Hey, guys! Here's the third chapter to Blackheart! I hope you are enjoying it! Please leave a review and let me know what you think so far! Thanks :)
Ch. 3
—Meanwhile at SHIELD—
"Coulson! What do you have for me?" Nick Fury is still enraged at the fact the the Asgardian got away. And he blew up my damn helicopter, he thinks angrily.
"Well, sir, we don't know much, but we do know that the beam of light acted as some kind of portal," Agent Coulson says, entering the room. He steps up to the computer where Fury is standing and gazes at the screen, replaying the person falling from the light. Fury directs his attention to the stolen SHIELD vehicle driving to the beam.
"I figured as much," Fury says, watching as the Asgardian—Loki—gets out of the car and runs to the fallen body as the portal disappears. Fury presses a button and the footage pauses. Zooming in on the body, he notices that the figure is dressed all in black armor with a deadly-looking weapon on their waist.
"Whoever that is, sir, she is definitely a warrior. Judging by the armor and weapon," Coulson notes. Fury resumes the footage and watches as Loki removes the helmet. It is a woman. Agent Barton picks up the woman and takes her to the trunk of the car. "Do you think she's another Asgardian?"
"I have no idea, but I do know that we need to find out who she is immediately," Fury says urgently. "If she is another Asgardian warrior, it'll make it a lot harder to retrieve the Tesseract. We're already going up against one of our own agents as well."
Coulson nods.
"I'll get right on it, sir. Don't worry. We will have her identity soon." He leaves the room, leaving Fury to his thoughts. He draws his attention back to the screen. Furrowing his brow, he notices something new. Zooming in on the frozen frame, he sees that the woman's ears are pointed at the end. Thinking it might just be feedback, he runs the image through editing software to clear up the photo. But when he looks at the new photo, there is no mistake. The woman is of Elven descent. Fury races to tell the others.
—Fadrielindë's POV—
I smile slyly as Loki leaves the room. I showed him just enough of my memories for him to realize that I am extremely powerful. I sigh, causing the pain in my back to ripple up my spine. "Ah!" I suppress a cry, clutching my back. Thinking back to before I fell, I remember filling a soul gem and dropping it in my pocket. I reach down and feel it. I look around the room to make sure no one is coming before taking out the gem. It is glowing violet, filled with the soul of one of the many Draugr I killed in Sovngarde. With a flick of my wrist, I crack it open and tilt my head back in relief as I absorb the soul. Ahh. I feel reenergized, though not as energized as if I had absorbed a dragon soul. But I do not even know if I will find any dragons in this world. With great effort, I push myself off of the bed, ignoring the now somewhat muted pain in my body. I have grown accustomed to disallowing myself feeling pain, an art I learned from the Companions in Whiterun. I search my room for my Mace. If I am to escape, I will need it. Where is it? It is probably in another room. I summon flames to both of my hands because of the absence of the Mace, and creep around the corner.
I find myself in a long hallway with multiple doors leading to other rooms. The walls are metallic with bits of rust seemingly growing from the cracks in the walls. Wherever I am, it looks rather old. I automatically crouch down as I hear voices at the end of the hallway. Sneaking slowly down the hallway, I listen in to the conversation.
"She is resting right now," a velvety voice says. It is Loki. I hear another voice speak.
"The Tesseract has shown me so much," the voice gushes. The voice seems to belong to an older man. "It's more than knowledge," he says fascinated. "It's truth." Tesseract? I search my mind for any other times I may have heard that word, but nothing comes to mind.
"I know," Loki replies. I can almost hear him smiling. "And what did it show you, Agent Barton?" Another voice speaks.
"My next target," the voice says harshly. It belongs to another man. Like all the other voices, his has an odd accent. I decide to peek around the corner to see what is happening. I know I will not be caught as I am a master of the shadows, a perk of being a Nightingale. Peering around the corner, I see Loki and two other men standing around a blue glowing cube. One man is an older stout fellow with greying hair. The other man wears a black leather suit while holding a bow. Dark blonde hair shoots up in spike upon his head. Both of the men's eyes, I notice, are the same color as the glowing cube. Loki speaks to the archer.
