Disclaimer: I own neither the Elder Scrolls nor The Inheritance Cycle. They belong to Bethesda Softworks and Christopher Paolini respectively.
The air itself burned over the city of Windhelm, angry, horrible. Great fiery spheres of forged steel and iron sang through the sky, clashing against the old walls of Ysgramor's city, and the ageless bricks groaned from the pressure, as the city inside flared with fire. Atop a snow-covered hill stood Haleth, watching the proceedings of the battle.
The Stormcloaks were making a valiant stand before the bridge, as line after line of the blue-clad rebels fell to the ever-approaching wave of crimson and mahogany. Men screamed as they fell, limbs torn off, and armor covered with blood. Even from his removed position, Haleth could smell the distinctive scent of blood, coppery and thick. Eventually, the Stormcloaks lost their position at the bridge and fled inside, the gates slamming shut behind them, and the legionaries brought forth a large ram, capped with ebony and the skull of a dragon.
Once the ram's job was done, the Imperial Legion swarmed inside, with Haleth and Legate Rikke at their head. Inside, the battle raged on, as scarlet clashed with blue, steel and magic flying this way and that. Haleth rushed forwards, his sword singing above his head, jumping at the nearest Stormcloak and bringing his blade down on the man's head. The ebonsteel longsword cleaved through the man's helmet, sending up a geyser of blood, and the Dragonborn pivoted on the balls of his feet to cut through another rebel's throat.
Four then came at Haleth, wielding greatswords and hammers, and without hesitation he sped towards them, rolling under a rather telegraphed swing of a hammer. He brought his sword up, slamming the blade against the unarmored portion of the attacker's stomach and slicing through, then brought his blade back up to deflect a downward swing from a greatsword. With three left to go, Haleth lunged forwards, feinting towards the closest Stormcloak, and then caught another's blade with his crossguard. Haleth brought his sword down, leaving his opposition vulnerable, before slashing up, severing the Stormcloak's head from his neck.
Before the last two Stormcloaks could attack him, they were struck down by two passing Imperial cavalrymen, spears stuck in their backs. The two riders continued on, searching for more targets down the street, and Haleth turned as a loud roar caught his attention. He turned to see a beast of a man, at least seven feet tall and clad in cerulean, swinging a large axe around his head. Legionaries circled the Stormcloak berserker, looking for openings. One legionary fell back with a cry, his shield shattered and his arm bloodied and crippled. The rest of the legionaries seemed wary, but Haleth rushed forwards, spotting the lack of armor besides a leather gambeson under the Stormcloak's blue cloth. Ducking under a swing of the axe, his ebonsteel sword sang through the air, and the man screamed as his arm was severed at the base. Quickly, Haleth thrust forwards, stabbing the Stormcloak in the shoulder and ripping upwards. Blood spouted angrily from the wound, and the berserker fell with a groan, the cobblestones under him turning red. Haleth turned away, seeing that the few Stormcloaks that remained had fled into the Palace of the Kings.
In a few minutes time, the legionaries had cleared out the keep, with only Ulfric and Galmar left at the throne. General Tullius himself led the way, flanked by Haleth and Rikke, addressing Ulfric Stormcloak in a strident voice.
Haleth watched as the men, and woman, hurled accusations back and forth, waiting patiently as they spewed forth their disagreements. Eventually, Galmar, Ulfric's right-hand man, threw himself at Tullius, weapon , and the General, not one to forget his own legionary training while commanding legions, struck out, his gladius spiking through Galmar's throat. With a sickening rip, the large man fell, gurgling as he choked on his own blood.
"Well, Ulfric, you can't escape from me this time,' Tullius said, turning to point his blade at the Stormcloaks' leader. 'Any last requests before I send you to... to wherever you people go when you die?"
"Sovngarde… sir."
Tullius turned towards Rikke, an irritated frown on his face. "Right. Well?"
