I Do Not Own Skyrim Or Game Of Thrones, They belong to Bethesda Studios And George RR Martin. Only here to support their work and improve my own writing.
speech/thoughts
shouts/spells
"To be honourable one must have courage. to be honourable one must exercise self-control. All great things in the service of the Fatherland are honourable."
Hey Guys, Its been a long time lmao. I am sorry for the long period of inactivity, I was on a training exercise in Bulgaria for a few months (It went longer that I was originally told) and only arrived a few weeks back (in lieu of the COVID19 Pandemic, which I hope yall are doing ok in, hope yall are safe with your family and friends.) I have been spending the last little while working on my Uni papers(I know my Uni has not cancelled unfortunately lol) as well as my fanfics. In terms of this I have read through the comments and taken some time and made the decision to change the timeline during Robert's Rebellion, this gives me more time to work with the main storyline as well as the minor ones and flesh out the characters and make them feel realistic, something D&D failed to do lol.
I have also read the comments regarding Talion on his shout abilities and think it will be wise to use them sparingly, I like the idea of magic being less in this universe and not being as OP. Considering Lore wise, A Dragonborns shout was strong enough to shatter an island. Doesn't exactly fair well against individuals like Ramsay or Joffrey(last one maybe)
I want to focus more on him as a soldier with his service in the Legion as well as his experience in the Companions, Dawnguard, and his less favourable past (Thieves Guild, Dark Brotherhood)
Pawr: in terms of how exactly( I admit yes the shouts were nerfed and that's partially a safety net for myself as an inexperienced writer and the fact that you have low fantasy characters against a being that bends space-time and reality. In terms of physical strength, going through many realistic YouTubers I've watched trying to study medieval realism(Metatron, Skalligrim, Shadversity,) A single man using brute strength and surviving against 94 opponents (plus the archers) Is next to impossible, Sure he kills dragons and they are exponentially stronger but considering the many Skyrim stories I've read, killing Skyrim dragons (minus the legendary and frost ones) are pretty easy for a Demigod, if you want a more accurate Rep go watch Berzerk Guts 100 man fight and then come tell me Talion is a weakling. not even 5 Ser Arthur Daynes or 7 Gregor Cleganes could kill over a hundred experienced Ironborn raiders in singe combat.
I also did change the armour slightly, after consideration Daedric and Dragon Bone/Scale (Although super badass is just beyond overpowered compared to the I guess primitive lol weapons of Westeros. His armour will be the lighter/medium Nightengale (I Love this armour look and its still strong enough that he's not wearing crappy iron armour scale armour.)
Anyway, I hope yall are safe during this crisis and arent losing your minds during isolation lol. Take Care
Chapter 2
"Set A Higher Standard"
Westeros
283 AC
A blinding white light glittered in the pale snow. It seemed to be bouncing up and down, impatiently almost, like it was waiting for someone. "Everything is about to change Young Dovahkiin, everything is about to change." The blinding light spoke again.
A bloodcurdling scream of a child echoed through the darkened and eerie forest again. Talion eyes peered deeper into the forest. Just then the familiar screeching and scattering of legs made him turn to see the icicled fangs of a large ice spider jumping and about to sink into him.
Talion Blackfang's eyes shot open, the burning feeling in his throat and stomach returned.
Pain. It was the first conscious thought that had entered Talion's mind. His head was spinning with dizzying spells, his vision blurry and sharp jolts of pain shot through his body like it was on fire. His nose which surprisingly had healed from its broken state still felt stuffy — the smell of smoke still lingering behind.
The soft cushiony structure he laid back on provided him slight comfort, but confusion. Confusion to why he was laying on a straw mattress bed instead of on the cold stone of the afterlife.
A gingerly hand pull off a soft fabric, he assumed was a blanket off, removing his source of warmth. The cool morning air brushed past his naked chest, in fact besides what he assumed was bandages covering a big portion of his body. He wasn't wearing anything but a loincloth.
The gingerly hands of the man touched just below his ribs and prodded softly. A sickening feeling in his stomach forcing Talion to lurch over and almost vomit his already empty stomach. As soon as his body moved over to the side he regretted it instantly as he felt the sharp pains of his ribs. "By the gods." A man spoke out as he tumbled back into his bedside chair in shock. "He lives?" The man muttered to himself in awe as he watched the mortally injured man sat up on his own, the blankets falling off his bandages covered chest. Talion rubbing his eyes glanced slowly to his right to look at who just spoke.
The man was in his early sixties with a retreating hairline of greyish black hair and tired green eyes staring at him in shock. He wore simple grey robes and carried a belt of supplies on his waist like some kind of surgeon.
Talion opened his mouth to speak but regretted it instantly when he began to cough violently. It dawned on him just how dry his mouth was, it felt tiny needles poking it. He tried to look for something to quench it, luckily, his mysterious voice came to his rescue and offered him a wooden cup of water.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the cup in fury and
downed the content. Talion didn't bother to check if it was poisoned, his main concern was quenching the pain and thirst in his throat. He closed his eyes allowing the cold liquid to soothe his burning throat. He cleared it a couple of times, washing away the taste of smoke.
"Inform the lord." The robed man spoke to his right. The sound of fabric swayed and a fresh gust of wind blew into the warm tent.
His heightened Werewolf senses perked up at the sound of metal rustling, like a sword being sheathed back into place. Seems he startled some armed men with his abrupt awakening. a few men began to whisper in the back. "By the Seven… how?"
"I didn't think it was possible when the patrol found him it looked like he crawled through the gates of Hell." A deeper voice replied.
"It shouldn't be possible," another man said. "he should be in bedridden for weeks, or dead even. He awakes after 4 days?"
"4 days? Bloody hell… the demon must have really done a number on me…"
The old man offered him another cup of water. He nodded thanks and drank as he inspected his surroundings. He was in a dark blue tent, a pavilion if he had to guess right. A bird-like insignia was sewn into the middle of the tent roof. The inside seemed to be outfitted like a medical tent. There were a couple of beds aligned in a row, all straw with a few blankets. There was a wooden nightstand on his bedside and sprawled out on top was a set of surgical tools and a wooden pitcher of water.
He noticed besides the old man there were 3 other men in the tent with him. All three wore what looked like chain mail and plated shoulders with winged iron helmets covering their heads. Soldiers if he had to guess right. Sewn in the middle of their chest was a blue falcon soaring against a white moon. All three of them carried longswords strapped to their sides and were eyeing him with awe and suspicion.
Talion stares back at them. They reminded him suspiciously of a military force. Like the Imperial Legion. And if their tense body language was anything to go by, they were itching for something.