"What do you need?" he asks. Aha, so the archer must be the Agent that Loki mentioned.
"I need a distraction," the agent replies, seriously. "And an eyeball." Loki grins mischievously.
"Perhaps our new guest will be willing to help," he says. I do not know what they are planning, but I want no part in it. I need to find my Mace and escape now.
I sneak down the opposite end of the hallway and come to a door with the word 'Armory' inscribed on it. I grab the handle and tug, but it's locked. Reaching into my pocket, I draw out one of my many lock picks. I pick the lock with ease and creep inside the dark room. It takes me seconds to find the glowing Mace. I sigh with relief, relishing in the feeling of its power in my hand. Suddenly, I hear clapping behind me. I whisk around, flames shooting out of my hand and my Mace ready to strike. Standing in the doorway is Loki. He is smirking.
"I'm impressed," he says. I narrow my eyes, ready to attack at any moment. "I think you will be of great use to me," he continues.
"I want no part in your plan," I reply harshly. Loki lifts up his hands.
"What if I told you that if you help me, I will return you to your world?" he asks. I remain silent as I consider this. I am a master of lies and deceit myself, yet I cannot tell if he is telling the truth.
"It depends," I say carefully. "What would I have to do if I agreed to help you?" Loki smiles widely.
"You are skilled in combat, yes?" he asks me. I nod. "And you are a mage…of some sort, correct?"
"I suppose you could call me that," I reply.
"Oh, yes," Loki says. "And you are the…Dovahkiin?"
"Yes, I am." I narrow my eyes. What is he getting at?
"This is what I need you to do," Loki begins. "Agent Barton needs to break into a vault to retrieve an element I need. I need you to go with him to deal with the guards."
"And what will you do?" I ask, still trying to decide if he is lying or not.
"I will be providing a distraction. I also am retrieving the necessary components for the retinal scan protecting the vault," he explains. "All I need for you to do, is to go with him to fight off the guards. If you do this, I will send you back to your world." I consider his offer. I can not think of any other way for me to return to Tamriel. And it is imperative that I return; I still need to fulfill the prophecy and defeat Alduin. I shudder, trying to keep myself from thinking about what would happen if I didn't get back in time and the prophecy remains unfulfilled. Alduin isn't called the World-Eater for nothing, I think. I sigh before answering. I can see no other way.
"Very well," I say. "I accept your offer." Loki smiles, showing his teeth.
"Excellent," he turns to leave the armory. "We will leave tomorrow morning."
I know I am stupid for agreeing to help a man I have just met, but how many times have I helped the citizens of Skyrim without knowing them? But for some reason, this Loki man seems…off. I feel as though he is keeping a lot from me. I hate not knowing things. I certainly do not trust him, but how else am I supposed to return to Skyrim? Perhaps if I tell him more about myself, he will reveal his intentions. Why does he need this element? And what is the Tesseract? I do not even know what he plans to do once he obtains the element. I make up my mind. I will show him my memories of how I found out I was the Dovahkiin in exchange for his explanation of why he is here on Earth.
I leave the armory after putting the Mace back in my holster. I stride down the long hallway to the room in which I saw the other two men before. Loki is standing in front of the glowing cube. The other two men are nowhere to be found. I gaze around the room and see all kinds of odd machines, all beeping and glowing. They resemble the machines of the Dwemer, but these look much more complex. Hearing me approach, Loki turns around and looks at me questioningly.
"I believe it will prove useful to you if you know how I found out that I am the Dovahkiin," I state. Loki's eyes light up with curiosity. I hate deciding to show him such a large part of my memories, but if I want to know what he is up to, I must make him trust me. I sit down on a bench near the doorway and beckon to him to sit next to me. After he does so, I place my hands on his temples and concentrate on the memory of when I was mistaken for a Stormcloak and captured by the Imperials.