Ulfric seemed to think, before stepping down from his throne, stopping to look straight into Haleth's eyes. "Let the Dragonborn do it. It'll make for a better song."
Despite everything, Haleth had to smile. In the end, Ulfric was a true Nord, through and through. It was a shame the man was the enemy—against all misgivings, Ulfric would have truly been a valuable ally against the Thalmor.
"Song or not, I just want it done."
Haleth turned towards Tullius, a blank stare on his face, before facing Ulfric again. He hefted his ebonsteel sword and thrust it forward. Ulfric gasped as the sword exited through his back. His heart had been pierced right through.
A moment later, his body slumped, and as Haleth stared into the man's eyes, he could see the light leave them. A light that, selfish though it might have been, had always contained a tint of hope—hope for mankind's future, for the Nords, and a deep hatred for the Thalmor. A hatred that Haleth shared, and as he pulled his sword out of Ulfric's chest, Haleth muttered a promise, hoping that Ulfric's departing soul would hear it.
"I will destroy the Thalmor."
The morning sun peered through the window of the tavern room, and the man sleeping within the bed woke with a tiny gasp. Opening his eyes, Haleth stared at the ceiling, contemplating his dream.
No. Not a dream. Memory, flashback, something of the sort. Maybe an augur of the future to come.With a small groan from the bed, Haleth stood up, his bare feet touching the cold wood of the floor. No matter. What time is it? The air is moist, cool, it's maybe six in the morning. I should be leaving by now.Leaning down, the Dragonborn grabbed his gear, taking his time to equip it. He slipped on his boots, supporting his leg against the wall to buckle the boots on. His gloved bracers came on next, also buckled, and Haleth slung on his various bandoliers, satchels, and pouches before finishing with his cloak, whipping the black linen around his back. His hood went over his head, and his mask over his face.
Turning to his weapons, Haleth attached the sword in its scabbard to his back, slung his bow across his right shoulder with the quiver at his hip, and finished with his two daggers. With a small clip he attached the second dagger to his left shoulder, making sure it was buckled down. Satisfied, the Dovahkiin opened the door, eventually arriving inside the tavern itself.
He grabbed a loaf of bread, flicking a couple of crowns over to the bartender, before leaving the establishment. The morning sun shone down on him, the glares of light rendering him briefly blinded. He turned to the left, catching sight of Frost.
The horse was already awake—she always seemed to know when exactly Haleth planned to leave. She snorted upon seeing Haleth, as if amused by his presence, before trotting over to him.
"Hey there, Frost. You have a good night?" Haleth looked into the mare's eyes, patting her side as he did so. Her eyes twinkled slightly, as if saying yes, and the Dragonborn smirked. "Alright, that's fine. Now, Frost, we need to track a couple elves—they left a few minutes ago, didn't they?"
Frost snorted, again seeming to say yes, then turned, waiting for Haleth to guide her. With a nod, Haleth grabbed her bridle, before leading her on, this time leaving the town. Within a few minutes the pair had reached the gates, and with a nod to one of the guards—which was returned with a glare—Haleth passed through the gates.
Looking around, Haleth took notice of a faint trace of magicka—to the south, it seemed. Haleth grinned, before once more leading Frost, heading southbound. A few minutes later, the duo found themselves at a crossroads. To their front were two figures, and Haleth chuckled. He had found the elves. The Dragonborn elected to follow at a short distance, watching silently as the two elves chatted back and forth.
However, Haleth frowned a moment later when he saw a band of troops approaching them. Crimson, cloaks, and leather—the Empire of this land, it seemed. Their leader, sat upon a horse, seemed to notice the elves first, before catching sight of Haleth. Haleth could see the man grin and spur his horse on, leading his men towards the Nord. Haleth could see the two elves turning, gaping at the soldiers, and at Haleth, a keen, if alarmed, interest in their eyes.
"Halt, you!" The Dragonborn's attention snapped back towards the leader of the soldiers as the man yelled down at him. "What's your name?"