The blue tent flap opened up suddenly and in walked 2 men. The first man was old, easily in his late fifties early sixties. Despite his old age and greying hair, he stood rigid like a man who had been in battle his whole life. His blue eyes bore into Talion and his aquiline nose scrunched up. The older man stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his longsword strapped to his waist. Silver wings decorated the crossguard and a perched falcon on his pommel. The second man also stepped forward — He was much younger. Probably around 19 or so but showing signs of early stress and grief. The man stood much taller than his older counterpart, easily 6 feet on the mark. He had long brown hair and a clean-shaven face. The man's dark green eyes stared at the injured warrior, his eyes holding a certain level of sadness. He didn't have a sword strapped to his waist but he expected with the man's much bulkier built, he wielded a two-handed weapon. Unlike his companion, the swordless man didn't wear chainmail but what looked like boiled leather. He reminded Talion of a much younger Nord. Pale skin and a certain level of hardness suggested a cold climate. He wore boiled leather and furs and sewn in the middle of his chest was the insignia of a grey snarling wolf. Both men held a level of authority and nobility. Talion had to be careful about what he was going to do next.
'By the gods,' the wolf man thought, 'he's like a damn giant. He's bigger than Robert! Just who is he?' The man inspected every inch of the bandaged man. His stormy bright blue eyes held a level of power and strength he hadn't seen before, his dark brown hair was shaved. What stood out most of all was his size. They had to get a bigger bed for Talion when they found him. He was massive, taller than even Robert and bigger, there wasn't a shred of unhealthy fat, just a body sculptured from the gods themselves, minus all the scars of course. His chest had large gashes and marks, a spider-like web burn above his right pectoral, and on his chest, he had strange tattoos of animals and warfare alike. Those scars looked fatal yet here he was, In only a few days his life-threatening injuries had healed revealing only fresh scars. The healer thought he was a sorcerer of some kind.
The older man smiled revealing missing teeth in some areas. He adjusted the longsword strapped to his waist before he lowered himself to look at the injured man. "Hello young man, my name is Jon Arryn. What is your name?"
The man spoke in a calm voice, in a foreign accent. Talion was sure he wasn't in Skyrim. There was no way the man was a Nord, he assumed from his hardy appearance — a Nord would never speak so cordially. Talion noticed the man's body language, he was the only one besides the surgeon in the tent who wasn't preparing to fight the man. He was perfectly relaxed. The man is either the biggest idiot or the most carefree man he'd ever met.
"Nice to meet you, Jon Arryn." As each word left his lips it sounded gruff, like gravel. He hadn't spoken in 4 days. He hesitated for a brief second, despite the man's calm demeanour, he was in unknown territory. Revealing who he was right off the bat would be a very bad idea without knowing who or what they were.
He heard the sounds of ruffling and turned to his right to see one the guards step forward, his grip on his handle tightened. "That's LORD Arryn to you, Dragonspawn." He corrected threateningly, eyes glaring daggers at the injured Nord. Talion's body tensed at the word. There was no way they knew he was the Dragonborn. Only a handful of people ever got the chance to know his secret identity. He forced himself to relax, something else was going on here. "Relax, he meant no harm." Lord Arryn spoke, waving it off.
"My name is Talion, Talion Blackfang, Lord Arryn." Talion introduced.
Lord Arryn briefly flashed his companion a quizzical look. The stoic young man said nothing, his rigid cold eyes stared at Talion. Arryn turned back to look at Talion. "I'm sorry, but I don't recognize that house name. Where are you from?" Jon had to assume he was some kind of lord or lord's son. The prospect of a landed knight entered his mind but there was something about him that suggested nobility.
'House name, what?' "I'm from Skyrim…" he let the answer linger, hoping to elicit some sort of response. All he got was confusion plastered on the old man's face. "Skyrim… Tamriel… Nirn?" The confusion grew each time he got more and more generalized. 'By Sheogorath, where the hell am I?' Talion sighed in frustration. "Never mind, I seem to be having trouble remembering things, may I ask where I am Lord Arryn?"
"Well… you are currently in the medical tent near the Tridents River." Expecting those words to mean anything.
"Which is ... where?"
"Located near the Saltpans in the Riverlands."
Talion rubbed his eyes in frustration. 'This is really beginning to turn into a shitty day… week' he had to correct himself, remembering his four-day coma state. "I'm sorry my lord, but I don't know what this 'Riverlands' Is, is it near one of the Nine Provinces?"
'Nine provinces? What is this boy speaking about.' "No, the Riverlands is this section of land rules by Hoster of House Tully." He watched the same glazed over eyes that were filled with confusion. "One of the Great Houses of Westeros…" he added further.
Talion stopped the rubbing of his eyes and his eyebrows shot up. Westeros — he remembered that name from his premonition or dream, the land he had to journey to. "Wait, we are in Westeros now?"
The man nodded. "Yes, do you recognize that name?"
Talion nodded which softened Jon's eyes in relief. 'I was beginning to believe he was a total fool or an amnesiac one.' "Good, we are getting somewhere. Do you know much about Westeros?"
The man shook his head honestly which Arryn eyes burrowed. 'Back to square one.' "Very well, you must be a foreigner then. Do you know how you came to be? My men found you bloodied and battered by the river, almost in the Strangers clutches no less." Bloodied was an understatement, the man was covered in deep gashes, blood and battered armour. When his men found the massive man unconscious they thought he was a some Targaryen lord, in the bits of armour they found it was no surprise why. Although the man was naked from the chest down, tiny pieces of his armour remained — a vambrace on his right arm, a broken boot, pieces of remains on the man's left fingers and finally the most menacing of all, the demonic helmet that was broken in half, leaving the right side of the man's face covered in dark black and veiny red with a broken horn peeking out from the side. When the men returned with the remains of the shattered helmet, Arryn's eyes widened in shock. Sure he had seen flashy steel helmets, Knights in tourneys always liked to flash their extravagance, but this was on a whole nother level. It looked almost demonic, what set him off was the material. He immediately sent it over to the camp blacksmiths but even then they couldn't find anything. It sure wasn't iron or steel. Even the massive and broken two-handed axe they found was unrecognizable.
Talion hands curled into a fist as the memories flashed back into his mind. Skuldafn, the Balrog, Sam and Sofie. "I… I was fighting someone. Someone evil and during the battle I was mortally wounded. I blacked out and woke up here." The story almost had no information but Arryn could see the man was exhausted. It was either sheer willpower or godly intervention that he was awake, much less speaking and sitting up.
Arryn noticed his companions' stoic expression and the question that seemed to be bouncing around in his head. It was practically written all over the man's forehead. Arryn sighed before he turned to the man, his calm and carefree attitude was replaced with a steely stare. "Before I leave, I have one more question to ask."
