Harbinger Ch 01

This is a story I wrote for last year's NaNoWriMo. It is a Skyrim fanfic, but I have written it in such a way that you can enjoy it even if you have not played the game. If you like fantasy, with a bit of romance, elves, dragons and werewolves thrown in – you should like it.

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The Nords were a hardy race. They were considered little more than uncouth barbarians by the Elvin races of Skyrim, the Bosmer, or wood elf; the Altmer, or high elf; and the Dunmer, dark elf. For Lyara however, they held a deep fascination. Particularly the one sat in front of her right now.

Their appearance was startlingly different to what she had grown up with in Valenwood. Bosmer men were comparably tall, but they had slighter, more agile frames; not the bulging brute strength that was often evident in Nords. Farkas was large, even by Nord standards. As a Bosmer, Lyara was taller than the most human Tamriel races. She was much taller than Imperial, Redguard or Breton women, and as tall, if not taller, than a lot of Nord females, but Farkas still dwarfed her.

Another main difference of course, was body hair. Apart from the hair on their head and faint eyebrows, Bosmer, as a race, were completely void of body hair. It enthralled her that despite Farkas regularly running a blade across his chin, there was always stubble darkening his strong jaw, as jet black as the hair on his head. Gentle eyes were hidden from her view by thick dark brows and long lashes, but she knew them as well as she knew her own. They were a clear blue, the colour of ice water. There was more hair visible on his forearms, and the wood elf was mesmerised as she stared at the muscles rippling beneath.

Farkas stared into the centre of the small fire he had lit to cook the rabbit Lyara had shot. The flames flickered and sputtered in the dusk breeze. They had set up a small camp in a dip behind a large outcrop of rock. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon, and the stars were just starting to show in the darkening sky.

Deep in thought, he poked at the fire with a stick causing a tiny flurry of orange embers to float off into the night. His mind replayed scenes of their battle in the bandit's refuge. Their mission had been successful and they had retrieved the piece of Wuuthrad's axe. Replaying the fights in his head gave him the opportunity to try and learn from any mistakes he may have made, and consider ways he could have done things differently.

His mind strayed to when the two of them had been surrounded by four Silver Hand bandits. He had felt quite comfortable with Lyara at his side, confident that she would not be a liability as she had already proven her abilities in previous jobs she had done for the Companions. His concern however, had been to dispatch them as quickly as possible, as he was aware that Lyara's true strength as a warrior lay with her ranged skills as an archer. Never had he seen someone as adept as Lyara with a bow. She even rivaled his old friend and shield-sister, Aela.

As he had fought two of the opponents, he saw from the periphery of his vision that Lyara hung her bow quickly over the quiver on her back as soon as they were surrounded, and she released a catch to free a small but mean looking axe that hung from her belt. She had moved with an otherworldly grace, and despite being in full armour, nimbly avoided the blows of her attackers.

When she had first appeared in Whiterun a week earlier asking to join the Companions, he had been mildly curious why a wood elf was interested. His elder twin brother, Vilkas, seemed to take an instant dislike to the woman. Farkas admired her spirit, and was amused by the way she had stood up to his brother. Following a few simple tasks, the de facto leader of the Companions, Kodlak, had agreed to let her join, but he wanted to have an experienced Companion escort her on one more job, to prove that she was honourable, brave and trustworthy.

Lyara and Farkas hadn't spoken much on the journey out to the refuge, but with a bond formed in battle, they were now much more relaxed in each other's company as they sat around the small camp fire. As Lyara watched the reflection of the flames dance in his eyes, she recalled how embarrassed she had been when Kodlak had insisted it was Farkas that would accompany her. She had felt an instant attraction to the huge Nord when she had first met him and Aela fighting a giant outside the gates of Whiterun. She should have been relishing the thought of spending time with the warrior, but she was still eager to prove herself to the Companions, and feared embarrassing herself.

Her concern had proved unfounded, as she had focused on the task in hand and proved her worth in there. There had only been one small mistake on her part. In her naiveté, she had stupidly managed to trap herself in a cage by pulling a lever. The embarrassment had been short lived however, and quickly turned to fear for her shield-brother safety as half a dozen Silver Hand bandits, no doubt attracted by the sound of the falling cage door, had surrounded him.

"Which one is this?" she heard one of the bandits ask, as they closed in around him.

"It doesn't matter. He wears that armour, so he dies!"

What had happened then had been completely unexpected. She rattled the cage bars desperate to come to the aid of her shield-brother. She would not be able to face the Companions again if he had died because her stupidity. She had no doubt of his skill and knew he would put up a good fight, but he was greatly outnumbered. Her anguish turned to shock, however, when his first move was to shed his armour.

This temporarily confused his aggressors and they looked at their leader, wondering what to do. Their attention was brought back to their target when, with an accompaniment of horrific noises caused by popping joints and rending muscles, he quickly transformed into a huge werewolf.

