AN: Allrighty! A new chapter is up and ready in record time! A significantly long one as well! Some one asked me to paint a picture of the ground in Alagaesia, so here goes..
The map is by and large the same for all of Alagaesia…. The only thing that has changed is Palancar Valley.. in its place is Skyrim. There are nine holds in Skyrim…each one with its own capital and villages and unique territory. Whiterun is smack in the middle, but still far to the north of what had been the established settlements before the whole Great War. Its horse coutry… great rolling plains stretching for miles around… its enveloped by mountains to the north and the west. To the north east lies the hold of Windhelm and below it, Falkreath hold; both of which border the forests of Du Weldervarden.
To the west lies the Reach and above it Haafingaar. Even further north, lies the Rift and beside it, Hjaalmarch. And above them all lies Winterhold, bordering the frozen territories of Atmora… The Rift and Haafingaar lie on the coast of the Sea of Ghosts. I know that I have basically changed the entire map of Skyrim, but bear with me.
Far to the east of the Hadarac desert lie the countries of Akaviir… the homeland of the dov and their dragon descendants. It forms part of sequel that I have planned.
And yes, this chapter showcases the first of the several flashbacks that I have planned…
Anyway, enough with the details read on and enjoy… this too, unfortunately is a filler…! But do tell me how you found the chapter!
Chapter 10: My Dearest Friend
Of the Re-founding of the Companions…
The outskirts of Riverwood, 23rd March, 1908 T.E
Eragon sound down in a huff on a large rock on the banks of the White River, the huge wheel of the Riverwood mill churning in the background… it had taken precisely three days for Eragon to convince his uncle and in turn, the village council of the wisdom to move their people to the ruins of Whiterun. Even now, many were unconvinced of the need to do so, although Eragon understood how difficult it must be to be suddenly be uprooted from the place where for generations you had made your home and earned your living, it was nonetheless imperative to do so, given the situation with the defeat of the Order.
The defeat of the Order and the death of Emperor Titus Mede certainly didn't mean a whole lot to the people… their lives would hardly be affected by the events that happened more than a thousand miles away; or so they thought.
The chaos caused by the Great War suddenly meant that there was nobody to police the mountain passes, to protect the trade routes from bandits and suddenly, the caravans which plied all throughout the kingdoms vanished. Movement between settlements became a thing of the past and no one even dared to venture out into the forests to hunt…. The stark reality of lawlessness faced much of the empire.
Skyrim, thankfully was spared from much of the trouble. The military forces, most of which remained intact, were retained at their posts meaning that the most volatile of frontiers, the northern one was, for the moment secure. Legates and Tribunes took up the responsibility of protecting and policing their own areas of responsibility and once communications were established, a chain of command was immediately established. A civil administration, or the beginnings of one, was also quickly formed, with the already existing councils expanding and improvising to adjust to the fast changing situation. Life, for the ordinary people of the province, continued….
Eragon had returned not more than a week ago to Riverrun… the town had changed much in the long years since he had last seen it… Wooden palisades and watchtowers surrounded the place, built in the traditional pattern of an infantry cohort's camp and on seeing Roran as the military commander, Eragon wasn't surprised.
He had discussed with both Paarthunax and Arngeir about the possibility of bringing his people to settle in the Whiterun, rebuilding it to suit their purposes. Both had been rather enthusiastic about the idea… the step would go a long way in closing the rift between the dragons and the people of Alagaesia. Eragon now decided to put the plan into action and approached Roran and Garrow.
While both his uncle and cousin responded positively to the idea, they expressed justified doubts about whether the people would be so inclined… their fears turned out to be an understatement…
Eragon had to reveal that he himself had spent the last four years at High Hrothgar, training under the tutelage of the second eldest dragon in existence. That brought about reminisces among the people of how it had been Paarthunax who had originally taught the ancient heroes the Way of the Voice; how Paarthunax had been instrumental in the first uprising against Alduin. Eragon also assured the council that they would have the protection of Paarthunax, the Greybeards and the not inconsiderable number of dragons who followed the Old One.
