Author's Note: Well, I told you it would be done asap, didn't I? Heh. Anyway, I'm flabbergasted by the quick response and the amount of reviews and messages that the last chapter brought in such a short amount of time. I can't thank you enough for that, and I promise I'll keep this going and updated as soon as I'm able for you all, and to try to improve my writing to the best of my abilities for your further enjoyment.

I did notice a colossal mistake by my part in the prologue, in which I meant to borrow Quaithe's line of 'to reach the west, you must go east' but ended up simply writing 'you must go west'. If Hasser and co had sailed west they would be back in Tamriel, hah. I will correct that as soon as possible, but since I mainly work on a phone I don't have access to editing from the phone version. Anyway, on with the new chapter.

For Sovngarde!

The Dark Chronist

Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls franchise nor A Song of Ice and Fire, each belonging to Bethesda Softworks and George R. R. Martin respectively. All characters, places and events other than those of my own invention are their intellectual property. All other intellectual property as songs or poetry or quotes belong to their respective owners.

Hasser I

"Ready?" he asked, glancing down at Shyra with a grin.

The girl gulped and nodded, eyes determinedly fixed on the door. Hasser's heart ached for the poor child; she wasn't used to deal with courts, lords and ladies, but until Kareena could properly learn the language of these folks, all the amulets of translation she could cook up were to grant the user knowledge of Tamrielic common. Sure, they could give the silver necklace to just anyone, but this duty would give the girl a distraction to keep her thoughts away from the horror that those raiders -ironborn, Shyra called them- had inflicted upon her and her village. Besides, she was brave, smart and strong, and seemed devoted to her current cause. Hasser could work with someone like that.

"Alright." He nodded to the guardsman, who nodded in turn and knocked at the door.

Some words by the guard were immediately answered by the cheery voice of their hostess, to which Shyra murmured 'she bids us entrance'.

The man opened the door to reveal Lady Sybelle sitting on a carved wooden throne, smiling warmly at them. Across from her at the other side of a well supplied table sat two men flanked by another two. The four of them seemed taken aback at the sight of Hasser; most likely due to part of his head being obscured by the door frame. Oh well.

Of the ones standing, the closest to him was a dark haired and dark eyed man, lean, clad in a dull grey steel plate and chainmail armor, a longsword and a dagger at his belt and grey moths sewn into his faded beige surcoat. His scarred face and grim gaze was a testament to his veterany; the other, closest to the door on the other end of the room, was almost his polar opposite: pale blonde hair, softly coloured cheeks covered by a short beard, bright blue eyes, a large and robust frame and a smiling face. His armor was simple chainmail under a clean white surcoat with three spirals of red, green and blue.

Speaking of polar opposites, so were the seated men; one was big and burly, hairy, coated in furs and dark iron chainmail, with a massive belly and a sausage and mug in either hand to help maintain it that way. Hasser took an instant liking to this man. The other was undoubtedly a commander and a nobleman, but he could have seen that even without the red gold crown sitting atop his head. He dressed modestly enough apart from the crown, with a black studded leather jerkin worn over a quilted doublet; his pants were of crude cloth, brown, and his boots were simple, unadorned, pretty worn and seemingly comfortable. What gave away his status wasn't his garment, but his demeanor and posture: rigid, upright, proud and collected, yet there seemed to be some discomfort to the man, like if he felt uncomfortable with his current situation. His dark blue eyes, though, went to narrow slits the moment the door opened and he took on Hasser, probably assessing his threat level. Even seated, Hasser could tell he was an impressive man; tall (compared to the average, not to himself), broad shouldered, square jaw covered in a short black beard and a thin circlet of equally black hair clinging around the border of his crown. He reminded him of Jarl Thongvor quite a bit, actually. Both seemed to be permanently chewing on a lemon.

His observations of the gathered men were interrupted by the warm voice of lady Sybelle, in a simple grey and blue quartered dress, with her graying chesnut hair falling over the front of her shoulders, who spoke some words to them and gestured to a chair to her right, at the side of the table between herself and the others.

"She invites us to enter and offers you a sit", informed Shyra.

Hasser grunted his acknowledgement and bowed as he entered, more to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe than out of reverence. As they entered the room, the hairy man in furs and dark mail commented something in a tone of awe. He and the blond stared at him dumbfounded, while the other two looked at him with caution and something akin to a predator being circled by another, bigger, meaner predator which may or may not attack them.