The beast towered over them, and was all muscle, teeth, fur and raw aggression. Vicious claws glinted in the torchlight at the end of long muscular arms, and they quickly eviscerated the bandits.

His enemies dispatched, the massive lupine head turned to her, and she had seen recognition in those bestial ice blue eyes before the creature loped off round a corner down a nearby corridor. Lyara had been confused and unsure what to do, but then the door trapping her in the cage had lifted. From around the corner, with a hangdog expression, a very naked Farkas came into view.

Without a word, he had stepped through the gore of the eviscerated bandits, and reached into his pack where he fished out a spare breechcloth and vest. His previous underclothes had been shredded during the transformation.

"Hope I didn't scare you," he said with a wolfish grin.

Her eyes had momentarily been held by the sight of his well developed chest, and she found herself staring at the generous scattering of black hair that spread across his pectorals and down between the ridges of his abdomen. Lyara had blushed at her behavior and she quickly turned away to give him some privacy.

"No," she answered, when it finally registered that he was talking to her.

His beast form had not scared her. She had been more terrified that he had been about to be run through by a bunch of miserable Silver Hand, but she was not about to tell him that. So he was a werewolf then? She thought. I wonder how many other Companions are also werewolves? It did explain why the Silver Hand all carried silver coated weapons.

"Are all the Companions werewolves?" she had asked, curiously.

"No, just a small trusted circle," he replied, as he strapped on the earlier discarded armour.

She thought about his answer for a second, and had then asked, "Could I become a werewolf?"

Farkas looked at her in surprise, but chuckled. "Keep your eyes on the prey, sister, not on the horizon."

"Very wise words, brother," she said, with a sheepish grin picking up his heavy sword from where it had dropped. "You know, you are not nearly as dumb as people think you are."

She threw him his weapon with a smile, which he caught with one large hand, and she made her way past him to the corridor.

"Most people think I am dumb," he said. "Those people get my fist, but you ... I like."

She smiled to herself a little, at the recollection of his earlier words.

With a frown, she suddenly noticed that she had over cooked their supper. Cooking was not really her strong point.

She stopped turning the rabbit on its spit, and offered the end of the spit with the cremated animal towards Farkas, saying it looked done. He tore away half, his fingers seemingly unaffected by the heat, and then motioned that Lyara should have the remainder. When she protested, saying she was not hungry, he told her that she had to eat something to keep her strength up.

Farkas was amused by her zeal, and admired her fervent enthusiasm to get on with the next challenge, but she had to learn to take care of herself too. She had to learn to rest and eat when the opportunity presented itself, as in this life you never knew when the next fight was. He nodded to himself. He thought she would make an excellent Companion, and he would be telling Kodlak so as soon as he got the opportunity. He watched her hungrily attack the rabbit, and took the chance to observe her unnoticed while she ate.

She was tall, and while not willowy, was certainly more slender than stocky Nord women. She carried herself with grace and confidence, and was able to move in almost silence, even when in full armour. Her skin was pale, much paler than most elves he had ever met, who generally had a swarthy skin. She had thin brows that arched above large almond shaped eyes. Her high cheek bones could have looked austere, but they were softened by her full lips. Long dark hair hung to her shoulders, with the top section fastened back from her face in a small plait. A very Nordic style he mused. With her helm on, she could pass for a human; even a Nord. However, her red irises and pointed ears gave away her true elfin ancestry. Farkas had to admit however, she was easy on the eyes.

The temperature had dropped, and he noticed Lyara huddled into her cape as they rode back to Whiterun. Skyrim was the most northern province of the continent Tamriel, and although it was autumn, the cold wind already spoke of winter.

Farkas steered his horse to ride close alongside hers, so that they could talk. He wanted to know about the magic she had performed in the rebel's retreat. He wasn't even sure it had been her at first, until he had seen their enemies scattered and buffeted by the force of her voice. He knew that most elves had some kind of latent magic, even those not trained in the magical arts. She had healed a deep cut to his arm not an hour ago, and had blasted flames from her hand when cornered. But what she had done in there - that was a new magic unlike any he had ever seen.

When he asked about it, Lyara said perhaps she should explain the circumstances leading up to her arrival in Whiterun.

She had stirred from unconsciousness, and found herself bound and sat in an Imperial wagon with little memory of how she had gotten there. Several others were sat in a similar state, including a self-confessed thief who complained loudly that he shouldn't be there, that it was the Stormcloaks the Empire wanted, but his protestations fell on deaf ears.

They pulled into a small town, and she asked her fellow prisoners where they were.

"Helgen," said a handsome blonde Nord sat to her left.

"General Tullius. The headsman is waiting." She heard a soldier shout.

"Let's get this over with," the General replied.