Talion noticed his change in attitude but remained neutral. For now, he'd learn who they were, clearly some regulated military force, and the fact that he was in Westeros and Skyrim was unheard of so far meant he was very far away. Talion waited patiently for the man's question. "Are you a Targaryen supporter?" The man's old green eyes glared at Talion like a hawk, never inch looking for any signs of deception.
'Who the hell is Targaryen? Fuckin hell… this has to be Sheogorath, damn bastard still pissed about the cheese.' "No…" Talion said with uncertainty. He was sure the right answer would have been "I don't know who they are." Especially since there was no telling if this Jon Arryn was a supporter.
Jon Arryn's hawk-like eyes lingered on for a few seconds before he smiled with satisfaction. "Very well, I'll come to check up on you later. For now rest. We can discuss more later."
Talion nodded. "Thank you Lord Arryn."
Jon Arryn spun around and nodded to the group of men before opening the tent flap, the stoic wolf followed by two of the guards followed after him.
The camp surgeon spent the next few minutes changing and removing the bandages of the more serious wounds that had not healed fully. Talion could see some kind of thick bandaging had been wrapped around his right leg and stopped just above his kneecap, a jolt of pain sent through his receptors when he tried to move his leg, he remembered he broke his leg at Skuldafn.
The surgeon grabbed the potato soup and rough roll of bread on the nightstand He began feeding the man mouthfuls of the lukewarm soup with the spoon crafted out of goat bone and some of the bread before exhaustion had taken over him. The healer placed a hand on the man's back and lean him back on the bed — tugged him in. He placed a cold damp towel on the man's forehead again allowing the now mild fever to cool down.
"Rest now, Talion. You need to let your body rest." The man spoke with a soft voice like he was talking to his own child. Talion nodded before closing his eyes. The man gently pushed off from the chair and made his way for the tent flap, the single guard followed after him leaving young Talion alone. 'Damn it, damn it, DAMN IT' Talion swore mentally. He punched the side of the bed angrily sending another jolt of pain through his body. The memories of Sam and Sofie crept into his mind. He didn't know if it was the exhaustion or pain, but he didn't fight back when tears began to form in his eyes running down his cheek. 'I failed them… I wasn't strong enough…' He sobbed softly before the exhaustion took him over and he fell asleep.
Outside the tent
The two fingers exited the tent flap and made their way towards the main commander tent. "Jon, are you sure we can trust him? Leaving him in there like that, alone?"
Jon turned to look at his companion. "Come now Ned, he's not alone for one. We have guards posted outside the tent. Second, those injuries were real. No way he was faking that."
"That's not what I mean Jon… you saw what he was wearing, are we just supposed to trust who he says he is, which is a complete mystery."
Jon stopped and turned to his side placing a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. "Look, I know you are angry Ned, everyone here mourns with you. But don't let your anger for Aerys cloud your judgement. That boy was on the verge of death. I stared at him the whole time, he's either the world's greatest liar, or he's telling the truth. Only time will tell. We'll have a talk with Hoster and Robert when they get here. Until then, we'll have to trust him." With that, he turned back around and made his way to the tent. Ned followed after him.
Talion slept for the first time in a very long time, likely due to the sheer exhaustion his body went through. He awoke the next day early afternoon to the same treatment of the camp surgeon whose name he had learned was Thomas. Returning that afternoon the surgeon was again amazed by the sheer superhuman recovery rate of the large man.
Shortly after he joined again by Jon Arryn and the man who introduced himself as Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. "How is he feeling Thomas?" Jon asked with genuine concern. Targaryen loyalist or not, Jon was an honourable man and no man deserved to die like that. "Well my lord," Thomas started. "I don't know-how… but he's survived the worst of it. I have never seen anything like it." He wipes his dried bloody hands with a towel before staring back at Talion like a rare artifact in a museum.
While Thomas did his magic, Jon pulled a chair beside Talion's bed while Ned stood at the foot of it. "How are you feeling?"
"Better, no thanks to you." He said with a genuine tone, the man had saved his life after all.
"Well, where were we…"
"You asked if I was a Targaryen supporter. I don't want to lie to the man who saved my life." This caused Ned to visibly tense and even Jon narrowed his eyes slightly. "How so?" Jon eyes the man with a calculative stare. His body language was alert but relaxed, his shoulders shrugged. But that would be expected of an assassin. "I don't know who the Targaryens are. I don't know what this Riverlands is, I'm sorry." He said with a frustrated face.
"What is this shit…" Ned muttered under his breath.
Jon pauses and eyed the man studying him. To his surprise the man was serious. "You are serious? You don't know about the Targaryen dynasty or the Riverlands?"
"I only know the word Westeros." He lied, geography was easy. He knew his lie was haphazard at best, but he wasn't about to reveal to the military commanders he was looking for Azor Ahai and stop the army of undead.
"Well…I thought people of Essos knew the history of the Targaryen lineage." He said with a tired expression. The impending battle looming overhead and the troubles with the Targaryens began to take its toll on the old man. "very well… the Targaryen lineage starts with-" he began to explain in short detail as best as he could. A short synopsis of the Targaryen lineage covering Aegon's Conquest, Maegor the Cruel, Blackfyre Rebellion and currently the reign of the Mad King Aerys. This House Targaryen was one of the forty dragonlords of Old Valyria and said to be able to tame dragons and have great resistance to fire. The last remaining dragonlord family. 'Could they be related to Tiber Septim or the strange vision of the dragons I saw?'
He then went to go in detail about the rebellion, Tourney of Harrenhal, the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark, the Battle of the Bells and the current encasement of Stark, Tully, Baratheon and Arryn men as well as the few bannermen that followed. He knew Westeros had political intrigue but this was faring on the level of Skyrim's Civil War, Westeros was in an all-out war with itself. Fellow countrymen fighting countrymen and Rhaegar kicked it all off. It reminded him why he stayed out of the Civil War between Ulfric and the Empire and instead opted out to fight the Bandits In Morrowind. "And then we found you by the river. At first, my men assumed you were a Loyalist, Hell even a Targ' by the way you were dressed. They wanted to leave you out there to die, I thought against it."
"Why did you decide against that?" Talion spoke for the first time since all that info. His head was spinning as his brain sort through all the influx of information. "Maybe I thought if you were a Targ, we could use you for some information. Wasted opportunity." Jon said stroking his beard.