"That man comments that... uh..." Shyra hesitated before continuing, "that 'you are pretty -fucking- big'."

He laughed heartily and nodded to the man, who composed a yellow and crooked smile. He had made Shyra promise when they gave her the necklace that she would translate to the letter any phrase directed or refered to him, which had given the girl quite a few blushes, mostly whenever he walked near any of the local women, who since they took the castle seemed determined to get Hasser to knock them up. Not that it bothered him, mind you.

He proceeded to test the offered chair slowly sitting his massive form; other than an initial groan, the chair helf firm. It was a good thing that he had removed his armor before he started his interactions with the maester, he was sure that the chair wouldn't withstand his one hundred and thirty kilograms of mass with the addition of the half a hundred kilos of dragon bone and ebony chainmail. Shyra took a position between himself and lady Sybelle to his left, leaving the four strangers to his right. Satisfied, he slapped his knees with both hands and smiled to the owner of the castle.

"Very well, Lady Glover, here we are. What may I do for you? And who are these gentlemen?"

Shyra dutifully translated his words to the room, and soon she did the same to the softly spoken reply of the older woman, interjected with a hand gesture to the crowned man.

"They are part of the host of the lord Stannis Baratheon -the man with the crown- who is a king from the South." As Shyra paused, the lady continued talking for some more moments. "She says that they have just arrived from Castle Black, at the far North, from fighting a battle up there against the savages on the other side, from the lands beyond the Wall. They arrived here with the intention of freeing the Motte from the ironborn along with the rest of the North, but you did that before they could. They are curious about you and your company."

As Shyra finished her translation, five pairs of eyes were fixed on the nord. He nodded again.

"Maester Mort told us that currently these lands, these Seven Kingdoms, were being ravaged by a many sided war over succession of the high throne of this realm of yours." As he gave his answer, Shyra started to dutifully relay his words to his audience. "If memory serves, you were the brother of the late king, backed by the former governor of these lands -Ned Stark, of whom I've only heard high praises- in your claim to the crown. Also that you are uncle to the current boy sitting the throne. Now-"

As his words were being translated, the crowned man frowned and interrupted his words through gritted teeth. Shyra looked nervously between the bald -Stannis, he had to remind himself to address him by name or family- and himself.

"He says that he is no uncle of the usurper Tommen, nor was he uncle to the dead usurper Joffrey. They were abominations born of the incest between the Queen and her brother, as the Lord Stark discovered and told the Realm about, prompting the Lannisters to seize and execute him."

Hasser nodded. "Yes, I had been told as much by the maester. I didn't mean to offend; I was just summarizing my knowledge on your whereabouts. So, this lord Ned found out about the parentage of your brother's heirs, which in turn made you the new heir. I'm not really very concerned about the politics of your kingdoms, to be honest, although I hope that you manage to prevail. Out of all the current contenders the maester has told me about, you sound like the most capable and rightful one."

Stannis seemed somewhat pleased by his words as they were relayed to him, as the muscles under his tight skin seemed to relax a bit. Hasser continued, "Nonetheless, I understand your curiosity about me and my people, and I will try to answer to the best of my abilities. I will start by introducing myself: I am Hasser Stormblade, Jarl of Solstheim, rightful heir of the Ruby Throne, Grand Marshal of the High Kingdom of Skyrim, vassal of King Ulfric Stormcloak, Harbinger of the Companions, member of honor of the High Council of House Telvanni of Morrowind, Marquis of the Southern March, lord of Helgen, captain of the Alduin's Fang and Thane of the Nine Holds. I arrived at this coast on a special mission of my King Ulfric in an effort to find another of the denizens of our lands who apparently arrived at this country some time ago."

After the recitation of his titles and the name of his liege, Stannis and his companions seemed visibly confused. The Baratheon spoke some more, frowning dark blue gaze never leaving his own silver eyes.

"Lord Baratheon asks where your lands lie, for he has never heard of this 'Skyrim', 'Solstheim' nor anything of the like. He also asks about Lady Sybelle's claims of you coming from the land of the gods as their envoy."

Heh. Here comes the difficult part.

"Well... we did come sailing from the west, but we reckon that we are in a different world than our own. We didn't plan on it, but we were seeking that fellow tamrielic I mentioned and were told that he had come to the east; and so, following his trail, we stumbled upon your lands."

Another answer from the king, this time his eyes shifting to directly adress Shyra. The girl lowered her gaze to the floor as he spoke, intimidated.

