From the moment they arrived at the hooded stranger's manor, Ragnar was impressed. He had several... what? Maids? Servants? He had two dogs, and a room dedicated to trophies. There were dragon skulls, stuffed trolls, even a giant! Ragnar didn't explore that room in detail, though, as the stranger led him to a back room.
It was lined with weapons. Real ones on the end walls, practice ones on the far wall. There were dummies and targets, and another stuffed troll.
"This is where you'll be training," the stranger said. "I'm Arlen, but you can just go ahead and call me sir." Ragnar was taken aback.
"I won't be calling you sir, as a matter of fact," Ragnar said.
"And why do you presume that?" Arlen humored him.
"Because I'm the fighter, I'm the one you'll be making money off of. You're the one who provides the food and the roof, who books me fights."
"Oh, you think I can't fight?" Arlen was annoyed now.
"No, you can't. I'll prove it."
Ragnar threw a punch, but Arlen dodged back. Arlen stepped forward, punched with his left hand. Ragnar was ready for it, blocking the punch swiftly. It was a feign, though, and Arlen redirected it and punched Ragnar in the stomach, lightning-fast. When Ragnar bent forward, Arlen grabbed his head and pulled it toward his knee, stopping it a centimeter from Ragnar's nose. He then spun Ragnar around and put him in a lock that left him still bending over, with his elbow locked, his arm behind him, and his hand in extreme pain.
"I'll let that slide, once. Once. Again, and you'll be back begging in Riften." Arlen wasn't joking.
"Yes, sir." Ragnar was embarrassed.
"Oh, that?" Arlen let Ragnar out of the hold, suddenly cheery. "You don't have to call me sir. You can call me Arlen, Harbinger, Dragonborn, Archmage, Listener, Nightingale, whatever."
Ragnar's eyes widened. "You're-"
"The Harbinger of the mighty Companions of Whiterun, the most powerful minor faction in the plains? Yes." Arlen didn't seem impressed by his own achievements.
"And-"
"The Dragonborn of legend who can consume the souls of dragons and use them to shout creatures and people to death? Yeah."
"And-"
"The Archmage of the College of Winterhold, the most powerful mage's school in all of Tamriel? That, too."
"You can't be-"
"The Listener, who listens to the Night Mother in order to carry out contracts for the Dark Brotherhood, the greatest organization that has ever existed? Yeah, that one's my favorite."
"And a-"
"Nightingale, one of the legendary thieves who answer only to the Daedric prince, Nocturnal and are more stealthy than any creature in Nirn, including the most shadowed of Khajiits? Of course."
Ragnar couldn't believe his ears. Here he was, standing before the single greatest man ever to walk Tamriel, and having just attacked him! He started to bow, but Arlen stopped him.
"Can we train, now?" Arlen asked.
"Yes, si-Dragonborn. But first, why?"
"So that you can accompany me." Arlen closed his eyes for a moment, concentrated, then 'tut'ed and walked off. Ragnar, unsure of whether to follow him, stayed rooted to the spot. Arlen returned a moment later with a purple book and a blue potion.
"Read this, drink this," he said. Ragnar, mystified, did both. As he finished reading the book, Arlen told him to cast the spell. Ragnar was unaware he'd just read a spell, and had just blundered through the strange language, but tried anyway. Before his eyes, a ghostly bow came from nowhere and landed in his hands. A slight weight increase could be felt on his back, and looked up to see a quiver of arrows. They were both spectral and seemed to be alight with purple fire.
"You can't get far without a weapon, now can you?" Arlen motioned to a target. Ragnar drew an arrow, nocked it without looking, although he'd never used a bow before, and fired at the target. The arrow was down and to the left of where he had aimed, but it was remarkably close to the center considering his lack of practice or skill. "Good shot. Could barely do it better myself." Ragnar ignored the praise, firing until he had exhausted his supply of arrows. By the end, there was a blooming cluster of phantom arrows blooming out from the center. Only a handful had gone into the center mark, but Ragnar was quite satisfied. He tried to recast the spell and replenish his arrows, but he couldn't. Arlen handed him a large pouch. It was filled with more blue potions.
Ragnar drank another, cast a spell, and fired at the target again. More went into the center marking than before, and Ragnar grew even more satisfied. He started casting and recasting the spell, making the cluster of arrows disappear and eaten through Arlen's supply of arrows. Soon, he found himself casting the spell without a potion, and was astonished by his progression. After a dozen or so quivers, Arlen returned.
He was dressed the same as he had left, only with a curved dagger on his left hip, a gray-and-black bow on his back, and a pair of gauntlets in his hand. He gave those to Ragnar.
"I've enchanted them. They'll let you hit harder and faster, and don't weigh anything, as you can already tell. Also, the studs on the knuckles seemed useful."
Ragnar looked them over. True, there were studs on the knuckles, and they didn't weigh anything. They were steel plate, and elbow-high, which would help Ragnar block weapons.