"Not the only reason though?" Talion prodded further. He needed to understand more about what was going on and who his mysterious saviour was. "Or the fact that the first patrol was screaming bloody river demon like a madman. At first, I thought they had gone mad, their mind acting up before a battle." Jon leaned back in his stool. "Imagine to my surprise when the second patrol dragged your unconscious body through the camp, a bloodied mess like you had been mauled by a lion. I did what any man would do and bandaged you up best as I could, Thomas said you would have died within the day. And here you are, 4 days later."
"Seems the gods favour you," Jon said with a smile.
'Right…' Talion thought cynically. 'So much, in fact, that they threw me around like a damn puppet.' Talion began to rub his hands, soothing the pain and numbness of the volcanic spikes of the Balrog. "So what now?" He finally asked.
"Well… Lord Robert Baratheon and Hoster Tully should be here within the day, along with their forces. Our scouts report Rhaegar is marching this way from King's Landing with a massive army. That oaf means to end the rebellion single-handedly. But enough about that, what about you?"
"What about me?"
"Well, you said you were fighting someone evil. Can I ask why…?"
Talion jaw clenched and he gripped the blanket tightly. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself and the Thu'um that was brewing like a storm. "I see…" Jon said, noticing the hardened expression on the man's face. "I didn't mean to pry-"
"No, it's fine," Talion said, opening his eyes. "I can't keep letting my emotions get the best of me… it's a touchy subject, however."
Arryn eyed him and waited patiently for him to continue. Talion sighed. "Well… I guess I'm like you In that regard Lord Stark." He turned to look at Eddard whose eyebrows raised in shock. "What?" was all the stoic wolf managed to say.
"The evil I was fighting… I wasn't strong enough. I… I failed." He gripped the blankets tightly. "My family… they were killed. I couldn't save them."
Arryn leaned back. He wasn't expecting it. This wasn't a Targaryen, it was a boy, a young man with so much pain and experience, years more than he has.
Ned's eyes softened slightly. He watched the man stare at the blankets. Guilt was plastered on his face. 'He's just like me… he lost his family to a great evil.' It had been a few weeks since the Mad King has burned his father Rickon and strangled his brother Brandon. He wanted vengeance so badly. Staring at the injured man in front of him. "I'm sorry," Ned spoke up the first time.
Talion titled his head up. "I wasn't strong enough, I never want to see that again." He rubbed the silver bracelet around his wrist, a winged helmet with a silver hammer. He flicked his fingers back and forth. 'That's a nice design, I like the hammer." Jon complimented, the smithing was excellent.
Talion smiled sadly. 'Sam said the same thing when he first saw it.' "It is… it was a gift… now a reminder of my failures." He glanced up at the two. "Look, I don't know what's going on here really. There's a lot I still don't understand, but I'll be damned if I don't do anything…"
"What do you mean…?" Ned asked puzzled.
"You both saved my life when you didn't need to. You could have left me there but you didn't. I failed my own family, I won't fail yours. Allow me to fight with you, I'll help you get your sister back Lord Stark."
Eddard raised his eyebrows. 'Has he gone mad? He almost died and was on death's door for the last few days and now he wants to fight in a bloody war. He's either naive or stupid. Or both.'
Seems Jon Arryn felt the same thing. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can't ask someone so young to fight. You had your reasons for fighting for your family, but this is war. War isn't glamorous. It was bad enough when Ned and Robert got involved so young."
"So Young…?" Talion trailed off in thought. 'Young? What? I'm not that young, what is he saying-' his eyes landed on the silver bracelet which had reflected his reflection. He leaned closer and squinted as he looked. He felt the same height and weight but it seems whoever or whatever dropped him here had after-effects. He didn't look a day over 20, he didn't have his thick neatly trimmed beard and older look, he was no longer 27 years old. He rubbed the side of his face; a few days shaved, 'by Talos… What In Oblivion happened to me?"
"Yes young. You almost died, I couldn't ask a foreigner to risk his life especially after coming so close to an early grave." Arryn spoke gently.
Talion rubbed his forearms in thought. For a brief second, he wondered if he was in some sort of dream but quickly dismissed that. The pain he felt earlier was very real. "Look Lord Arryn, contrary to what you may think. I've been a soldier my whole life, I live by a code of honour, to help where I can."
He turned to look at Ned Stark, "I owe you a debt, let me help you, Lord Stark. Lyanna was wrongfully taken and this King Aerys seems to rule with an iron fist."
He didn't know what Wars they fought in Essos but having been his whole life a warrior Jon knew when he saw a soldier. Despite his age, Jon could see Talion was a soldier, someone with unimaginable loss but still puts his duty and honour ahead of it. He didn't know how someone so young could have eyes like that nor the fatal scars that decorated his body, one thing he did know was the burning passion and warrior heart the man had. Jon glanced at his injuries. "Let's say you did, you are still far too weak to battle. Rhaegar's army will be here two days, the latest. Just yesterday you woke up and now you want to go to a bloody battle? Especially with that leg of yours." He gestured to the bandages wrapped leg which had been repeatedly rammed into stone column after stone column before being backhanded courtesy of the fire demon. "If I'm good in two days. How about then?"
"It's impossible-"
"Let's say it's not, would you let me?"
Jon Arryn sighed. 'This boy… he's even more stubborn than Robert. As if one of them wasn't bad enough.' "Alright, alright, if by some miracle you are healed in two days minimum, I'll let you fight."
Talion smiled. "Very well."
"If. And I mean this is a hypothetical 'if', we'll need to get you some armour and weapons… without even a chest plate it would be impossible to repair your armour as for your axe, I asked the best smiths to look at it but no one could tell what it was made of."
"No need. I have an extra set of armour." Causing both Jon and Eddard to raise their eyebrow. 'An extra set of armour? Is he some nobleman's son? Where did he get the coin for 2 sets of armour?"
"Ok… well about your weapon-"
"I have the necessary resources, if I can borrow one of your forges that's all I need."
"Wait, you mean to tell me someone as young as you is not only a soldier with experience, but you know how to smith weapons?"
"And armour. In the army I served we were taught a variety of different skills. I learned smithing growing up and I had a knack for it."
'This boy is one of many talents.' Jon Arryn thought. "Very well, when you are feeling better just let one of the guards outside know. I'll have Thomas bring you
Some food and some fresh clothes."
Jon stood up from the stool and made his way towards the tent. Talion called out to him. "Ebony."
Jon peered back around with a questioning look. "The axe." He began to explain, gesturing to the massive two-handed axe leaning against a wooden table. "Its name is Wuuthrad and it's made of Ebony, a volcanic rock-like substance… stronger than steel."
'Stronger than steel? That's a bold statement,' if it was true that puts his armour at a king's ransom easily. If his armour was truly stronger than steel, what human could leave him in the bloody mess they found him.