—Loki's POV—
I feel the sensation of a pull behind my belly button and find myself in a lush forest. I look next to me and see Fadrielindë solemnly observing the scene before us. She is gazing straight ahead at a group of men in silver armor herding a group of men and women wearing raggedy blue amor into horse drawn wagons. Their hands are bound as they stumble onto the wagons.
"The men in blue are the Stormcloaks," Fadrielindë explains.
"Who are the others?" I ask. Her eyes narrow.
"They are the Imperials," she says seriously. I watch as an Imperial soldier drags a gagged man in regal clothing to one wagon. I start to ask why he is the only one gagged but Fadrielindë interrupts me.
"That is Ulfric Stormcloak. He is the leader of the Stormcloaks," she answers. Suddenly, I spot the memory Fadrielindë being dragged along by the Imperials. She is barely conscious. Her hands are also bound as she is basically thrown onto the same wagon as Ulfric.
"What happened to you?" I inquire.
"I fought back," she says simply. I watch as the wagons drive off, and we are pulled along behind, following the memory Fadrielindë. I blink, and when I open my eyes, find that we are sitting in the wagon with two soldiers, Ulfric, and the memory Fadrielindë. She groans as she tries to regain full consciousness.
The wagons roll along until we reach a small village. The man sitting across from memory Fadrielindë yells, saying that he is not a traitor; he was merely stealing a horse. As the Imperial soldiers herd the prisoners out of the wagon, the thief jumps out and starts to run away.
"You're not going to kill me!" he yells, just as four archers shoot arrows into his back. He collapses on the road, dead.
"Anyone else feel like running?" an Imperial woman shouts. I look over at Fadrielindë. Her expression is one of pure hatred. I watch as the memory Fadrielindë steps out of the wagon delicately. She frowns as the movement causes her pain.
"Who are you?" the Imperial woman's assistant asks. The past Fadrielindë blinks.
"I am Fadrielindë. I was born in the Imperial City," she says defiantly. The assistant studies her.
"You are elven?" he asks. Memory Fadrielindë nods.
"My father was Imperial and my mother was Altmer," she says. Aha, that explains her pointed ears.
"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list!" the assistant asks the Imperial woman.
"Forget the list. She goes to the block!" the woman says harshly.
"By your orders, Captain," the assistant replies. "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodil." Memory Fadrielindë's eyes widen in horror as she is pushed over to the group of Stormcloaks awaiting their execution. Another Imperial man strides pompously over to Ulfric.
"That is General Tullius, the leader of the Imperial army," Fadrielindë explains, answering my question before I voice it.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne," General Tulluis declares. Ulfric tries to reply, but his voice is muffled by the gag.
General Tullius continues, "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace." Suddenly, a loud roar rings throughout the town. Imperials and Stormcloaks alike look toward the sound. The memory Fadrielindë gazes into the sky. She looks so frightened, I almost feel a little sorry for her. Almost.
"What was that?" the assistant wonders. General Tullius looks frustrated that his moment was interrupted.
"It's nothing. Carry on," he states.
"Yes, General Tullius." The captain turns to a priestess wearing a long robe, her face covered by an oversized hood. "Give them their last rites," the captain orders her. The priestess begins to rabble on about how the prisoners will be going to a better place—basically everything one says to make an soon-executed prisoner feel better about dying. Another person must think the same thing, because he walks up to the block.
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." He kneels down in front of the block. The executioner raises a immense axe, the sharp blade glinting in the afternoon sun, and slices the Stormcloak's head off in one clean stroke. The memory Fadrielindë gasps. General Tullius kicks the headless body out of the way. The other Stormcloak prisoners shout insults at the Imperials. Ignoring the prisoners' accusations, the captain shouts out the next victim.
"Next! The Imperial elf!" Suddenly, the roar is heard again, filling the ears of each and every person in the village.
"There it is again. Did you hear it?" the assistant asks. But the captain is only focused on the execution.
"I said, next prisoner!" she shouts. The memory Fadrielindë is pushed in front of the block and forced to her knees. The executioner raises his axe, aiming at Memory Fadrielindë 's slender neck. All of a sudden, the roar is heard again, but this time accompanied by an enormous ebony dragon.
