1 Heartfire 4E201, North of Falkreath
Walking south from Half-Moon Mill, gold jingling in his purse, loot heavy in his pack, Ivar felt at ease with the world. He had been uncertain at the prospect of attacking whole bandit camps on his own, but his first foray had cured him of any fear. Even without a housecarl to fight at his side, Ivar and Dawnbreaker made a superb team.
That's half the job done. Not to mention plenty of coin to purchase supplies. I like the look of the country around that ruined manor house. Fine place for a fortified home.
Lost in thought, Ivar was surprised by the elf who stepped out onto the road before him.
Tall, elegant, golden of skin and eye. Wearing armor, light but likely very tough. Clearly an Altmer.
Ivar heard sounds from behind him as well.
Hmm. No elf is going to make a noise in underbrush. Unless they want me to know they're here.
He held the gaze of the elf before him. "Good afternoon."
An aristocratic sneer. "Your name, beast."
"That's none of your concern, elf."
Out came a long blade, to point between the smith's eyes. "I won't ask again."
"Good."
The pack slipped from Ivar's shoulders, but he left the shield in place against a knife or arrow from behind. He charged.
Dawnbreaker sang as it leaped from the sheath, a flare of golden light shining on the elf's face as Ivar beat his blade aside. The elf's eyes widened at the sight of the daedric blade, but he recovered quickly, stepping back and performing a lightning-fast circular parry.
Ivar felt the shock in his wrist, and rode with it. A feint in quarte, the sword's light shining in the elf's eyes for a moment, and a gap opened. The smith sprang forward, beat against the elf's blade with the forte of his own, and lunged.
Dawnbreaker punched through the elf's armor twice, front and back. Ivar stood corps-a-corps with his foe for a moment, just long enough to see an expression of horror in the golden eyes. Then he hauled the sword out by main strength, whirling to meet the others. The elf's body fell behind him with a sodden thud.
A quick glance from right to left. On the left, one elf, bow out and arrow on the string. On the right, another elf, no obvious weapons, his hands raised in an evocation.
Ivar pulled his shield around with a quick, long-practiced movement, getting his fist into the grips just in time for an arrow to punch through the face. The arrowhead appeared just beside Ivar's forearm, but he refused to take the time to think about that. Instead, he charged the elf-mage with a great shouted battle-cry.
"Skyrim! Talos and the Nine for Skyrim!"
The mage's face twisted in hatred and revulsion as he completed his gesture and hissed incantation.
Cold, bitter cold, erupted from the elf's joined hands. A cone of more-than-arctic air washed across Ivar, pain striking through the joints of his armor. A sudden burst of ice crystals got into the smith's eyes and blinded him for a moment.
Ivar crashed full-tilt into the mage, all the mass of a big man and his armor slamming into the elf at a dead run. Both of them went down.
Ivar rolled to the side, somehow holding his shield up in the archer's direction, a second arrow ringing ting off the metal shield-rim and flying off into the brush. He rose to his feet, Dawnbreaker at the ready, blinking madly to clear the bitter cold from his eyes.
The elf-mage was also struggling to his feet, only three paces away.
Ivar took a deep breath.
"Fus!"
The elf recoiled under the force of the Shout. Just long enough to give Ivar a chance to close the distance between them.
The shield bashed into the elf's face, smashing his nose and jaw. Then Ivar made a whirling turn, throwing all his momentum into his sword's vicious arc.
The mage's head flew from his shoulders, disappearing into the tall grass beside the road.
Ivar turned.
One more.
The archer's eyes went wide as Ivar stalked him, shield held high, blade at the ready, nothing but the man's gleaming eyes visible between shield-rim and helmet. He fired once, then twice, but now the smith was ready for him. The shield moved to deflect each arrow, and the slow, deliberate advance never paused.
At the last moment, the archer's courage failed him. He was accustomed to hunting humans like game, enjoying their hopeless flight and their last agonized struggles. A determined human, fearless, well-armed, and capable of some unknown magic, was something entirely new.
He turned and tried to run.
He doubtless expected to escape easily. After all, no heavily-burdened human could possibly outpace an elf in the greenwood.
Unfortunately, a blade as finely balanced as Dawnbreaker can be thrown with some chance of success.
The archer shrieked and went down, clutching six inches of daedric steel that projected from under his ribcage.
"Well," said Ivar. "That shouldn't have worked."
He took the time to examine the bodies, relieving them of any bits of loot that could be sold discreetly in Falkreath or Whiterun. The leader, the elf who had been first to die under Dawnbreaker's edge, he searched with particular care.
A piece of parchment:
Be on the lookout for the Nord named Ivar Ragnarsson. He is an enemy of the Thalmor, and has disrupted our operations and caused great harm. Destroy him on sight and with great hatred.
Be advised, he is quite dangerous. If local authorities intervene, we may be unable to lend any assistance.
For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!
Elenwen
Ivar nodded to himself.
So much for Saadia's story. If she wasn't a Thalmor agent, I can't think of anything else I might have done to harm their plans. At least until ten minutes ago.
Although, Talos witness, I will be very glad to get another opportunity.