Updated twice in two days; hell fucking yes :D I'm starting on the next chapter as you read this. With that said, enjoy this one, with the knowledge that you won't have to wait another month for the next installment ;) Review!
Chapter 5
I come to a halt roughly ten miles east of the scene of my battle with the two dragons. Originally, I had been reeling, lost in a sea of doubt and indecision that Amaril's words had conjured. However, as I'd sped across Skyrim's tundra, into a dark, pine forest, I'd regained control of my emotions relatively quickly. As the icy wind blasted my face, so too did the freezing walls around my psyche repair themselves, and become whole once more. Now, shut off from the mire of the world, my steel resolve returns to me, and I continue on my way to Korvanjund.
The ancient ruin comes into sight as I reach the crest of a small hill. Between the trees obstructing my view, I can just make out flashes of hard, dark gray stone set into the ground, forming a makeshift valley, roughly a mile ahead of me. The atypical architecture of the ruin gives me a second's pause, before I continue on my way. My instructions from Solitude had been to rendezvous with a team of Imperial soldiers, led by Legate Rikke. The orders had annoyed me, for two reasons; the first being the fact that they were what they were, namely, orders. The second, was that the thought of working as an underling, and in a team at that, made me bristle. The entire concept of human contact puts me on edge. I grudgingly accept the my plight, however, and look around for any indication of an Imperial camp.
A voice reaches my ears, and I look over to where it originated.
"It's you! From Helgen!" A rough, nord voice calls in delight. I look over, to see a brown-haired, ruggedly built man jogging in my direction. I recognize him, and after a few seconds, I'm able to place his name.
Hadvar.
The large man slows down as he approaches me, grinning widely. His smile falters slightly at my expression, but he recovers quickly. His eyes remain wary, however, beneath his boyish grin. My understanding of the man deepens, as my opinion regarding his intellect changes.
"It's good to see you." He rumbles, clapping me on the shoulder with a heavy hand. I tense, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Come on, let me introduce you to the rest of the team."
He turns away, and walks back from where he came, his heavy footsteps leaving deep prints in the snow. I suppress a derisive snort; the man moves as if he were made of stone. After a moment, I follow him, treading lightly across the frozen ground, leaving barely any trace of my passing, compared to Hadvar's tramping gait.
"I'm glad you made it." He calls over his shoulder, as we walk. "We've been waiting for two days. The Legate has been grumbling this entire time. She sent word that if you didn't show up today, she'd have us storm the ruin without you." I offer no response, as none seems required. He continues, "Either way, I'm pleased she waited. I don't like the place, myself." I notice him shiver, slightly. "Feels wrong, to me." The large man shakes himself, then continues. "Anyway, what kept you?"
I shrug, noncommittally, but he doesn't notice, as he's still leading me towards wherever the rest of the soldiers are camped.
"Dragons." I grunt, giving the shortest answer possible, hoping to end the conversation. To my annoyance, Hadvar doesn't pick up on the hint.
"Dragons? Plural?" He replies, the astonishment clear in his voice. I grunt in affirmation, and he whistles. Thankfully, however, he doesn't continue the conversation.
We walk for about another minute, circling the ruin until it lies to the west of us. Between the trees, I notice a flash of movement, quickly followed by the sound of a horse. I tense, but Hadvar remains relaxed.
"Hail!" He calls, and raises his hand.
After a moment, a second voice answers him. "Ah, Hadvar. I'm almost disappointed you're not a Stormcloak." I hear the sound of hooves stamping in the snow, and a tall, grey warhorse trots towards us from between the trees. It nickers softly, and tosses it's head, it's long, pale mane flowing magnificently. My eyebrows raise in appreciation of the fine specimen. My gaze travels up towards the stallion's rider. Atop his back sits a young, tough-looking wood elf. His skin is tan, the color of sand, with sculpted lips and high cheekbones. He tosses his long, thick brown hair, and grins at us, revealing alabaster teeth. My gaze travels up to meet his dark eyes. They have a mischievous, almost impish quality. They shine with an obvious cleverness, and his whole appearance leaves me feeling slightly bemused.
He's very much a wood elf. I note dryly, as I notice the longbow slung across his back.
"Aye, I know how you feel." Hadvar replies ruefully. "But don't fret, Daenlin, we'll all have more than our fair share of blood to shed soon enough."