She was pulled roughly from the cart, and a guard started calling out names looking for Stormcloak rebels. When he asked her for her name he found it was not on the list, but despite this, the Captain insisted that she should be executed anyway. The horse thief's panic got the better of him and he suddenly ran back towards the gate, screaming they would not kill him. Lyara watched impassively as an arrow sank deep into the centre of his back, and he collapsed, forgotten about.

The prisoner next to her was the large blond Nord who had spoken to her earlier. He told the guard his name was Ralof. The next prisoner along seemed to be familiar to the soldiers, although at the time, Lyara knew him not. He was named Ulfric Stormcloak, and they called him Jarl of Windhelm. Why would they be executing a Jarl? she wondered. The Captain began to lecture Ulfric, but his belittling words were halted when the air shook with an eerie cry that echoed off the mountain walls surrounding the small town. The blood drained from those around her. No one knew what it was, not even Lyara, but she instinctively knew they were right to be frightened.

Another prisoner was grabbed and he was lead to the executioners block. Lyara grimaced as the headsman cleaved his head off in one strike of his huge halberd. The next name called was hers. Lyara briefly considered running, but knew she would suffer the same fate as the thief. Better to die with some dignity than with an arrow in the back, she thought as she was pushed to her knees.

She felt the stone cold against her throat despite still being covered in warm wet blood from the previous prisoner. The grotesque headsmen lifted his enormous axe, and just as he was about to bring it down on her neck, another roar ripped through the still air, and a huge dragon landed atop a nearby building.

The execution stopped, and the guards ran around in chaos. Lyara looked up, and for a moment felt the baleful stare of the great beast directly upon her. It leathery wings draped over the top of the building, tipped with steel-sharp claws. It opened its maw and a searing jet of flame engulfed the square, causing soldiers and prisoners alike to scatter. She rolled out of the way with a fraction of a second to spare. Even though her hands were tied, she managed to get to her feet and immediately started running. When she looked up, the dragon launched itself with a few strokes of its mighty wings, and swooped low over the buildings leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Lyara took shelter in a nearby tower. Unsure where to go, she foolishly ran upstairs following a few of the other prisoners. They were half way up the staircase when the stone wall exploded inwards, large chunks of rock crushing onto the few prisoners at the front. A huge reptilian head pushed its way through the gap, and its cold eyes seemed to be searching. When it saw her, it filled the stairwell with its flame before flying off once more. Lyara was slightly burned, and her clothes were blackened with soot, but other than that, she was surprisingly alive.

Her way ahead was blocked by fallen rocks, and below her the staircase had collapsed, and the tower floor was littered with burning debris. The other surviving prisoner, Ralof, told her to jump through the hole in the wall onto the roof of the inn below. Seeing this as her only option, she jumped. She crashed through the damaged roof below and landed with a thud into a bedroom. She sprinted down the stairs after the Stormcloak. The two of them dashed across the open courtyard, and Lyara could see that the dragon had already done a massive amount of damage in just a short time.

"Stay close to the wall," her companion shouted as the beast's shadow crossed their path. It landed above them and tried to snap its mighty jaws at her, but they ducked between the town wall and a building.

Is this thing following me? she wondered. It seemed to be targeting her. She ran to keep up with Ralof, who led her towards Helgen Keep. Once inside the fortified building her companion turned towards her.

"Let me remove those binding," the rebel offered.

She turned her back to him and he untied her hands. "Where now?" she asked as she rubbed her wrists.

Her companion was knelt next to the body of another rebel. "I will see you in Sovengarde, old friend."

He stood and looked at her. "You may as well take his armour. He has no need of it now." Lyara had no armour as the Imperials had taken it, so she quickly removed the battered armour from the corpse and fastened it over the singed woolen shift and leggings she was wearing. She then followed Ralof as he led her down some stairs into a basement. He walked through a large room used to store barrels of food. Lyara realised how hungry she was, but turned her nose up at the slightly overripe apples.

Ralof rattled a door, muttering about needing a key. His curses were stifled when they heard someone approaching. They crouched either side of the door just before two Imperial soldiers walked through. Lyara grasped the axe firmly she had lifted off the corpse earlier and attacked the nearest soldier, while Ralof took on the other.

They quickly dispatched them, and the Lyara rifled through the pouch on the belt of the soldier she had killed. She found a key, which she threw towards Ralof. He tried it in the door, and it smiled in relief when it opened. They jogged through a series of tunnels that became more and more cave-like as they travelled under the mountains. When they finally emerged into daylight, there was no sign of the dragon anywhere. Ralof said that it was probably better to go their separate ways. He wanted to go seek his leader, Ulfric, but he pointed her towards a small village a few miles ahead called Riverwood.

It had been an interesting first day in Skyrim, thought Lyara as she headed towards the village.