He was however upset that he had to reveal so much…. Atleast, he hadn't mentioned that he was Dovahkiin!
So engrossed was he in his thoughts, that he missed the signs of three people approaching him stealthily, almost.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he smelled her, a hint of sweat and surprisingly, wet dog. He sprang into motion, wheeling around to face whoever it was, simultaneously drawing his sword in a flash of silver.
Facing him was a young redhead, wearing what appeared to be armor made from the hide of a fearsome mountain bear… she was of decent height, approaching his shoulders perhaps, a pleasant face and clear grey eyes. A long curved dagger was attached to her hips and from behind her, protruded a recurve bow and a full quiver.
She had raised her hands in a gesture of calm….
"Woah! Calm down, I'm here to talk." She spoke in a clear voice, one that was used to commanding others.
"Tell your two friends to come out." Eragon replied tersely, wondering why all three smelt like dogs.
Her eyes widened perceptively and she raised her hand to make a slashing motion. Two men stepped out from behind some trees about fifteen feet away, lowering their drawn bows as they did so. They approached and Eragon saw that the men, who were quite clearly brothers, had large two handed swords strapped to their backs and wore steel armor besides being similarly grey eyed and with shoulder long curls of black hair. The men were as tall as him, if not taller and very muscular…. It was quite clear that all three were seasoned warriors and skilled ones too.
The redhead spoke, "I apologise for sneaking up on you. I'm Aela the Huntress and this is Vilkas and Farkas. We are among the last surviving members of the Companions."
Whiterun. September 24th, 1916 T.E
The Bannered Mare
We drink to our youth, for the days come and gone.
For the age of oppression is now nearly done.
We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own.
With our blood and our steel we'll take back our home.
All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!
In your great honour we drink and we sing.
We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives.
And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!
But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean.
Of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams!
All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!
In your great honour we drink and we sing.
We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives.
And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!
We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone.
For the age of oppression is now nearly done.
The song rung through the halls in the clear, lucid tones of the local bard, Lisette. Loud applause had her blushing soon. It was a very old song, dating to the ancient Civil War, when Skyrim had rebelled against the then Empire with Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm trying to throw the Mede Empire out of the province… the Empire had won that war with the help of a different Dovahkiin… The similarities between then and the present situation wasn't lost on the people and as a result, the song had gained a lot of popularity in the recent years.
"She sings very well, doesn't she?" the woman at the corner table asked her companion.
Said companion smiled at her, her shining emerald orbs all that were visible from underneath her cowl. "Does our callousness about death still unsettle you?" he asked her teasingly.
She frowned, although it was invisible to all others. "Yes it does. But we are drifting from my purpose here. Arngeir has a new task for us. We have to leave by the day after."
Eragon nodded, before leaning back against the chair. "You have everything you need?" he asked.
She nodded, a bit hesitantly. Eragon noticed and persisted, "you sure?"
Knowing the look in his eyes, she relented, "I could do with a few more potions and I would be very grateful if you looked at my armor."
Eragon's smile widened and he suddenly pulled her to her feet and led her outside.
She hooked her arm through his and slowed him down to a more sedate pace… she knew very well how excited he became whenever he got a chance to show off his smithing skills.
They strolled through the streets of the bustling city, enjoying the pleasant evening weather. Winter was almost here, which meant that the skies were completely clear of clouds and the aurorae were visible in all of their multi-colored beauty. Arya lowered her cowl to gaze up at the heavens, her good spirits refusing to leave her. Skyrim was an addiction for her. The country was amazingly pristine and beautiful and worth her last full measure of devotion… its people were warm, welcoming and honourable… So much so that she considered Skyrim her home more than the verdant forests where she was born. A rather sharp irony considering her heritage and inheritance.
Eragon had ofcourse picked up her morose mood for he had stopped and turned to look at her, his eyes full of concern and worry. As she stared into his brown ones, she couldn't help the sudden burst of affection she felt for her divinely-touched friend. Yet another priceless gift that Skyrim had bestowed upon her. She shook her head slightly to dissuade him of his worries and they continued their journey up the steps to the Gildergreen… the very place where they had first met fifteen years ago.