Jon waved the injured young man a farewell before he walked out followed by Ned. They had to get back to the war.
A half-hour later a Stark soldier brought Talion a fresh batch of clothes and placed it on the table before walking out. Alone again, he waited a few moments before he reached out and threw the blankets off him. His upper body was covered in bandages — stopping just above his elbow. His wrist was wrapped in a smaller pair. His eyes followed the bandages covering his chest and stopping just below his belly button. He could feel some sort of healing ointment on his skin, no doubt placed by the surgeon. His eyes glanced down at his right leg still wrapped in bandages. Having been thrown violently against a stone column repeatedly by a 14-foot demon would leave any man crippled for life. He tried to wiggle it, see how bad it truly was since he knew he wasn't crippled. Almost immediately a jolt of pain went through his body. He gritted his teeth. 'Definitely a sprain at the very least. Damn leg' he cursed mentally.
Truth be told, it was a miracle Talion was alive much less moving about. If any normal man has suffered the same fate and by some miracle wasn't killed, they would have been bedridden for months, crippled for life being the most serious fate. He swung his legs off to the side gently, wincing in his right leg. The Dragonborn placed a hand on the nightstand and using it, pushed himself up. He faltered once or twice before he found solid footing again.
He noticed a small brown bag in the corner of his eye. It was his knapsack. Strange he thought. 'I thought I left it on Odahaving's back.' He grabbed one of the straps and placed the knapsack on the bed and lifted the flap exposing the contents. First, his hands found the necklace holding one of Alduin's fangs. Even being one of his smaller teeth it was still massive, longer than his middle finger. He placed it around his neck, tracing a finger on the tooth, it seemed almost like a lifetime ago he was a young soldier, struggling with the horrors of war and finding a new purpose.
Next, his hands pulled out a medium healing potion discoloured bright red. What he really needed was 2 experienced healers which would work his body back to normal in a few hours, but the potion would at least help his superhuman healing abilities to speed up the many burns, cuts and broken bones his body no doubt suffered during the brutal battle against the Balrog. He uncorked the potion and brought the vial to lips and downed the contents. The taste had a strange fruity sourness to it, but it did its purpose and almost immediately he felt the effects coursing through his body, no doubt helping his body repair itself. Adrianne's Cauldron really had the best potions in Skyrim.
With a new sense of rejuvenation, he set on his new task. Limping over to another table he grabbed the brown pair breeches, a set of fur boots and a brown sleeveless homespun tunic. He quickly equipped the clothes carefully, making sure he didn't strain his body until the potion had settled in completely. He placed the fur boots on his bare feet. Talion eyes landed on the strange walking stick leaned against the table. No doubt given to him by Jon to help him walk. He hated having to feel so weak, it wasn't something he felt in a long time. but he would need the support; At least for now. Grabbing the stick and fragments of Wuuthrad, he made his way back to the bed and grabbed the knapsack before stepping out of the tent.
As he exited the sun almost instantly struck his face with light, his eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the new environment and rays sunlight. When his eyes became more clearer they spotted two guards standing side by side the tent flaps. 2 soldiers belonging to House Arryn. They eyed him suspiciously but said nothing.
His eyes glanced around as he took his first sights of Westeros. He looked to be in a field of some kind, green pasture all around. He noticed It was early afternoon judging by sun location shining from above, a few white clouds sailed in the distance. The air was fresh and cool, he could smell the scent of meat cooking, roasted pig if he had to guess right, and metal being forged.
In each direction, he looked there was a tent after tent stretching for leagues. "I wish to head to the forge."
The two men said nothing and gestured behind him. The trio made their way down the camp. It was truly a sight to behold, Jon had told him there were 14,000 men in total, with Robert and Hoster Tully bringing an extra 16,000 with them. Surrounding him on all sides were tents of all kinds. A tenth of the total force was Knights so most of them were common folk that slept outside, Knights were luckier and had their own tents, many of them even having personal servants, then there were the lords, with their massive pavilions, structures as big as a house and decorated in all kinds of colours and sigils, In fact everywhere he looked there were different banners, red, yellow, green, blue, white, black, orange, purple, and on these colours were sigils of all kinds, stags, wolves, castles, swords, deer, lizard, eagle, bear, fox, owl and many others.
Talion limped for a few more minutes, flanked by his two nameless guards. Men were standing around talking, men glancing at maps and he saw many of them in groups practicing their sword fighting, spear fighting or with maces.
Most took no glance to Talion, they had more important things like a war. But it was hard not to stare, Talion towered over all of them, covered in bandages and built like a bull. He was an anomaly and everything about him screamed foreigner. The few that noticed spoke quietly, staring at him with awe and curiosity. Their voices masked by the sounds of men shouting, hammers pounding away on anvils or horses galloping, Talion still heard them clear as day thanks to his Lycanthropy abilities.
"Is that him?" One of the Knights wearing an orange scale ringmail spoke, he had a sigil of an orange fox on a field of green.
"By the Seven, he's fookin' massive. He's like Aegon the Conqueror if the man had brown hair." A knight wearing yellow chainmail spoke leaning on his 8-foot spear.
"I piss on the Targaryens. But Aegon was a legend. This twat limping around is more like Baleor the Blessed." The man howled and a few men surrounding him joined in.
Another knight on the other end sharpening his longsword with a whetstone spoke. "They say some of Lord Arryns men found him bloodied by the Green Fork. Though he was a foul demon." He replied snickering at the last part.
"Doesn't look like much now, Lord Arryn should have left him to die. Ain't no tellin' who he is." The orange-scaled knight spoke.
Another smaller porty man, a commoner what looked like it spat on the ground. "Who does he think he is, doesn't he know we're about to go to battle. It's no place for some crippled cunt."
"The man's probably never killed a man in his life."
Talion ignored the talk pressed on for a few more minutes before they finally arrived at one of the public camp forge stations. A single stone erected forge stood in the middle, next to it stood an iron anvil on top of a tree stump, tools of all kinds decorated the table.
"Here." The Arryn soldier said pointing to the station. Talion walked in and placed his knapsack on the table.
The two guards shuffled in so they weren't in the middle of the road and stood on guard watching him curiously.
Talion stared at them for a brief moment. Their hardened eyes bore into him with a steely gaze. They were clearly tested warriors, that much was certain, more recent if he had to guess right. No doubt they could hold their own in a fight. Talion placed the fragments of Wuuthrad and the broken handle on the table before pulling out his supplies, leather strips, smithing tools, and the famed Ebony ingots, so rare and coveted they were, the Empire actually banned the mining of these treasured metals. The dark black ingots glistened and almost seem to sparkle in the hot rays of the afternoon sun. One of the guards noticed this and raised his eyebrows, staring at the Ebony ingots with curiosity. It was not common to see such dark metal unless it was Valyrian.