"He asks if this might all be a misunderstanding due to the language or my translation, and if you don't mean 'land' or 'continent' when you say 'world'."

He sighed. "Tell him that by world I mean exactly that, world. Our constellations are nowhere to be found in your sky, and instead of our red and green moons you have a single silver-yellowish one. Besides, despite magic flowing in the fabric of this world of yours, it is far weaker than it was at any place within our own. Even ignoring that, your seasons -for what the maester told me- can last several years without changes, while in our world no season lasts more than some ninety days" Shyra stopped her translation for some moments as that last bit sank in, and she looked at him with bewilderment. He nodded with what he hoped was an encouraging smile and gestured for her to continue her translation. As soon as she did, he resumed as well. "Although some of our flora and fauna are common to both worlds, along with humans being present in both -and, according to maester Mort, old tales and legends also speak of giants and mammoths roaming this land in the ancient past, which would also be common in our world, but apparently they're extinct nowadays, if they ever existed-, we are confident in that we aren't in our world anymore."

He looked at the four men as they digested his words. The lean one didn't seem to believe a single word of his explanation, and now was simply glaring daggers at him. The big bellied old man was dumbstruck, mouth open. The king and his other knight seemed to be mulling over his words, considering what questions needed to be addressed first. The old man closed both his eyes and mouth, rubbed the back of his hairy hand over his face and spoke some words, looking again at him with a strange expression on his face. Hasser leant towards his translator, without breaking eye contact with the man.

"He comments that a winter of three months sounds too good to be true."

"Well, to be fair there are regions that have longer winters than the most temperate lands. My home, Skyrim, has parts of it permanently covered in ice and snow, with the flow of seasons only letting itself be felt on the central plains or the southern holds. Yet I was born in the city of Kvatch, far to the southwest, in the heartlands of the continent, and our seasons there were more definite and balanced."

Stannis spoke next, barely an instant after Shyra had finished her latest translation.

"He says that you mentioned being directed to this land to find whoever you seek. He wants to know if your people knew of our land before."

"Nay, we did not."

The translation was made. Several seconds of silent contemplation passed, with the only sound coming from the large jaws of the king grinding together. He looked up again and asked something else.

"He wonders who could direct you to these lands, if none among your people knew of this place."

Hasser rubbed his eyes with his index and thumb. He could feel rheum on the corners of his eyes; he hadn't had barely any sleep on the last days, spent tirelessly speaking with the maester, and now that the excitement of the gathering of new knowledge had dissipated he felt somewhat exhausted. 'This is the part of the story that requires them to trust me. And me to trust them.'

"To explain that, I need to explain you first the nature of our quest. You see, our Kingdom is at war. The nature of the war is irrelevant for the matter at hand, but know that we were forced to join the war of a neighboring kingdom that had previously vassalized our own to face a foreign superpower to ensure our survival. The first months of the war went well, initial triumphs in both land and sea had us disembarking on the shores of the enemy's homeland. We were winning more terrain by the day towards their capital, until our enemy resorted to the darkest rituals and deals with very powerful entities to turn the tide of the war. After the initial shock, we managed to organize an orderly retreat and to bring the war to a stalemate, containing the threat to a degree. But we had just fought a civil war before being dragged into this new conflict, and our resources and manpower are exhausted and we can't hold on forever. For this, my king freed me and my elite forces, the Tongues, of service, to seek out the spiritual and martial head of one of our allied states who might have further knowledge on how to battle this new threat. He goes by the title of Hortator of Morrowind, but most know him by his religious title, the Nerevarine. The last we heard of him, he sailed to the eastern continent from our own, Akavir, with unknown intentions. We followed him, with three vessels and three hundred men and women; after weeks and weeks of scouring by all the means at our disposition for any trace of the Nerevarine, we stumbled by chance upon a cave. Within it, we found the tomb of a Brandon Stark, called 'the Shipwright'."

The eyes of the big northener widened at this revelation. He had told Shyra and Lady Sybelle the whole story already, so one just continued to translate while the other smiled knowingly at the reaction of her countryman. The king frowned and exchanged some words with the northeners. Shyra leaned close to him.

"He asked for clarification on King Brandon's story."

He nodded and waited for the nobles to finish. As they did so, Stannis nodded his permission for the nord to resume.

