt barely comes up past her waist. She holds the blade up to her face, admiring the craftsmanship and checking the edge for chipping. All she sees is the reflection of her face along the blade's edge.
"You are not a weaponsmith, Alvor? Your workmanship is impressive." She notes.
The burly smith shrugs, "I'm the only smith in Riverwood. If a guard breaks their blade or a man needs arrows for a hunt, I'm the first one they come to. Otherwise, I mostly make saw blades and tools for the mill."
"You have an admirable skill for it." Malenia lowers the blade and regards him with newfound respect, "Hone it well."
"Alright, that's enough." Sigrid enters the forge with a leather pack in hand. "Any more praise and my husband's head won't fit through the door."
"Then we'll just have to make it bigger then, won't we?" Alvor smiles and hugs his wife around the waist.
She makes a sound of annoyance, but is smiling, "Ugh, there will be no living with you now."
Malenia lets them have their moment, and sheaths the blade. With her stature, it fits well at her side. It will, at the very least, be easier to carry on foot than her original blade. Once she has secured the harness, she turns back to Alvor and Sigrid and bows her head.
"Thank you, for your kind hospitality. I will speak well of you to the Jarl." she says.
Sigrid rolls her eyes, "Oh enough of that. As far as we're concerned, you're a friend of the family now. You saved Hadvar, this is the least we could do."
Before Malenia can protest this notion, Sigrid holds up the bag to her. "I packed some provisions for you. Since you seemed so fond of my cooking, I thought you might appreciate having something besides old bread and tack."
A peak inside shows cheese and apples, dried venison, and an odd pastry she does not recognize. An almost mountainous roll covered in a strange white glaze. Even from inside the pack, it still feels warm.
Sigrid whispers, "Don't mention the sweet roll. Dorthe will get jealous."
Malenia closes the pack and hangs it off her rucksack. "You both have been very kind to me. I will ensure to repay this kindness however I can. Thank you."
Past them, a familiar small face peers from behind the wall. A ghost of a smile graces Malenia's lips. "Dorthe. I can see you."
Both parents turn towards their daughter. The girl sheepishly steps out and scurries forward, holding out a sheet of paper. "I was just… before you go, I made this cheat sheet for you. So you can practice your reading."
There is a strange feeling in Malenia's chest, an odd pitter patter of her heart that she is unfamiliar with. But she is not one to refuse a gift, so she extends her hand and takes the folded paper.
"You do your kin proud." Malenia says.
Dorthe flushes red and manages to vanish behind her father's leg. Malenia slips the paper in a pocket on her rucksack and nods at them both. After one final goodbye, she emerges from the forge into Riverwood and makes her way out of the village.
The sky is filled with large clouds today, a lovely shade of baby blue pierced by the golden rays of the sun. The village is alive with activity, men and women going about their day with practiced ease. More than a few villagers stop what they are doing to openly stare at the demigoddess. An even more surprising number glance at her once, and then continue to go about their business. The people of Skyrim continue to mystify Malenia, and she is not sure if she likes this or not.
She is unsurprised to see Hadvar waiting for her at the southern exit. He nods at her approach, a gesture she returns. Then, he hands her a furled sheet of paper.
"I took the liberty of acquiring a map of Skyrim for you at the Riverwood Trader before you left. Figured you wouldn't want to spend any more time in cramped buildings than was possible." he explains.
Malenia takes the map from him and asks, "What will you do now?"
Hadvar shrugged, "What General Tullius ordered me to do. I'll take charge of the garrison here until the Jarl sends more men. Then I'll wait until I receive my next set of orders. I'll probably be recalled to Solitude eventually. If you're ever in the area, well… don't be a stranger."
Malenia looks at the map in her hand, then at Hadvar. This young man who has done so much for her, an alien being he knows little of. Yet he remains friendly and hospitable in the short time they have known each other. Genuine honesty is not something Malenia has expected to miss.
But the people of Skyrim, despite their oddities, have reminded her how precious it is. Words do not come easily to Malenia, but eventually she finds them. They are simple, but she hopes that they are enough.
"You are a good soldier, Hadvar. Grace guide you, friend."
"Talos protect you." Hadvar clasps his hand to his chest, the imperial salute. Malenia does the same, and bows. Then she is off. Riverwood slowly fades behind her, and Malenia moves ever onwards.
She deems to remember Riverwood and its people, and their hospitality. But she cannot remain with them. After all, Whiterun awaits.