Talion placed all the necessary materials neatly before he set on the task of making the forge hotter. The average iron or low-quality steel paled in comparison to the raw strength and brittleness of Ebony.
Using his mastery of smithing and many years of crafting he heated the forge until it was the right temperature. No doubt if any man tried to use regular steel or iron now they'd certainly damage their weapons or armour. Which had not gone unnoticed by his two guards nor the few men near him who were watching with curiosity.
With the forge ready he worked on the first step. He grabbed the strange metal container and grabbed the few vials of strange liquid. He poured the green one in first, followed by 2 yellow vials which began to sizzle and have a chemical reaction. The stale smell of sulphur filled Talion's nose but the man ignored the foul smell. Due to the toughness and volcanic properties, to properly temper Ebony, the material must first be quenched in acid before it can be forged, this is to remove the flame resistance that Ebony naturally has.
Talion grabbed the ingots off the table and dropped them into the metal container, it sizzled as the ingots bathed in the caustic fluids. Talion's eyes raised slightly to see the two guards watching with frowns on their faces. A few men-at-arms huddled closer to the forge to watch the strange smelting and forging techniques.
"What is he doing with the ingots?" A slender Arryn levvie barely a man asked quizzically.
"I think… I think he dipped it in acid?" A middle-aged Redford man-at-arms replied shocked.
"Is he half-witted? Won't acid destroy the steel?" The Arryn conscript asked with raised eyebrows.
"I don't think he's working with steel."
Talion used his own set of metal tongs and pulled out the ingots now dipped in caustic fluids. He threw them into the forge and waited.
Two hours had gone by, and a dozen new men, a few knights and mostly levies had joined to watch the man work. It seemed he had gained a small audience. It was a mesmerizing sight to watch someone very experienced in smithing work, such strength behind each hammer strike, and for a few in the audience who not so subtly showed it, the smithing wasn't the only thing they were paying attention to, rather the man himself. Talion had removed his homespun shirt due to the heat and exposed all his muscles and scars. Despite the many bandages that decorated his arms and chest, the veins in his forearms bulged and his biceps tensed as he struck the hammer against the anvil.
Talion walked back to the forge after sharpening his two Nightingale Gladiuses while he waited for the Wuuthrad fragments to heat. He pulled a massive hunk of Ebony ingot from the forge. This would be hammered into the double-sided axe head. The long handle of Wuuthraad had been easy enough to repair and fix, especially for one so well mastered in smithing. In a half-hour or less, he had left the Ebony handle drying on the table. Next would come the hardest part — working the axe heads. Ebony was very strong and durable, it required a lot of strength just to be able to hammer the Ebony into shape. But shaping it was a different story. He had to pound each piece into its original thinness and shape which according to lore, the select few that had forged Ebony weapons would take a few days or more. Talion would be done in a few hours.
Talion grabbed the waterskin pouch and uncorked it, taking massive swings before he poured some on his head. The lukewarm water cooled him from the blazing heat of the forge. He turned slightly behind him and grabbed the shirt wiping away the sweat from his brow. The heat was intense as the audience gaze that watched him, though they had stayed a good few feet back due to the heat, they were close enough to him. The fires raged hotter, unable to deter the man known as the Dragonborn.
Talion turned back around and held the hunk of Ebony in place and hammered down a few strikes before the sounds of a dozen footsteps approached his direction near the forge. With the sun-facing directly at him and shielding a dozen men. As they gained closer Talion's eyes could make up the sigils. The men on the left, 4 of them had a coat of arms displaying a strong red castle on a field of white, with a red embattled border, the men on the right 3 of them held a coat of arms of a white-winged chalice, on a pink field, that left the group in the middle — 5 of dressed in white ringmail and plate, their coat of arms were three black ravens each clutching in their claws a red heart on a field of white.
They marched until they stood a few feet in front of Talion. The lead man in the middle stepped forward. He was a thin lanky man, standing at 5'8. His shoulder-length brown hair waved ever so slightly against the light breeze. He had a handsome face but not much else was interesting. His armour was very flashy though. White armour as pale as the snow and a cream coloured cape that went all way to his ankles. Decorated on his armour were perched ravens on the shoulder pauldrons, and a single black raven displayed on his chest plate. His armour also seemed to be needing some repairs, the right shoulder pauldrons were dented, like someone took a mace and smashed into it, scrapes and cuts decorated the breastplate.
Talion eyes noticed their stiff body language but he nodded a greeting. "Hello." Even though the greeting was said so casually, Talion's foreign voice was deep and smooth.
The lead man eyed Talion up and down a couple of times, his face expressionless except when he was looking at Talion's chest, which seemed to change into a strange gaze, whatever that meant. His gaze lasted a moment before his expression changed into annoyance. "What are you doing?" He asked simply.
"Um…. I'm working the forge?" He stated as if it wasn't simple enough.
That only seemed to anger the man more. "Yeah, I can see that… mind telling me what you're doing at MY forge?"
Talion left eyebrow raised. 'What is he talking about?' He turned to the one guard who approached him. "Apologies Ser Corbray." The guard spoke. "Lord Arryn ferried this forge to this man a few hours ago."
Ser Corbray turned his head to look at the guard. "I ask, why Lord Arryn didn't take this up with my father who requested this one for my use today?" His face changed into a smug expression. "I need to repair my armour if I'm to slay that dragon cunt Rhaegar in battle. They won't be singing songs of him when I cut his head off."
A few snickers went around the men in Talion's crowd. "Rhaegar is one of the best fighters in Westeros. You'll be cut in two." A man shouted out.
"QUIET!" He shouted, his eyes narrowed at the crowd. He turned his attention back to Talion. "What are you still doing here? Are you deaf?"
"My hearing is fine. I'm gonna' remain here though. You can have the forge after me." He lowered his head again and started hammering.
Corbrays eyes narrowed, his smug expression replaced with a snarl. The lead man decorated in white and red ringmail stepped forward, his hand gripping the longsword strapped to his waist with the pommel of a red castle. "You insolent cur, do you know who you are speaking to?"
"No. Should I?" He replied back casually.
"This is Ser Lyn of House Corbray, eldest of Lord Jyne Corbray and heir to Heart's Home." One of the Corbray men-at-arms replied proudly as if it was supposed to mean anything.
"Ok. Well nice to meet you Ser Corbray, but if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work. I'll be done shortly."
"Why you little…" the man spoke again by Lyn cut him off. "What's your name? I don't think I recognize you."
A portly man from the winged-chalice stepped forward. "He was the man Lord Arryn's scouts found by the Green Fork. The demon."