"I also have some clothes for you." Arlen gave Ragnar some trousers, boots, a tunic and a belt. The trousers were of dark gray wool, the boots soft black leather. The tunic was the same gray as the trousers, and the belt black. The belt had a Pouch of Collecting on it, which would allow Ragnar to carry anything, but be encumbered by only half its weight and none of its volume. Ragnar donned these and put on the gauntlets. They glowed red from within for a split second, then it faded. Ragnar instantly walked to a dummy and punched it. There was a splintering crack, and the hay-filled head of the dummy fell down is back, the wood beam that held it up shattered. Ragnar didn't stop, though, but punched the dummy's middle portion. Another crack, and hay spilled out behind it as it stooped over. Ragnar then picked it up, threw it across the room. It slammed into the opposite wall, slid down, and settled behind an archery target.
"These will do..." Ragnar cast his spectral bow and continued firing at the target. With his, if only slightly, enhanced strength, it was easier to pull back the bow and keep it still during the release. These both helped him to land most every arrow into the center marking of the target.
Arlen returned to the room several minutes later. Ragnar had been unaware he had left.
"Let's go," Arlen said, then strolled from the room. Ragnar followed, a bit surprised and confused. Arlen led him outside and to some stables. There were no horses, though. In one stall was an ebony archway with a purple film in it. In the other was a black pool. For the first time, Ragnar noticed that Arlen had changed his clothing. After spending so much time in Riften, Ragnar recognized the armor of the Thieve's Guild. This was gray, though, instead of brown. It was dull and dark, and in the evening half-light Arlen looked like a shadow. On the left shoulder was a red hand, painted there at some point. It was the symbol of the Dark Brotherhood. Arlen had combined his Guild Master status and his Listener status into one piece of armor. As Ragnar watched, Arlen simply strolled to the black pool and it began boiling. A jet-black horse climbed from the pool. It had red eyes, a black saddle, and black fur. Arlen mounted up, then looked at Ragnar in confusion.
"Well?" He asked, motioning to the archway. Ragnar turned, and found that a horse stood there. Not a horse, though, a black horse skeleton. It glowed purple from within, and its mane and tail were of the same purple fire as Ragnar's spectral bow. Fire trailed from its hooves, as well. He mounted the horse, and it set off after Arlen, who had already ridden several dozen meters. They rode through the pine forests of Falkreath, and emerged on the plains of Whiterun. They rode across those, into the mountains, and onto the snowy hills of Windhelm. Finally, they rode over another mountain, and found themselves on the icy shores of Winterhold.
But they didn't stop.
They rode past the town, the college, out over the glaciers. In the distance were more. Ragnar knew somehow that they had passed the extreme northern edge of any Skyrim or Tamriel map. Still, the two horses leaped from glacier to glacier. Finally, they reached a large ice spike jutting from the ground. They rode to the top, horses jumping from ice shelf to ice shelf. When they found the top, they were face-to-face with themselves. Arlen, the other Arlen, rode a white horse with blue glowing eyes. He wore white Thieve's Guild armor with a blue hand over the shoulder. He had a straight dagger and a white bow. The other Ragnar rode a white skeletal horse, with orange fire for a mane and tail. He wore white clothes and carried an orange spectral bow. Instantly, Arlen and Arlen dismounted, and their horses backed up. Ragnar and Ragnar drew back arrows, pointing them at each other.
"Kill him!" Arlen and Arlen yelled. "He and his friend plan to move into our world and take it over for themselves!" Ragnar-s released their arrows at each other, and jumped from their horses. White Ragnar fired an arrow at Gray Arlen, and White Arlen charged forward at Gray Ragnar. Ragnar released three arrows in rapid succession, and White Arlen blocked two. The last struck his right shoulder. Gray Arlen rolled under White Ragnar's arrow, and came up with his dagger. White Ragnar seemed not to have been attacked by White Arlen, so he knew not what to expect. The dagger pierced his heart and threw him from the glacier. Ragnar then dodged a few strikes from White Arlen before Gray Arlen stabbed him in the back.
Arlen looked up at the battle between horses.
"Shadowmere!" Arlen rushed to his horse's side and fought off the other one. Ragnar rushed to his skeletal horse's side, and pulled off the other horse's skull. It tumbled from the glacier. Ragnar then turned and fired an arrow at White Shadowmere. It slammed quivering into the horse's neck, and it fell dead.
"We're lucky." Arlen rejoined Ragnar. "Those men are the near opposite of us, a mirror image. But they are less inclined to fight where they come from. They haven't been battle-hardened as we have. We must be careful, though, for those who don't fight in our world fight fiercely in theirs. We will be hard-pressed to quell them."
"What?" Ragnar looked at Arlen with utter, helpless confusion.
"They're from a world, the mirror of ours, called Lyg. When we shift into that world, something will start. Something huge. Every creature there will go in search of a means to shift back to Tamriel, and they will overrun it. The only way to stop it is to kill everyone there."
"Won't that be difficult?" Ragnar asked. Both men mounted their horses. Arlen cast an unusual spell, and Ragnar found himself floating sideways, along with his horse. For a split second, Ragnar saw a strange wasteland, then a void, and finally the glacier again. This time, though, the snow was gray, the glaciers orange, the sky dark.
"Welcome to Lyg, Ragnar. Or, at least the area just north of Lyg."
"I asked a question." Ragnar reminded Arlen.
"Ah, yes. 'Won't that be difficult...' Well, the answer is yes. It will be difficult. In fact, it will be nearly impossible, and we are both sure to die."