The cold winds of Skyrim were a welcome thought in Lydia's mind as she crept along the passageways of Ustengrav, sweat dripping off her back. Her eyes darted all around as she looked out for traps, magic users as well as the undead soldiers, bound for eternity to guard the peace of Ustengrav. The Thane and she had come across a trio of witches not far past the enterance of Ustengrav, clearly the fellows of the witch slain outside in the marsh. It had been a brief but bloody affair, yet her blade was now bone dry and if anything, a little chalked from combat with the Draugr.
She wiped her forehead as the crept down another hall, the remains of the dead lain ceremoniously around them in chambers built into the very walls. The torches she and the Thane of Whiterun carried cast eery shadows on the walls, keeping Lydia alert for the slightest sign of movement. She had almost been beheaded when they had got past the witches, she foolishly not looking behind as well as infront. The Draugr, a beast of a man in his day surely, had silently risen from his resting place and attacked from behind. It was only his warcry, something in a strange tounge, that alerted her to his presence and managed to jump back and avoided a fatality.
Lydia had heard of the tales of the Draugr since she was a little girl. Like all children of Skyrim she knew they ate up bad children and roamed the wilderness at night, looking for lost little boys and girls to eat. To actually see one in the flesh; this lumbering corpse wielding it's deadly iron rune carved blade and seeing the dull glowing blue sorcery in its eyes gave Lydia a sense of dread she had not felt in years. Was this a fate that awaited her? Could some conjurer trap her on Nirn when she died, forever unable to enter Sovngarde?
Movement up ahead brought her mind to focus. The Thane of Whiterun dropped his torch and brought out his weapon and badge of office, the Axe of Whiterun. In the dim light of the dropped torch the sillhouette of the Draugr up ahead appeared even more terrifying. It lumbered towards them, an old Nordic longsword in it's hand. Emerging from around the corner it cast it's unerring gaze at the Thane and his Housecarl, the gnarled bronze coloured armour and chalky white dried flesh of the Draugr stood in heavy comparison to its surroundings. It raised its blade at the pair and spoke in a bitter foreign tounge.
"SOVNGARDE SARAAN."
Sovngarde?
The word rang around Lydia's head as the corpse charged at them. The Thane of Whiterun raised his Shield and rushed to meet the enemy. Lydia, slow on the uptake, followed.
"For Whiterun!"
The Dragonborn caught the Draugr's first blow with his shield, using the Axe of Whiterun to cut into the zombies torso. Lydia followed, jamming her blade into the Draugr's arm, making it drop the old Nordic sword. With a fell swoop, the Thane withdrew his axe and neatly sliced the Draugr's head off, it dropping unceremoniously to the ground. Sovngarde, that is what the thing had said. 'Saraan' Lydia did not know, but Sovngarde she did. Lydia looked at the Thane of Whiterun, who was rooting around the corpse. Did he hear the corpse say it too? What if a final death, such as this, did not release this poor soul to Sovngarde?
Maybe it was the heat. Maybe the dank air addling her brain, but Lydia could have sworn the Draugr smiled a split second before its head left it's shoulders. But that would be impossible, they had cut through a dozen of Draugr already and none had shown any sign of emotion, with the exception of hatred. But none had spoke of Sovngarde either. Making a mental note to speak with Andurs, the priest of Arkay in Whiterun when the returned, Lydia began to move with the Thane of Whiterun.
Down one corridor and then another, the Thane of Whiterun leading the way. Lydia refreshed her grip on her blade, cautious of another Draugr ambush. A sudden gust of fresh, clear air struck Lydia and she was caught off guard. Choking a little, Lydia walked a few more paces, coming around a corner and seeing a beautiful sight; a small forest, far below them within this monument of Death. Exiting the corridor the pair walked down the ancient winding path down towards the forested area, Lydia's heart began to slow. She had not expected a wooded place within this ancient tomb, but neither had she expected the dead to speak of Sovngarde. "Wow, would you look at that." Lydia uttered, looking at the spectacular view below. It would prove a costly mistake.
A sudden pain in her chest and a blow as strong as from Eorlund Grey-Mane's hammer struck Lydia and she found herself stumbling, then falling a crude arrow protruding from her like an obscene flag. The ground rushed up to meet her, sucking the breathe out of her lungs. Not a word was uttered as she plumetted from the walkway and crashed into the stoney earth below. In the half second before she faded into oblivion one image; the smiling Draugr crept to the forefront of her mind.
Sovngarde.