"Well, as I was saying we found his tomb. On the stone, we found the last words of his page, some Hugh Icewood. Apparently he and his crew arrived to our world by accident, shipwrecked on Akavir, with most of the crew dying on the event. Only the page survived, and while looking for a place to bury his king he got himself mortally wounded by the fiendish natives of that part of the continent. Before his death, however, he buried Brandon and left a writing on the old tongue of your forefathers on the tombstone. When I touched this script, I blacked out and had a vision. On it, a massive three eyed crow spoke to me. It told me that a great threat was looming over a land to the West, just not my West. That this threat of death and ice would cause the death of all at its path, and that the Nerevarine had come to fight it by his own means when he got news of this. In order to find him, it told me that I had to sail further east, which was farthest than any other explorer of my land had ever been to. But we really need to find this man, and in order to do so we had to brave it. Hence, we sailed for six days into open sea, only to find us surrounded by mist on the nightfall of the seventh day. By morning, we had came ashore in your land, killed the ironborn there, left one third of our force to protect the village and our ships and chased the survivors to the Motte with our remaining two hundred. The rest, you already know."

The audience was deathly quiet as the last words of Shyra's translation faded into silence. The northeners had equal looks of devotion and amazement (more on the part of the man that on the woman), while the southerners had… inscrutable expressions. The northman spoke with a voice laced with emotion and awe.

"He says that you must indeed be an envoy of the Gods. The Three Eyed Crow is a great omen of blessing in our religion." Shyra explained.

As Shyra was speaking, the Baratheon said something to the northerner and then looked at him again. Luckily, the girl managed to pick up on it and promptly translated.

"Lord Stannis says that he doesn't know about omens of the Old Gods, but the fact that you know of the threat Beyond the Wall speaks volumes of the honesty of your story, for he and his host set sail for the Wall to battle that same threat." Before she could finish, Stannis said something else, in a lower tone. "He mentions that there is a certain woman who would have a stroke had she been present on this room."

Hasser smiled with a shrug. "Maybe. It's not a tale one hears every day, I guess."

The southern king spoke some more and started rubbing his stubble with a gloved hand and a distant look. After a brief pause, he stared at him again and asked a short question.

"He comments that if this Nerevarine you seek came to Westeros to battle the Great Enemy, then it is likely that he is either dead or somewhere Beyond the Wall, for there is where they gather their strength. He asks if, were he alive, would you intend to battle this enemy too."

"Of course", he answered with a nod of his black haired head. "Even if the Nerevarine were to be never found again, if this land is threatened by such a threat we could very well finish it off before returning to our own lands."

The bald nodded. His next reply, longer than any sentence that the man had uttered so far, caused the northerner to clap his hands together with a happy grunt, the blonde to smile and the knight of the moths to scowl. Lady Glover looked at him with a cautious look.

"The King says that if that is the case, you should join his forces. He says that since you shared the information of your war and your mission with him, it's only just that he shares his plans with you. He lacks the manpower to enforce his claim to the throne, but while the bastard child idles on the Iron Throne, he means to make himself worthy of the Realm by saving it, first from the usurpers bringing chaos into the Kingdoms and then from the otherworldly threat looming on the far North. He says that if you and your company are as powerful as the Lady Sybelle makes you to be, he will offer you all the aid in his power in your search of the Nerevarine if you first help him to drive the remaining ironborn on the North back to the sea and to restore the deposed Starks to their seat in Winterfell. If you wish to do so, he will sign a sellsword contract with your force to establish the terms of service and payment for this agreement. But before that, he requests that you take your forces out of Deepwood Motte, effectively restoring its ownership over to House Glover. He also asks for you to bring your full force, as you will need every able soldier you can gather for this campaign. You can anchor your ships at any port of the clansmen to the north, or take them to the docks of the Glovers just a few miles to the north should they choose to bend the knee to him. He also requests a demonstration of the power that you and your forces claim to possess by participating in the capture of another ironborn held castle, Torrhen's Square –the clansman seemed elated at that bit-. Agree to all this and he will be sure to pay you in gold and silver for your services and to extend his aid and protection to you for as long as you stay in our lands."