It is all of ten minutes before Malenia digs into the collection of food Sigrid has left for her, and pulls out the sweet roll. The sweet fragrance grows only more alluring with each passing moment, and it would be a waste to let it grow stale. She holds the odd shaped pastry in her hand for a moment, and takes a cautious first bite.
It is, for lack of a better word, divine. The sugary frosting melts on the tongue, the still warm bread flakes with each bite, a subtle sweetness complimented by the frosting. After the first bite, the sweet roll is gone within seconds. She is left only with frosting on her fingers and soon even that is gone.
Marika help her, if Miquella saw her acting in such a way over a snack…
Miquella.
The brief moment of warmth quickly fades and is replaced by dark clouds. Though she has a goal set before her, it is only a step towards what her true goal should be. A return to the Lands Between, to stand by her brother's side once more. If he would even have her, of course.
Such thoughts darken her mood considerably. As she travels the road, she pays little attention to the lands around her. She turns her focus inward, her mind only on her defeat; her failure.
Over and over again, as her feet carry her forward, she replays her failures. The battle with Radahn was at best a pyrrhic victory, but realistically was a stalemate. But her battle with the Tarnished was a true defeat. Even with the full might of the Scarlet Rot unleashed, the warrior had undone her with practiced ease. It would be easy, of course, to blame her loss on her years of inactivity, or even the Rots influence.
But Malenia knew better. The Tarnished had been, no, they are a greater warrior than she. The warrior bested her, it is of no doubt in Malenia's mind that they will become Elden Lord. There is… some comfort in that thought. A warrior with the strength to best her, the strength of character to overwhelm her, may be able to rule well, as a lord should.
Is it not then her defeat that hangs upon her so heavily? Perhaps, a part of her realizes, it is that the Tarnished will succeed where she and Miquella and her others failed. A figure of no renown would claim the title of Elden Lord and unite the Lands Between. A feat that she, nor Miquella, nor Radahn or any of her other siblings could accomplish. Witnessing another succeed where she has failed is frustrating. Before the Tarnished Malenia could at least be content that she had done all in her power and still come short of victory. After all, if even she could not succeed, who could?
Now though, all of this was thrown into question.
And this question torments Malenia for the entirety of her journey.
This philosophizing, this self reflection, is something she is not used to. Doubt, uncertainty, and confusion are the antithesis to all she has built her life around and what she has been taught.
Focus, certainty, clarity.
These are the aspects upon which Malenia built herself, which she had to build herself. Anything less and the Rot would have consumed her. But now there is no Rot. Now there is no war in the Lands Between, no Elden Ring, and no Miquella. All that remains is herself.
And it is becoming very clear that without these things, and without the Rot, Malenia is not sure who that person is. That is a startling revelation that shakes her to the core. She pauses for a moment, leaning against a nearby pine as the full weight of her thoughts settle.
"Who am I?"
Her titles are meaningless, her brother is gone, her home beyond her reach, and her curse has been broken. All that remains is a crippled demigod, in a land that is utterly foreign to her. It is a thought that is almost frightening in how visceral it is.
She stares at her hand, clean of infection. It flexes and twists at her command, it is hers. A deep breath, every breath she takes is hers. What she sees only she can see. The air that bites at her skin only she can feel. Her thoughts are hers and hers alone, and so are her memories.
Those memories, so many returning to her. So many good, so many bad. But they are a foundation. A pillar upon which Malenia the untitled can rest. She remembers once, a discussion with her brother ages ago. A simple discussion on how he devised his many plans and schemes, how he was so sure of what he sought to achieve.
"Start with what you know, and work your way from there. The rest will follow." were his words. Part of them anyway, the ones Malenia needs.
"I am Malenia. I am a warrior." She stands tall, gazing ahead at the sunlit path.
"And I need a weapon."
At twilight, the road moves parallel along the White River and both emerge from the forested mountains into an open valley set at the foot of the largest mountain she has ever seen. Rising even higher than the Erdtree itself, the towering peak looms over the whole of the valley. And what a valley it is.
Malenia's pace slows to a stop, and a small breath of wonder escapes her. Fields of green and gold roll out across the valley before her, speckled with the gold shingled roofs of homes and farms. A few far more grand manors stick out amongst this picture, but they all pale in comparison to the centerpiece.