"Do you remember …" she began.
"Hmm…" he smiled and squeezed her arm. Had they become so close that they knew what the other was thinking? Perhaps…. She smiled wider as he tugged on her hand, insisting that they resume their walk.
They eventually winded their way up the steps to the Dragonsreach.
The castle had been restored to its original glory, although Eragon had the skeletal remains of the great dovah, Numinex removed and cremated… the castle had originally been built by King Olaf One-Eye to imprison Numinex. The poor dovah had remained imprisoned in the stone keep till his death and then his skull had been displayed in the entrance hall like a trophy. When Eragon had first entered into the castle, he was confronted by the still intimidating maw of the ancient dragon. Revolted, he immediately removed it and later in the week, the remains were respectfully cremated.
He took her to his rooms and once inside sealed the doors with a heavy wooden timber. He turned to her and nodded and she casted several wards to prevent eavesdropping.
"So what is it that Arngeir wants us to do?" he asked, removing two mead bottles from the cabinet and handing her one.
"Not Arngeir actually, he is just the messenger. This is actually a request from the old one himself. We are to travel to Hjaalmarch Hold, or more precisely to Skyborn Altar. The matriarch there has requested your assistance."
That was new…dragon society was surprisingly balanced. Effectively there were two different rank structures, one for the males and one for the females. The males had their own pecking order, determined basically by one's strength. Among the females, however, the eldest was the matriarch and while the patriarch's orders could be ignored to some extent; the matriarch's word was law.
Eragon himself occupied a rather ambiguous position in the dragon hierarchy… as the Dovahkiin, he was equal to any other dovah, or even above them… but still subject to the orders of Paathunax and any matriarch and while Eragon had often ignored Paarthunax's advice and followed his own instincts, he dared not do the same with the 'request' of any matriarch.
So, he sardonically asked, "you sure it was a request?"
"It isn't my problem that you have to abide by the mu'ur se dov."
"I'm impressed; you have picked the dovahzul rather quickly."
"Well I have a dear friend who happens to be a dovah himself and who mutters in the dragon tongue in his sleep."
Eragon blushed, much to Arya's delight. "Anyway, I've to work on your armor, would you like to rest or..?" he asked.
"You know how much I enjoy watching you work at the Sky-Forge," she replied.
Hjaalmarch was one of Skyrim's nine holds, each with its capitol city and Jarl. This particular was the second northernmost one, located to the north east of Whiterun hold. The capitol was the ancient city of Morthal, ruled by Jarl Igrod Ravencrone, a wise and just ruler, who had once been a great battlemage. The city was built by the ancient Atmoran hero Morihaus who had been one of the original five hundred Companions who had accompanied Ysgrammor. Built on the shore of the densest marshes in all of Skyrim, Morthal at first glance would seem the most unlikeliest of places to build a hold's capital, but its wealth lay in the marshes themselves, in which grew the most exotic of potion ingredients and in the forests around the marshes wherein dwelt a large host of game creatures and provided more than enough timber for the city's mills. The Stonehills quarry also lay closeby and was an important centre of commerce. Skyborn Altar, as the name suggested, lay farther to the north, atop a rather high cliff… and was one of the more larger dragon nests in the province. Eragon had visited the place before, so that there weren't any foreseeable problems, at least as far as travelling there was concerned.
They set out on horseback on the morning of the day after, heading along the northern road at an easy pace. The weather was clear and pleasant and the road well-travelled, at least as far as Morthal itself. The military structure was extremely conflicting… there was a central military under the authority of the Moot, the council of all the Jarls and the Greybeards. The units were distributed throughout various forts in strategic locations around the province and in certain cases, like Whiterun, in the cities themselves. Apart from that, each Jarl had his own personal guard and then there were the Companions, a group of warriors who carried the legacy of Ysgrammor himself. The Companions were mercenaries but they follow a strict honour code and were widely respected all across Skyrim. The roads, thus, were patrolled by the central military forces as well as the personal guards of each hold.
26th September, 1916 T.E
The Nightgate Inn.