Lyn's expression softened into a smug expression. "Ah, the bloodied man they dragged through camp. I heard some called you a demon spawn conjured from Rhaegar sent to kill us all... Looking at you now, I don't know what all the fuss was about." He said with a slight snicker.
"Very well, which house do you belong to? We can settle the differences there. Perhaps your father would like words, considering your lack of respect."
The ringmail man turned to look at Lyn. "I heard from the guards he doesn't have any. Somebody from Essos. Blackfang was what I heard."
Lyn turned to look at him with a raised expression, then he glanced back at Talion who was still as the night. "Wait… you mean to tell me he's not of noble birth or even a hedge knight? he's here by himself." He began to howl with laughter. A few of his guards laughed with him.
"Bet your mother was a dumb whore that bedded some silk merchant. Explain your lack of manners." Lyn spoke.
"Tell me, did your mother sell you off to pay for her gambles? Or were you just tired of her sucking cock every night, and needed a change of scenery?"
Talion's gripped the tongs tightly, his stormy blue eyes stared at the man. The Thu'um starting to brew like a storm, begging to be let out. "It's ok, I promise I'll pay her back for her services after the war. After I've given her a few bastards of course." He smirked.
"You should kneel in front of nobility, and address him as m'lord." A Corbray man-at-arms added.
"Well Ser Corbray, are you going to stand here all day, talking out your ass? Shouldn't you be preparing for your fight, m' lord?" The sarcasm dripped from his lips as he spoke the last part.
"In time he'll meet his fate. I might start with you first. It would be a shame to end you with one swing, especially after all the effort Lord Arryn spent on you. I don't know why really, you aren't even from here. A foreign cunt who would shit himself before he even stood foot in a real battle. Am I wrong?"
Talion grip on the hammer tightened. He did not have the patience nor the energy to deal with vain hot-headed pricks. Younger Imperial legionary Talion would have stepped forward and crushed his chest with that hammer right there and then. Even as his Thu'um radiated, threatening to lash out as if it was saying, "let me out, I'll tear him to pieces" Talion lowered the hammer.
"I thought so. A coward with no honour."
Ser Lyn smirked, stepping forward, his hands gripping his longsword as he tried to size up on the injured man. It didn't last long, as Ser Lyn's eyes started to water from the heat of the forge and his face showing signs of discomfort. Lyn stepped back a few feet and cleared his throat.
A faint smile formed in the corner of his lips watching the man fail at his intimidation tactics.
"Ironic, coming from the man who fought against his liege lord merely a fortnight past." A man stepped through the crowd as he spoke. " I thought the Knights of the Vale were the best and most loyal. You must be the latter then." The man had a youthful, barely 18 name days, he had an attractive clean-shaven face, he was tall and lean muscle hidden under his ringmail and plate armour. His sigil was a white tree, with a black sword at the base of the tree on a field of black. the young man adjusted the longsword on his waist, a silvery blade with the pommel of a white tree and stepped forward.
"Rodrik Forrester." Lyn greeted sourly. "And I suppose you're the expert? Tell me, when was the last time you were in a real battle and not fighting in a tournament or drunk fights at the brothel?"
"Come over here and maybe you'll find out you little shit." Rodrik barked back.
Lyn eyed Rodrik with a steely glare and then back at Talion. He chuckled to himself. "The tree boy has himself a new baby chick. Gonna' nurse him back to health? The crippled whore's son and the tree man. Now ain't that a tale lads." His men howled with laughter. "Come on, I got better things to do. See you on the battlefield Blackfang, or if you can actually walk to it." He snickered as he walked with his men.
Talion cocked his head to face Rodrik. "I suppose a thank you is needed for the save."
"No need, that pompous prick has been going off about slaying Rhaegar ever since we arrived. Someone had to put him in his place." Rodrik said before spitting on the ground.
Talion nodded and went back to hammering the axe head of Wuuthraad. Rodrik stood eying the man curiously, noticing not only his intimidating physical size but the sheer scars decorating his body. Finally, he spoke, "I don't think I've seen you before. Who are you?"
"My name is Blackfang, Talion Blackfang." Talion introduced.
Rodrik's eyebrows raised, it was a strange name to be sure, but rather stranger was his accent. He couldn't quite figure out the man. Growing up at Ironrath, he often interacted with ship captains from all parts of the world. Talions accent was one he had not heard before. It was a thick northern accent but at the same time, it sounded like one you'd hear in the Westerlands. "I don't recognize that house name. Are you a hedge knight?"
Talion shook his head. "No, I'm not from here. From a faraway land."
Rodrik glanced at the man's many bandages. It then donned on him who the man was. "Wait, were you the one they found bleeding by the Green Fork?"
"Indeed."
Rodrik smiles to himself. "For a war camp, you were the only thing many talked about. Some said you were a dragon conjured by Rhaegar to kill his lordship, Robert Baratheon."
Talion stopped hammering and eyed the man cryptically. "I assure you, I'm no dragon."
"As you say." The Rodrik said shrugging before turning his curiosity onto Talions smithing. his eyes followed the axe handle being hammered into shape and towards the table where two shorter swords were laid neatly.
Curious, Rodrik walked around and inspected them with a careful eye. He's never seen such a blade before. Sure, he'd seen his fair share of shortswords: His home of Ironrath was constantly attacked by Ironborn, many of whom still used shortswords, usually with a round shield or a small axe. But it was rare, ever since longswords were created. Shortswords were ineffective against the tough strength of steel plate or even chainmail for that matter. Unlike longswords that were effective for poking in the gaps of plate mail. The guards on the sword were small, not big enough to do any half-swording of any kind. The sword had to be either Valyrian steel or the man welding it would have inhuman strength, both of which did not seem off when it came to the man's appearance.
The swords were smaller than a longsword or even an arming sword for that matter. It was double-edged diamond-shaped, around 35-40 inches if he had to guess right. The guards were golden with what looked like tiny scales of a reptile carved into it, the hilt of the sword was solid black with a ribbed-like design. The blade was solid black, darker than the night. Tiny serrations like mini shark teeth decorated the side. No doubt would tear flesh and cloth alike. He leaned closer and his eyes almost widened. They were glowing! It was difficult to see because of the sun's rays, but if one looked closely the blades seem to give off a greyish hue to it. 'Are my eyes playing tricks on me or are his swords glowing?'
"By the gods, what are these swords?" He eyed Talion before they flashed back to the swords on the table.
Talion stopped hammering and walked to the table. He grabbed one of the swords by the blade and handed it to Rodrik who grabbed it slowly. He was shocked by the weight. It definitely felt a lot heavier than it looked, but it was still so much lighter than a broadsword or a longsword for that matter. His hands gripped nicely around the ribbed hilt. "They're so light." He stated.