A gently sloping hill of stone and grass rises in the center of the valley, and a city lays atop it. Hundreds of homes sprawl along its bulk, protected by solid stone walls dotted with gold-roofed towers. Among them rises a fort of wood and stone, many times larger than any other structure in the city. A sibling of sorts to the mountain, as it too stands sentinel over its smaller subjects. There is no doubt in Malenia's mind that that is the Jarls keep: Dragonreach.
Whiterun is not the most impressive city Malenia has ever seen. However, her understanding of these lands tells her that unlike the Lands Between, there are no gods who directly lead these people. Thus, this is a city constructed by human hands and human effort. And with that in mind, the city is a fine place indeed.
From a distance anyway. Only a closer inspection would tell if its distant appearance holds up to scrutiny.
Forward she moves. Eight hours of marching without rest has left her body riddled with aches and pains. The promise of a warm bed and meal are alluring even to her. She is a proud warrior of utmost discipline and courage; she's not dead.
The road follows the White River before splitting in two. One path continues north along the base of the mountain, the other towards Whiterun. It is along this path, past the farms and manors, that Malenia comes across a large crowd of onlookers. Men, women, and beings she has never seen before, crowd alongside the road with eager eyes and vocal shouting. Betting primarily, and cheers of encouragement.
The source of their attention is quite obvious, especially to Malenia who towers over all of them. A farm along the road is currently host to a fierce battle. On one side, two men clad in wolf carved steel and a woman in hunting leathers. On the other, a creature that Malenia assumes is this land's equivalent of a giant. She is not sure if she should be insulted by the many comparisons that the land's denizens have made in regards to her now.
The giant is a lumbering and poorly shaped creature, lethargic in gait and inelegant in its movements. Its tactics of war are no more complicated than that of an armed beast, flailing its ugly club angrily at the warriors attacking it. Were it not for its size, any one of the warriors would clearly have slain it by now. As is, the two men are forced back by its swings and though the womans aim is true, its thick skin turns her arrows from deadly shots into irritable pinpricks.
Half a dozen stick out from its arm, and with a brush of one oversized hand it sends many of them clattering uselessly to the ground. It rumbles in a language Malenia does not understand and swings its club in an arc before it. The larger of the two men, a substantially sized specimen a head taller than the other, dives for the floor. His smaller counterpart raises an iron banded shield in time for the club to smash into it. Iron shatters and the man is sent bowling over a nearby stone fence.
He rolls across the ground and to his feet, dazed but unharmed. His female companion sprints forward, firing a pair of arrows at the giant's eyes. The giant raises its hand to shield itself and bellows in pain as the arrows sink into the soft flesh. The woman, now out of arrows, tosses her bow aside and draws a shimmering steel blade and dagger. They are a blur in her hands as she slices at the giant's ankles, until it raises one foot and slams it down. It misses the woman, but the act is enough to force her to retreat.
The first man, the one taller than his fellows, takes advantage of the distraction to charge forward with his greatsword in hand. He grips the haft of the blade with one hand and a grip built into the blade with another, and plunges it deep into the calf of the giant. Bloody ichor spills from the wound and the giant roars in pain. It kicks the man with its injured leg, sending him sprawling backwards.
Before the man can get back up, the giant raises its club overhead, a killing blow. The woman is sprinting forward again, but has put too much distance between herself and the giant. The other man is struggling to find his footing, half his face blooded from the blow. Neither will reach their companion in time.
Neither need to.
No one sees the blade that is thrown until it has embedded itself in the giants upraised arm. The giant staggers backwards and howls, clutching at its ruined limb. The club rolls from limp fingers and hits the ground with an earth shaking thud. The next thing anyone on the field or in the crowd sees, is a blur of red and gold streaking forwards.
Malenia jumps forward, her one hand grasping the hilt of her blade while she plants both feet on the giant's chest. She pushes off its chest, pulling her blade free, and spins back through the air and gracefully lands protectively in front of the fallen man.
The giant roars at her, swinging its good arm angrily at her. Malenia dodges it with ease, sliding between the giant's guard and thrusting forward with the sword. The Iron greatsword is bulky in her grip and its balance is strange to her. But the simplicity of the blow makes this irrelevant. The blade's edge slips upwards through the giant's ribs and straight into its heart.
Its death rattle rolls through the air like a peal of thunder, and strength leaves its mighty limbs. The giant falls backwards, and hits the ground with an earth shaking crash. Blood pours from its many wounds, and its body is still.