The bosmer nods, then fixes his sharp gaze on me. "Who's your friend, Hadvar?" He asks, giving me a secret, mischievous smile. I can't decide whether I like him or not. I remain impassive, as Hadvar introduces me.
The large man claps me on the shoulder, again, and I clench my jaw to keep myself from breaking his tree-trunk of an arm. "This is Daanik, the soldier we've been waiting on for two days." He says, with a laugh.
Daenlin doesn't move his eyes from me, and I meet his stare, my midnight eyes unwavering.
"Ah." He murmurs. "Good to meet you, Dragonborn."
His gaze isn't challenging, but appraising, judging. I hold it for a few moments, while Hadvar looks on, completely unaware of the tension. Finally, the elf looks away.
"Come." He says, pulling on his horse's reigns, turning the beast around. "The camp is just through these trees."
Hadvar follows without a word, and I emulate him, attempting to understand the chain of command in the squadron. I let go of the thought, however, assuming that the answer will present itself once we reach the camp.
After no more than a couple of yards, we breach the tree line, and walk into a small clearing. The sounds of activity fill the air; the clanging of a hammer on steel, the whinnying of horses, the crackling of fire, and the bustle of movement. I scan the encampment. Most of the soldiers are nord men, but there are a relatively large number of imperials, and women, among the armed. All of them, including Hadvar and Daenlin, are outfitted with standard Legion weapons and armor. I had declined a uniform, to the utmost annoyance of the outfitter, preferring to wear my leather ensemble. The man had seemed gravely insulted, as he'd gone about sharpening Bahlok and Nax for me.
At closer inspection, however, I notice that both Daenlin and Hadvar's armor differs slightly from that of the other soldiers. The red pauldrons are a deeper crimson, and the brown body of the gear is a shade darker than that of the average imperial armor. Before I can ask about the difference, however, Hadvar speaks.
"Well, this is it. The Pale Imperial camp." He motions towards a large tent at the far end of the clearing. "Come, let me introduce you to the rest of the core."
"The core?" I ask, following the large man as he strides towards the makeshift structure. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the wood elf dismount, and tie his horse's reigns to a post at the edge of the camp.
"Aye." The nord answers. "Not familiar with the structure of the Legion, are you?" He looks back, and I shake my head in answer. "Ah, no matter. I'll explain it to you."
"Please do." I mutter under my breath, but he doesn't hear me.
"Once anyone joins the legion, they're labeled as a backup soldier." He explains, as we reach the tent. "They're assigned, in random groups, to support the cores of a team. Those cores are made up of more experienced soldiers, such as Daenlin, and myself." He holds open the flap of the canvas structure, and motions for me to enter. I do so, blinking as my eyes adjust to the dark interior.
"Cores are just what their name suggests, namely, the center of a regiment. They can lead a battalion, or act as a separate team on their own."
Hadvar motions around the interior of the tent, and I make out two other figures standing in the tent with us.
"Each core is well balanced, in it's skill sets. For example, I'm all heavy armor, with a claymore. I'm strong, but slow. Daenlin makes up for that; he's our resident archer. Then we have Camilla, our healer and ice-Mage." He points to a tall, slender imperial woman, who's leaning over an enchanting table. She straightens up from her position, and smiles warmly at me. I return the greeting with a nod. Hadvar continues, his voice alight with humor. "And this scumbag Breton is our very own spell-sword." I glance over to the other corner of the tent, to a man dressed in ebony armor, running a whetstone across his black sword. At Hadvar's words, he glances up with a wide grin.
"Scumbag, you say?" He drawls, and my eyes widen in surprise and recognition. "Better malicious than thick, you great oaf!" He glances quickly in my direction, then does a double take.
"Daanik?" He demands, leaping up from the bench he'd been occupying. "Is that you?"
"Kastus!" I exclaim, momentarily stunned.
A wide grin stretches across the Breton's face, as our respective realizations are confirmed. He strides forward, and embraces me roughly. My muscles tense and coil dramatically for a moment, before I awkwardly hug him back. He pulls away, eyes still full of excitement.
"It's been too long, you bloody nord." He says, his eyes directly level with mine. He's tall, for a Breton; mirroring my six feet. A grin, a real smile stretches across my face, untainted by any malicious intent, for the first time I can remember in the last two years. The man steps back, and examines me, eyebrows raised.
He whistles. "Well, you've grown, haven't you?" He states, eyeing my musculature. He lashes out, punching me in the shoulder. The sudden movement startles me, and it's all I can do to keep from catching his fist in my palm. "You almost look like a real nord now, eh?" He laughs, loudly.