Hasser scratched the side of his bearded jaw, a pensive look on his face. Well, it was a good offer. They had no resources on this land, and they didn't had a clue on whether this people would accept septims as payment or what worth would they give to the tamrielic currency. They could forage for food, but three hundred people ate quite a bit, and he didn't want to gain the ire of the local nobility by hunting their game. Skyrim had freedom of hunt for the most part, but many forests of Cyrodiil and High Rock had its forest reserved as hunting grounds for the local nobles and burghers. Plus they could use some local guides and maps, sparing them of charting all this seemingly vast terrain from scratch. He wasn't very fond of the idea of serving a liege other than his friend and king Ulfric, no matter for how short a time, but this Stannis seemed like a decent fellow. For what maester Mort had told him, the ironborn had taken this and other castles in the North around a year before, while their King –Ron, Robb or something like that- fought a war of revenge in the South with most of their able men; after the murder of this one with most of his host, generals and family in a wedding on a castle to the south, the new overlord –apparently the very same man that had betrayed and murdered the fallen king- hadn't made any effort towards expelling the invaders either. The fact that this Stannis had taken upon himself to save a Kingdom that had actively rebelled against his authority even after losing most of his forces and supports at the siege of the capital out of his sense of duty impressed Hasser deeply. When the Empire abandoned the Reach to the Daedra worshipper Reachmen, only Ulfric took arms to restore Jarl Hrolfdir to the Mournful Throne, with a handful of friends, his sense of duty and his Thu'um as his only means. And they rewarded him with treason and imprisonment. He wouldn't let another man doing his duty suffer the same as his king had for doing the right thing. He could agree to the terms, and he was sure that his men would enjoy the promise of coin and fight. Yet there was something else to address.

"Shyra."

The girl looked quickly at him. "Yes, my Jarl?"

A sigh. Then he looked at her with a warm smile. "I've been two weeks telling you to just call me Hasser. You're not my vassal, we are friends." She blushed a little at his words, her eyes dropping a little as she nodded. "Listen. I will accept the offer of this Stannis, after consulting it with my captains and discussing the details of the deal, the different values of our currencies and such; but I am confident that soon we will be marching to that Torrhen's Square with his forces."

Her light blue eyes looked up at him again, a shadow of sadness veiling them. She nodded.

"I… I understand. I wish you luck, Hasser. I hope you succeed and drive those devils back to the sea."

His smile only deepened. "That's the point. I mean to offer you a place in my company, to receive the coin of this king, to get martial training and to give some payback to the ironborn. We will still need a translator until the lady that gave you this amulet" he poked a finger at the silver necklace at her chest, which deepened her blush, "manages to make one to allow us to speak your tongue, and I'm rather fond of the current person holding the office. Are you interested?"

A lot of expressions danced across the face and eyes of the young girl. Fear, uncertainty, excitement, anger, confusion… if personified, one could almost see her emotions fighting over control of the steering wheel of the vessel that was her. Finally, resolve settled upon her, and she nodded firmly.

"I would be honored. And grateful. But I would request leave to go back home and tell my mother than I will be absent for a bit longer."

"That's quite alright. I will be going there anyway to get Farkas and his company to take the ships to where Stannis directs us to, so you can come with me when I go. Although I fear the wrath of your mother for taking you away from her for even longer, heh…"

She smiled, for she was sure her mother would do exactly that.

"Well," continued the large man with a grin of his own, "then you can relay my acceptance to the King, at least until I have consulted with my captains. I look forward to work together in cleaning more castles of these wretches."

As the girl turned to translate his words to the southerner, Hasser stood to his full two hundred and fifteen centimeters and extended his hand towards the still seated man. After the last of Shyra's words were spoken, the man nodded firmly and stood in turn, to some respectable one hundred and ninety five centimeters. Oh, he was remarkably similar to Thongvor alright. The man extended his hand in turn, and both men grasped the forearm of the other, firmly, with steely grips of shared strength and determination.

This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, I think.

Author's Note: I know that the last couple of chapters were a bit... let's say tranquil for a story of adventures following a violent band of merry murderers on their trip on the most murderous world to be ever adapted on the HBO (if we don't count Rome *cough*), but there should be plenty of skullbashing and shouting in the next one. That is, if I don't make a POV on Bran or Dany before. I plan on shifting the focus of the action away from the tamrielic adventurers from time to time, but while I am very sure of what I want to do with Bran, I'm not that sure of how to deal with Daenerys. HBO ruined my view on that poor teenager thrown into a monstruous world, so I might spend some time reading her POV to refreshen my memories of books Dany, and not the annoying moron from the show. I guess I'll decide on it depending on the reviews. Next chapter should take a bit longer, though (don't expect me to dump 5k words on a foreign language on a daily basis, heh), so I'll work it out before then. If you get an update on the story before then and no new chapter pops up, it means that I've corrected the mistake on the prologue. That said, I hope you enjoyed and you'll stick around for long! See you!

TDC