Haleth elected to stay silent, his hand ready to break towards the hilt of his sword. Seeing this, the soldier sneered, as if both amused and furious at the display of irreverence towards him.
"I said, what's your name? Tell me, or we'll beat it out of you."
Seeing no way out of this situation, Haleth let go of Frost's bridle, pushing her back, before grasping the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. Unsheathing it, he held the ebonsteel sword with both hands, carefully examining the situation in front of him.
Ten hostiles—one on a horse. Maybe four meters away. Five with swords and shields, two with longswords, also armored in steel plate and steel helmets, and the last two equipped with mere shortswords. The same group Haleth had seen at the town—maybe some of their weapons were still in town? No matter. The Dragonborn watched as the soldiers all drew their weapons, readying themselves to attack him.
"So be it, peasant! Men, attack!" The leader of the soldiers urged his horse forwards, a battlecry emerging from his lips, and he raised his blade to strike at Haleth. To the man's great surprise, however, he found himself flung from his seat, as his horse cried out in pain, its legs bloodied. A second later, the soldier fell upon the earth, and his head rolled revoltingly on the ground as his neck broke. Haleth paid the man and horse no mind, bracing himself for the rest of the soldiers' charges.
With practiced efficiency, Haleth parried a strike from a longsword, before turning and kicking out, striking another man's shield. The man fell back, but as another struck at the Dragonborn, he found his sword flung from his grasp and a sword protruding from his back. With great speed, Haleth spun around, tearing his blade from the soldier's side, deflecting a hack from a shortsword and countering, his blade singing down on the attacker's face.
Two down, one stunned, one likely crippled from his fall. Six left. Haleth just barely heard the sound of a blade slicing at his back and twisted to block the strike with an over-the-shoulder parry. Turning around, he caught the next thrust with his sword's crossguard and twisted the blade, leaving the soldier responsible vulnerable. Haleth rolled under a strike from another soldier, coming up behind the first. With a quick slice the man fell, a bloody swathe cut across his back.
Suddenly, Haleth saw one of the remaining soldiers fly backwards, and he caught a glimpse of one of the elves, his hand bloodied. One of the soldiers came at him with his shortsword, and the elf grabbed the man before pummeling him into the ground. Haleth was even more surprised when he saw the female elf twisting a soldier's head, before moving away. A sword flying at his face interrupted Haleth's thoughts as he twisted to avoid it, before slicing upwards, severing the man's arm. The soldier fell to his knees with a scream, and Haleth wasted no time in plunging his sword down, thrusting between the man's collarbones. 'One left.'
Turning around, Haleth managed to see a longsword flying down at him from above. Putting his offhand on his sword's blade, Haleth caught the longsword, before twisting his arms to the side, pushing the enemy's weapon away. The Dragonborn reversed his grip on his hilt, bringing his ebonsteel sword up so that the pommel and crossguard were faced towards the sky. The soldier was forced to watch as Haleth brought his sword down, performing the feared technique of the Bretonese knights—the mordhau, or murder-stroke. The sword's crossguard plunged into the soldier's helmet, piercing it easily, before driving into the man's skull with a sickening crunch. A moment later, Haleth wrenched his sword free, before turning to face the two elves as the man died at his feet.
The elves were relatively unharmed, and had taken care of their share of soldiers. Despite that, they looked warily at Haleth, with suspicious looks in their eyes. Neither party spoke for a moment, as Frost cantered back to Haleth from behind him.
Haleth spoke first, lowering his sword so as to not appear hostile. "Thank you for the assistance, travelers. It was definitely appreciated."
The two elves stayed silent—Haleth could almost swear they were talking silently to each other. Finally, the young male mer spoke, his voice clear, yet careful. "It was no matter—those men attacked you for no reason. It would go against my morals to leave the issue alone."
Haleth nodded, before moving, crouching down to clean his blade on the tunic of one of the dead soldiers. "Pray tell, what sort of powers allowed you to punch like that? You sent those men flying."