I smile tightly, still on edge from his well-intentioned blow. Kastus notices my expression, and gives me a questioning look, but before he can voice his thoughts, Daenlin pushes back the opening of the tent.
"Why is it always so damn dark in here?" He mutters, irritably.
"Because, you can't mount torches on canvas, Daenlin." Hadvar rumbles, pronouncing each word slowly, exaggerating his tone, as if speaking to a child.
The elf gives him a dirty look. "Shove your face into a Khajit's arse, nord." He grumbles.
Camilla snorts, and Kastus laughs. I raise an eyebrow, amused, nevertheless.
Hadvar chuckles, deep and low. "I'll settle for your sister's, but I appreciate the offer."
The Breton roars in laughter, and Camilla joins him, while the Bosmer's face reddens. I smile, slightly, enjoying that the man was being taken down a peg. After a moment, he joins the laughter, however. I'm impressed by their camaraderie.
They must make quite a well-oiled team in battle. Amaril's voice muses from inside my skull.
I grunt in assent, preferring to focus on the physical world itself, rather than the musings of my own twisted subconscious.
Who are you replacing, I wonder? The elf asks, his tone malicious.
What are you talking about? I snap. But he doesn't answer.
I turn my attention back to the present, and find that everyone inside the tent is staring at me. Kastus's gaze is inquisitive, and Camilla looks worried. Daenlin's is shrewd, almost pleased, while Hadvar's is simply confused. I realize that someone must have spoken to me.
"I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere." I state calmly.
The members of the core all shoot each other quick glances. The other members of the core, I think, correcting myself. Then, mercifully, Kastus breaks the silence.
"Hadvar inquired as to your physical state, Daanik. Are you tired?"
I shake my head in response.
"Good." The burly nord rumbles. He hefts an immense sword, and pushes open the tent's opening. "We attack Korvanjund in an hour."
The rest of the core nods, and begin their preparation, assembling potions, or strapping on armor. I sense Kastus's gaze on me, but before he has the chance to speak, I stride out after Hadvar. Again, the clanging of the blacksmith sounds in my ears, and I wonder how the tent could have muffled such a piercing noise. Uncomfortable with the amount of activity around me, I continue walking, until I reach the edge of the camp, and then a bit farther, until I come to a small outcropping of rock. I crouch down on it, my hands playing with the bleak stone face, as I survey the ancient Nordic ruin spread out before me.
The feral smile returns to my lips, as I think of all the Stormcloak blood I'm about to spill.
I hear a snap from behind me, and clench my teeth in annoyance. Hadvar curses, then mutters an apology, as his tramping boots find yet another obstacle to our required silence. Kastus snickers at his clumsiness. Camilla jabs him in the side with her elbow, and he yelps, much to the rest of the core's amusement. I close my eyes in frustration, and growl under my breath, my annoyance seeping through to the surface. No one notices, however, and we continue sneaking through the trees behind Daenlin. Suddenly, the elf holds up his hand, and we all pause. Hadvar signals to the dozen or so Legionnaires behind him, and they stop as well. My ears twitch at what I assume is the same noise the scout had noticed. I tighten my grip on my blades, ready to draw them at a moment's notice. After a few seconds, a raccoon skitters across our path, eyes wide and curious. The group relaxes, and I hear Camilla's audible exhalation from behind me. Daenlin begins to move again, and the rest of us follow.
We continue on this way for a rough ten minutes, but encounter no obstacles. My annoyance grows with each passing second, and I have to stop myself multiple times from simply standing up and whirlwind sprinting head first into the impending battle.
Why are you stopping yourself? Amaril asks snidely from inside my head.
I groan inwardly at his arrival. Because, it's an important aspect to being part of a team, elf. I hiss. The words sound hollow, though, even to me.
The elf lets out a bark of laughter. And since when have you been a team-player, Dragonborn? He sneers. Stop pretending to be something you're not. Go on; get up, finish the fight for them. Call Odhaving, your old friend. I'm sure he won't pity you, like those other dragons did. Bahlok and Nax indeed. He snorts, derisively. You're no more than a man who can't come to terms with his lot in life.
I stand up abruptly, and my hands grasp the hilts of my blades so tightly that the knuckles turn white. Luckily, we seem to have reached our destination, and the rest of our battalion rises as well. Their movements distract me, and I'm able to calm myself, forcing the red haze surrounding my mind back into the depths of my subconscious. I turn my gaze to Hadvar, as he walks to the front of the group, and addresses us.