He observed his dearest and often only friend as she slept on, her face lit by the dying camp fire… a couple of ebony tresses caressing her face. They were about a day's ride away from Morthal and would most likely reach the city by midmorning the next day. Eragon planned to greet Jarl Igrod and then ride uninterrupted to Skyborn Altar. They had stayed at the NIghtgate Inn, a rather popular mill that was much frequented by travellers, merchants, and the odd occasional patrol troops. They had reached just after sunset and were lucky to find one room free.
They had a light supper arranged by the gracious hostess and enjoyed a travelling bard's songs before turning in… sleeping together at the same bed. It had become quite common for them to share their bed, given how often they were out in the wilds, journeying to and fro across the lands…. In the beginning he had tried to be chivalrous and slept on the ground, stubbornly ignoring her vociferous protests. She took great offence and stop talking to him and he had no choice but to relent and join her on the bed.
He didn't deny that he held great affection for Arya, greater than anybody else… she was the one person on whom he could rely upon to be there… to support him through thick and thin, just as he would for her. He had never acted upon his feelings, afraid of her status as the Heir to the Elven Throne and afraid of the future… Alduin and the Empire were a grave danger to his people and he would see them destroyed before thinking about a possible future with Arya.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, they would be up and dawn's break and it wouldn't do to meet the jarl tired and sleep-ridden.
He wasn't going to have any rest that night…
In his dream, he saw a white dovah, ferociously strong and yet noble in its bearing and appearance stand beside what was quite clearly Paarthunax. Next to them stood a golden dragon, as large as the old one, with a golden armored rider sitting astride him. They were surrounded on all sides by their foes… the Forsworn and the dragons and dov who fought for Alduin. The great god of destruction himself stood facing the four… his massive horned black body, towering over all others, his great red eyes, fits of hellish fire. The four were suddenly attacked from all sides… they fought bravely, felling many foes, but the enemy's numbers began to tell…. The white dragon was grievously injured, and Eragon suddenly realised that he had not taken to flight, not even once… his wings had been clipped! Things looked hopeless…as first the golden dragon and his rider fell… butchered by a red dragon and his rider and then the white was cornered by Alduin himself…
Just as things seemed hopeless… a blue dragoness flew in, how he knew that it was a dragoness, Eragon never knew, and stood beside the white one… they began to glow together… blindingly in fact and for a moment, everything went white… and Eragon couldn't see anything. When his vision cleared, he saw that everything had changed. The white had disappeared… in its place stood he himself, wearing scales for armor and with white wings! At his side stood both Arya and the blue dragon… whose scales were like Sapphire…
He woke up then, startled. He was, for a moment disoriented before realising just exactly where he was… he tried to get up but found himself unable, thanks to the weight of the beautiful elf-maiden on his chest.
Eragon laid back and sighed, running his hand through her black tresses… glad for her comforting presence…
Another dream? Her voice asked in his mind.
He chuckled and replied, why am I not surprised that you noticed? Yes, this one stranger than the usual… I'll tell you tomorrow..
This one must have been serious… your mind is completely unsettled…it's like the inside of a raging storm.
Aye, and no surprise… but I assure you, it's nothing that can't wait for tomorrow. Let us rest.
She sighed in turn and squeezed his torso, nestling further into his side… he smiled… the way they behaved with each other…. It was almost they had been married these past fifteen years.
I heard that… but it's true, isn't it? Hmm, something else to think on…. She said. He frowned.. that one statement had the potential to ruin all of his sleep for this night and all nights to follow.
You're so sweet Eragon, in your insecurities… I'm not going anywhere and yes nothing's changing about how we are… not that I appreciate our late night conversation, but its time to sleep.
She reached up and pecked him on the lips, soft kiss… full of warmth, and dare he say, love? Sleeep…
And that was all he knew for the night.
Hope you guys got the 'wet dog' and 'Sapphire' clues! Anyway, a poll: I thought that I should differentiate between the dragons of the Elder Scrolls and IC by having the dov (the ones who were created by Akatosh himself) have two legs and two wings with the dragons being like described in IC..i.e two legs, two hands and two wings. What do you think!