The young man seemed to blink, briefly unsure of what to say to the question, and Haleth added yet another item to his growing list of information on this world. Maybe some sort of stigma against mages. "I don't know what you're speaking of—I have no powers that would allow me to do such."
In response, Haleth narrowed his eyes, standing up to his full height—several inches taller than either elf. "Lies. Two peasants, walking down a road to the south, where a band of soldiers nearly questioned you before seeing me. Veils of magicka so strong around both of you, and characteristics that mark you both as elves in my vision." The two elves tensed, as if preparing for a fight. "You're both heading south to the Varden, aren't you? Elven diplomats or mages, of some sort."
The young man seemed ready to fly at Haleth with fists extended. The elves' eyes seemed to flicker this way and that way as they looked at each other, as if holding some sort of private, silent discussion between themselves. Suspicious. However, a few seconds later, the two seemed to arrive at an ultimatum, before the man turned back to Haleth.
"Very well, it seems you've exposed our ruse. You are partially correct—we're agents of the Varden. But," at this point, the young man smirked, in an infuriating way, "to the best of our knowledge, you are heading to meet the Varden yourself. Going south on the same road, King Galbatorix's soldiers attacked you—we're correct, aren't we?"
Haleth simply nodded—there was nothing else to say on the matter.
"Very well. Then, we have a proposal. Travel with us, and we'll take you to the Varden."
At this, Haleth's eyes narrowed—who in their right mind would suddenly invite a stranger, a deadly one at that, to simply travel with them, without any notion of their background? There has to be some sort of ulterior motive.
"Why? To keep an eye on me? That is what I suspect."
The young man nodded, and Haleth noticed that so far, the elvish woman had not uttered a single word. "I would be lying if I said that wasn't the case. Despite that, we do hope to bring you to the Varden. They could use a warrior like yourself."
Haleth snorted—the mer assumed that the Dragonborn would simply be just another pawn—that was not so. Haleth would not settle for the position of a mere grunt. Pushing the thoughts off to the side, however, the Nord simply nodded, gesturing to the south. "Then let us be on our way. The sooner we arrive there, the better." The young man nodded, before the two elves started moving south again, Haleth and Frost at their heels.
Night had fallen upon the three travelers, and they had elected to make camp at a clearing in the woods. Haleth watched, silent, as both the man and woman set down their respective bedrolls, before sitting with his back against a tree a few meters away from them. He set his gear down, before unsheathing his sword. The blade shined eerily in the moonlight, and Haleth could see the lines where steel melded with ebony. A beautiful sword it was, but it was still in need of cleaning.
The Dragonborn ignored his companions' stares as he cleaned his beloved sword, eventually clearing it of all the grime it had acquired. The sword itself was near unbreakable, but it was still vulnerable to damage. He would have to hold off on sharpening the blade, as, well... he was in the woods.
When he was finished, Haleth sheathed the sword, before setting it down on the ground next to him. Making himself comfortable against the tree, Haleth was ready to rest, when a voice sounded somewhere nearby.
"We never did introduce ourselves, and we don't know your name either. I guess the time for introductions is now."
Haleth's eyes snapped open, before he turned his head towards the voice. The young man and woman were looking at him—again, it was as if they were holding a silent conversation between themselves.
"So be it." Haleth sighed, before sitting up. "My name is Haleth."
"Bergan. And this is… Katrina."
Haleth raised his eyes—the young man was lying to him, he could tell. Those names were false—they were incognito, after all. Despite that, he said nothing. They had their reasons, and the Dragonborn was not privy to them yet.
The young man fidgeted, as if knowing that Haleth did not believe him. Nevertheless, he cleared his throat, before speaking once more. "What are your reasons for wanting to join the Varden, if I may ask?"
Haleth hesitated for a bit, looking down at the ground. He needed a suitable answer, and yet Haleth did not have enough information to provide a sure one. Joining the Varden itself was a risky choice, as he had no information on neither the king, nor the Varden. "Personal reasons. Nothing more."