"Alright, men, this is it." He whispers, his voice hushed. "You ready to prove yourselves worthy to wear the Legion's colors?" He asks, grinning at the soldiers in the back.
A chorus of hushed affirmations rises from behind me, and the burly nord commander nods in approval.
"Alright, then. Daenlin, Camilla, you pick off the archers. The rest of you," Hadvar says, motioning to Kastus, myself, and the backup soldiers, "Follow up on foot once you're in no threat from any ranged attacks." Kastus nods in agreement. I, however, allow myself a small smirk. The very idea of me hanging back until the coast is clear is laughable.
"Alright." He finishes. "For the Emperor!"
Daenlin and Camilla make their move. And, before anyone can stop me, I follow, pushing to the front of the battalion and past the tree line, so that the ruin is in plain view. Quickly, I analyze the defenses. Six archers, two on the left and right, and two in the back, as well as an unknown number of soldiers in the canyon itself. I grin in anticipation, before inhaling a deep breath, and shouting.
"WULD NA KEST!" I bellow, and with a thunderous report, I tear across the snowy ground, towards the first archer. He doesn't even see me coming, as I hold my left arm out to the side, decapitating the man, as I continue to move. The soldier behind him notices me, but too late. His eyes dilate in fear, as he too meets his end by Bahlok's razor bite.
Abruptly, I reach the far right corner of the surface of the canyon, and stop the shout. I turn to face the two archers at the back of the setup, and bare my teeth in a snarl. They fumble with their arrows, and I sprint towards them, without the aid of the shout, this time. The first man manages to loose a projectile at me, which I catch on my blade, before plunging both of my swords into his chest, and wrenching them out with a sickening tearing sound.
I turn my gaze to the remaining two archers, now stationed on my right. I hear a straining sound, as they draws their bows, seconds away from firing. With not enough time to get to them physically, I suck in another deep breath, and release an earth-shattering Thu'um.
"FUS RO DAH!" I roar, and an explosion of force knocks both soldiers into the air. They hit the ground with sickening impacts. Neither moves from where they landed.
I shout again, sprinting towards the edge of the canyon, before launching myself into the air with a tremendous leap. I soar through the sky, clearing the entire length of the canyon, before landing on the other side, near the intended entrance. Slowly, I straighten up, and walk calmly down the steps. Below me, I see roughly fifteen soldiers milling about, before they organize themselves, and charge in my direction.
I don't even blink, as the first one approaches me. He swings a massive war hammer, and as he raises his arms high above his head, my the slight hook at the tip of my blade slices across his neck. Blood spurts, and he gurgles once, before falling to the side. The next soldier swings a mace, again, raising the weapon high. I shake my head slightly, almost amused, as I lash out with my foot, kicking him in the chest. I feel his sternum crack, and he gasps for air, before he falls back down the steps. I'm vaguely aware of the sound of his neck breaking, as the next soldier charges. This man is smarter; swiping at my side with his long sword. I parry the blow with my left hand, and remove his sword arm with my right. He howls in agony, clutching the stump, before falling to the ground. I leave him to bleed out, focusing on the next two enemies. This pair is more prepared than the previous soldier. Both wield massive battle-axes. They swing them at me from either side, at the same time, making the respective blows difficult to block. I crouch down low, hearing the heavy blades as they whistle over my head, and lash out at the soldiers' knees with my own weapons. They shriek, as they fall.
This continues on for about five minutes in all. Soldiers run at me, either individually or in pairs, and are struck down without fail. Finally, as the last man falls to the deadly bite of my blades, I turn around, taking in the destruction I've caused. The canyon is littered with corpses, and the ground is more red than white. I glance to the top of the stairs, watching, as the raft of the battalion descends to join me, eyes wide. Kastus meets my gaze for a second, before looking away. The same happens with Camilla and Hadvar. And still, I look on, fixing them all with my unwavering blue gaze. Only Daenlin looks at me for more than a second.
"Now I know why you're on the team." He mutters.
I snort, and follow him, then push past him and the others as we walk towards the door to the ruin. I sheathe my blades, and brace myself against the two iron slabs. The muscles in my shoulders flex and coil as I heave with all my might.
And, with a mighty boom, I throw open the doors to Korvanjund. I step into the impenetrable darkness, and don't look back.
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