"They're called Gladius" Talion began to explain.
Rodrik repeated the word under his breath. The word was foreign to him.
"In the army, I served in, they were the primary service weapon we used."
Rodrik stopped ogling the blades and turned to Talion with a strange look. Using shortswords as a primary weapon wasn't unheard of. He heard the Unsullied of Astaphor rumoured as one of the best armies ever made had short swords, in fact, their swords would be called a letter opener compared to these. But they used primarily spears, a sword like this in open field did not have the reach that a longsword had, which was a huge disadvantage.
"You're probably wondering why we would use something so small." Noticing Rodrik's perplexed look, "In truth, on a one-on-one fight reach was a problem, yes, but we used these swords in conjunction with our rectangular shields called a Scutum. Fighting in close proximity and unity."
Rodrik's eyes landed on the second identical sword. "Yet, you have two of them?"
Talion nodded. "I have trained effectively to dual wield both of them. I haven't been in a shield formation for many a year."
Rodrik eyed the man curiously at how he described his experience. The man was a few years a man, yet, held himself like one that had been fighting for decades. Then there was the duel wielding aspect. Something that was rare, even in Essos. The only time he had heard of dual-wielding was the age-old duel tradition of some Reach lords duel wielding a small dagger and a longsword or the Fighting Pits in Essos. Neither one ever wielded two identical swords, especially short swords. Dual-wielding was incredibly difficult to master and not to mention incredibly dangerous. It required great finesse and against a plated knight you would want a mace, spear or longsword.
"Dual wielding? Ha, aren't you a strange one. But I'm curious, what is your sword made of, to give such a weird aura about it. Are they magic?" Rodrik kicked himself mentally as those words left his lips. Magic swords were children's stories, they didn't exist. But he couldn't help but wonder, the swords gave off an otherworldly appearance.
Talion chuckled mentally. From his limited knowledge of Westeros, it seemed this land primarily focused on innovation and technology. Magic was almost nonexistent, and by Rodrik's shock at seeing the Nightingale Gladius, swords with any enchantments were unheard of. 'If he thinks this is amazing, wait till' he goes to Morrowind. Some of those bastards had swords with trapped Dremora souls and could summon creatures of the night.' He didn't much want to tell the man his swords were crafted from a magical substance called Void Salts and infused with incantations. "They're crafted from a volcanic-like substance called Ebony. Because of its brittleness, Ebony often glows when in contact with heat."
Rodrik eyed the man but said nothing else. The explanation sounded much better than what he had in mind. 'Magical swords,' Rodrik facepalmed mentally, 'What are you a boy, Rodrik? They don't exist.'
Rodrik ran his finger along the non-serrated edgy of the sword gently, thinking the sword was dull, which proved to be a mistake when it immediately cut across his finger causing blood to drip out. 'Son of a…" he began to curse before he stuck his finger in his mouth.
Talion chuckled. "Careful, they aren't completely sharpened yet, but they can still cut you."
"If they are this sharp while dull…. I'd hate to imagine what they could do sharpened. If it wasn't for the sheer rarity, these could very well be Valyrian steel." He chuckled at the prospect. A houseless knightless injured man carrying two Valyrian steel shortswords. One sword was enough to buy a minor house. But two? Not even Tywin Lannister had two Valyrian Steel swords.
"Well, I should get back to my father. But it was nice meeting you Talion. I hope to see you on the field. I almost pity those Targaryen loyalist if they fought against you." He handed the sword back to Talion who placed it on the table.
"Thank you again for the save, Ser."
"No need. Let me know if those twats give you trouble again. I'd love to sort Lyn out. And just call me Rodrik."
"Very well, Rodrik."
Talion watched the man walk back with a few of his house guards. Talion worked the remainder in silence hammering away at the anvil on the axe head. He flipped the head on its side and hammered away again. he grabbed a small sharp-pointed tool of hardened metal called a burin and began engraving the eloquent designs of the screaming elf into the head, this process took a good 30 minutes. Satisfied with the design, he grabbed the tongs and picked up the Ebony axe head before dipping it back into the forge and heating it, he waited for it to turn red hot before he pulled out the axe head and quenching it in an oil bath. The bath began to sizzle and he pulled the axe head out before he tempered it coolly. Another hour later and the battle-axe head was ready to be sharpened.
He walked over to the grindstone and bent down before he placed it against the wheel and began to sharpen it into shape, the fullness of the axe slowly became sharpened as he moved it around sharpening the edges. He ran his hand around the edge of the axe head and felt its uncanny sharpness. Satisfied he walked over to the long handle that laid on his bench and glued the axe head into the handle and rested it right above the sharp point at the top. He made sure it was secured tight and wouldn't slip off before he exited the forge. Standing in the middle of the camps, he began to twirl Wuuthrad in glittering arcs, testing its strength, his extensive years of smithing paid off and Wuuthrad was whole again.
By the time Talion had returned to his tent, it was night time. The camp was mostly empty, most of the army returned to their tents most likely. The few outside were camped together in groups sitting by the fire. Fireflies danced amongst the tents like wandering stars. His nose picked up the smell of roasted pig and cooked venison spiced and savoury. It was beginning to dawn on Talion how hungry he really was.
Making his way back to his tent, he passed a woman, a camp follower as they were called, she giggled and raced past him, naked beneath the dark cloak, her drunken pursuer chased after her.
A few men were still practicing swordplay by the fire, men cheered, men laughed as they began to sing.
Talion arrived at his tent to a lukewarm soup, chicken soup and a leg of lamb. He ate in silence before he returned to his bed. His eyes glued to his arm where Sam's bracelet was. Even in pitch darkness, his eyes could make out the fine detail of the hammer and winged helmet of Talos. Finally, exhaustion overtook him and he dreamed of a much different life.
And Done, It been a push to get these chapters out but I thank you all for holding on and being so patient. I will be following the canon from before the events of GOT. How did yall like the rewrite so far? A lot of it is recycled text from the previous write, but I've changed some things including adding the Forresters from the Tell-Tale Game (really loved the story). Anyway, Next Chapter will deal with the Battle of the Trident.
Votes So Far,
don't forget if you haven't already, vote for your top two house mottos:
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I Came, I Saw, I Conquered
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Deeds, Not Words: 0
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Sky Above, Voice Within: )
Castle Locations:
Build his own: 13
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Alduin Head: 17
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Golden and Black Wolf Head on a field of black: 1
Anyway, the next chapter will be uploaded within 15 minutes or so. ;)
-Achilles