This time, it was the elf's turn to narrow his eyes, and he was quickly joined by the female. "Well, I won't question it, but be sure to know that the Varden will question you once we arrive. They'll look into your mind."
Haleth's eyes briefly snapped towards Bergan, before turning away again. "Then let them try. They will achieve nothing." He slumped again, watching as Frost returned from her brief grazing. "Now, I suspect we all need some rest." With that, Haleth closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him. He could hear Bergan grunt unhappily nearby, before the two elves made for sleep themselves.
Sleep had quickly taken Haleth, and he found himself deeply immersed in further dreams. However, in the back of his mind, he could feel a tiny pinprick, as if something were trying to intrude, to pick the lock into his memories. Who…
An aura, a spirit—both human and elvish, yet with a tinge of draconic nature. Haleth awoke, yet kept up the pretense of being asleep. Slowly, he seeped the darkness from within him, and he could feel the presence.
Bergan. Or whatever his name was. The elf-mage was attempting to invade Haleth's mind, to see his memories, his darkest secrets. Let him try, Haleth thought. The elf would have no success.
Seconds later, Haleth could feel Bergan suddenly recoil, as he was set upon by the various souls within him. Innumerable dragons, headed by one greater than them all, a wolf, a nightingale, and the human. Bergan's presence immediately fled from Haleth's mind, leaving traces of shock and fear as it did. Slowly, the darkness crept towards Bergan and Katrina's bedrolls, sitting in wait to hear their thoughts.
Not a man, by any means. Arya, he's something else, something horrifying. Like the souls of many different beings have been forged violently into one.
I told you not to read his mind, Eragon. We may be dealing with something bigger than a simple human warrior, thief, or whatever he is.
I needed to see who he was, Arya. If we could trust him. That question hasn't been answered yet.
Leave it, Eragon. We don't need another enemy—I can feel his power.
... Fine.
With that, Haleth let the darkness recede, his companions' voices stopping altogether. Eragon and Arya, their true names. One an elf, and another, some odd combination of human and elf. What could this mean? Despite that, Haleth ignored the matter at hand—he needed rest, and like Arya had said, he did not need any more enemies right now, until he could find out what was going on in Lorkhan's world. Once more, Haleth let sleep take him, as he fell to the memories that had suddenly pervaded his dreams.
Author's Note:
Hey, guys, hope you guys enjoyed the third chapter of Ye of Bygone Days. I enjoyed writing this one, though it was a filler. Next one is already done, and should be up in about two weeks or so. Please feel free to review, as it all helps out immensely!
Individual Replies:
Axcel: I feel that the "dragon blood and soul" is open to interpretation. What you said is basically my belief, and how I wrote that part. However, I do believe that while each Dragonborn has the blood and soul of a dragon merged within them, making them half dragon, and half man. However, because of the domineering effect of the dragon soul and blood, every Dragonborn runs the risk of falling to it, and succumbing to its maddening effect-it isn't ho-hum to just have the soul of a dragon. This is seen in Miraak, the Firstborn, who went insane with the power of the dragon souls he absorbed, or through the various Mad Kings of the Septim Dynasty, the most prominent of whom being Pelagius Septim. Others, however, took to the Dragon Soul much better, like Tiber Septim or Alessia. In effect, Haleth did not know what path is own would take him on-he was wary of that, and chose not to deal with it in the first place, taking the Daedra's power and fusing it with his soul-which fragmented it further.
Axcel again: By the armor, I actually had a non-canon armor in mind. It was based off the mod "Falkreath Ranger Armor" on the nexus, or TWM Falkreath Ranger, with the masked hood and gloved bracers. Imagine that armor, but fully black, and you have Haleth's armor. Also, by the souls of those in Alagaesia, I think that their souls are synonymous with their health and stamina-it's essentially their life force they're using.