"What in Oblivion is that?!" General Tullius shouts. The executioner drops his axe and stumbles back to the group of prisoners. I watch as the dragon flies to the watchtower directly behind the chopping block and perches on top. It seems to look directly at the memory Fadrielindë, who is still kneeling at the block, too shocked to move. The dragon opens its mouth and lets out a shout so loud that it shakes the ground. The sky grows dark and buildings collapse and catch fire with the force of the shout. Memory Fadrielindë is almost knocked unconscious; she falls over looking very disoriented. I watch as the man who was sitting next to her on the wagon pulls her to safety. The memory blurs and now we are standing in a quaint town. I look for Fadrielindë.
"What happened?" I ask, wanting to see more.
"Well, I obviously did not die," she says unemotionally. "We ended up escaping. I traveled to Whiterun," she gestures at the city around us, "and told the Jarl about the dragon attack." She takes a deep breath. "There's something you have to understand. Dragons had not been seen for hundreds of years. Everyone simply assumed that they had gone extinct. Seeing one in Helgen was…" she shakes her head. "Well, it was just unheard of. Moments after I told the Jarl about the attack in Helgen, another dragon was spotted not too far from Whiterun. The Jarl asked me to help kill it, so that is where the past me is headed." She points at the memory Fadrielindë walking through the town towards the large city gate. We follow her quite a ways to a destroyed watchtower surrounded by a small army.
"No signs of any dragon," a dark skinned woman says. Her ears are pointed like Fadrielindë's. Another elf? "Spread out and look for survivors." We follow the past Fadrielindë as she runs toward the watchtower, a rusted sword in her hand.
"Where is your mace?" I ask.
"I have not obtained it yet," Fadrielindë replies. "I will not have it for a while." Without warning, a huge dragon swoops down out of the sky. The past Fadrielindë grips her sword and sprints to the top of the tower. Right as the dragon flies by the tower, she jumps off the roof and onto the dragon's back. The dragon twists around violently, trying to toss the past Fadrielindë off. She grips onto its scales as she shimmies up the dragon's neck and raises her sword above its head. With a cry, she stabs the dragon multiple times straight through its skull. She holds onto its neck as the dragon releases a bloodcurdling shriek and collapses, dead.
"Wow," I say, impressed. Fadrielindë just smiles.
"My first dragon kill," she says almost fondly. The army surrounds the memory Fadrielindë and the fallen dragon. I watch in amazement as the dragon's body catches on fire and a stream of white light rushes out of its body. I follow the light with my eyes. The memory Fadrielindë looks just as surprised as me when she absorbs the light. Her body glows as she breathes heavily. The group around her gasp.
"I can't believe it!" one guard says. "You're…Dragonborn!"
"Dragonborn? What do you mean?" Memory Fadrielindë asks, confused.
"In the very oldest tales, back to when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorb the dragon's power?" The guard gazes at the memory Fadrielindë in astonishment.
"I don't know what happened to me," she replies slowly, gazing at the dragon's skeleton.
"There's only one way to find out if you are Dragonborn…" The guard pauses. "Try to Shout. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training the way the dragons do." The past Fadrielindë looks confused but opens her mouth.
"Fus!" When she Shouts, the guard stumbles back by the force of the Shout.
"You must be one!" he says, triumphantly. But another guard does not seem to believe it.
"What do you think, Irileth?" he asks the woman. "Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"
"I only care that there is a dead dragon before me. I don't need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me," she replies harshly. After more discussion of whether or not Fadrielindē is Dragonborn, Irileth orders the army back to Whiterun. The memory Fadrielindë, looking stunned, begins to travel back on her own. As she reaches the gate, an thunderous voice calls out to her from the sky, shaking the ground with the force of its sound.
"DOVAHKIIN!" the voice booms. Memory Fadrielindë looks up at the sky in fascination. The memory fades and I find myself back in the bunker. Fadrielindë removes her hands from my face and waits patiently for me to begin my questions.