Malenia flicks the blood off the blade and stabs it into the ground. Then she strides forward and retrieves the other greatsword from the giant's ruined leg and pulls it free. When the large man finds his footing, Malenia hands it to him. He blearily blinks at the offered hilt, and takes it with a mumbled thanks.
"I apologize for interrupting." Malenia tells him. "But it felt improper to standby and let a promising warrior meet an ignominious death such as that."
"Crushed by a crop-raiding giant is not the glorious death I would want." the man agrees.
It is at this moment that he seems to finally see Malenia properly for the first time. His expression is one of amusement, "Huh, well ain't that something. Never met someone bigger than me before. Let me guess, people keep asking if you're part giant?"
"Incessantly."
"Welcome to the club." he begins cleaning the blood off his blade and says, "Names Farkas, by the way. You?"
"Malenia."
"Pretty name. Pretty good fighter too." Farkas grunts.
"A master of tongues as always, Farkas." says the woman as she approaches the two of them. She looks up at Malenia with her hands on her hips and a calculating eye.
Unlike Farkas and the other man, the woman is built lithe and dressed in iron and leather armor that clearly sacrifices protection for speed. A philosophy Malenia is all too familiar with. Warpaint has been smeared across her face in slashes of black that highlight her piercing blue eyes.
After a moment of silence, the woman smiles and says, "My name is Aela, the huntress. You've already met my shield-brother Farkas. The idiot nursing a concussion is our other shield-brother, Vilkas."
Malenia arches a brow, "Shield-brother?"
"I thought you might be an outsider." Aela says, obvious amusement in her voice. "I take it you've never heard of the Companions then? We're an order of warriors. Brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."
Mercenaries then.
Malenia's distaste must be obvious, as Aela quickly adds, "There are of course jobs that we won't take; but we can't exactly survive on the good will and hopes of the people."
"An unfortunate truth." Malenia admits. She pulls her blade from the ground and after cleaning the blood off of it, sheathes it at her side once more.
She regards the trio, these Companions. Farkas is tending to Vilkas, handing the man a healing potion, while Aela is still regarding Malenia with a cool expression on her face. There is a pang of familiarity in this scene. It hurts.
Malenia bows her head and says, "I wish you future victories, Companions. May Grace guide you."
She sets off back on the road, the crowd of onlookers quickly parting before her stride. Questions and calls from the people are ignored and though a few briefly follow her, all eventually leave her to her business.
It is a short walk to Whiteruns entrance. She passes a ranch of horses in front of the city, and a camp of odd cat like people camped in front of it, before passing under the first gate. Now that she can see them closer, the walls of Whiterun clearly have seen wear and tear. The years have not been kind to the city, and she can see the old scars of many failed attempts to breach it.
In spite of this, there are many guards patrolling these ancient walls, all of them clad in the same uniform as those in Riverwood. The obvious coat of arms for the Jarl's men. She passes under one more gatehouse and finds herself at the foot of a large wooden gate guarded by a pair of armored men.
She is impressed when one of said men approaches her without hesitation. "Halt! City is under tight lockdown with dragons about. Official Business only."
That catches Malenia's attention. Perhaps the dragon had caused more problems after burning Helgen to the ground. Or worse, perhaps there was more than one dragon in Skyrim to worry about. A very concerning thought, especially if all of them shared the Helgen dragon's seeming invulnerability.
"I bring news from Helgen about the dragon attack." Malenia says simply.
The guard folds his arms. "Fine. But we'll be keeping an eye on you."
Malenia makes a mental note to praise the guard's straightforwardness and astuteness to the Jarl after their audience. They are the first person she has met to be completely undeterred by her appearance or information. But, business first.
While the guard returns to his post, Malenia approaches the large wooden door and places her shoulder against it. With one push, the mighty door groans and swings open. And Malenia takes her first steps into the heart of Whiterun.
A/N: This chapter was a bit of a nightmare to write, but I certainly enjoyed bits and parts of it. Malenia's nightmare/memory was definitely my favorite, because I enjoy torturing my characters!
Anyway, hope this was a good followup to the fluff of last chapter. I had planned originally for this chapter to involve the meeting with Jarl Bulgruuf but I felt that ultimately that meeting needs its own chapter for focus. So yeah, next chapter we'll be meeting the Jarl and then totally going to fix that sword without issue. Not a one. Totally.
As always, please leave your comments and criticisms below and I will see you guys next chapter!