An Oath, Timeless Chapter One

An Oath, Timeless (And Forged By Souls)

Chapter One

A Dragon, Born

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Frea of the Skaal was feeling rather bored, something that was becoming increasingly common of late, despite living life as a constant struggle against both Nature and the All-Maker’s less intelligent creations, beast and Rieklings alike. No outlanders had come to the village in years, not since the old book-writer three years past, and her training as a warrior and a shaman was over. Her days were filled with nothing more than aiding her father in his shamanistic duties and doing whatever else she could to help her people survive and thrive upon the isle of Solstheim. An existence lacking in excitement, certainly, and she had found herself wishing for somethingto happen more and more often. Perhaps not the most respectable thing for someone of her position, someone with the current and future duties and responsibilities that she possessed, to crave. Yet she craved it still.

That being said, this boredom, this desire for adventure, was not entirely why she was wandering the icy coast of Solstheim’s eastern edge, alone and without anything beyond her furs and twin axes for protection from the wildlife, though it was always enjoyable to be out and away from the village for a time. No, of late she had been having strange dreams, dreams of a bronze-skinned outlander with a shimmering, golden, two-headed dragon on her back, lying naked on the shore. Dreams of the same woman between riding her face to ecstasy, or looking up at her from between her thighs. These dreams were not normal, she knew, for while she preferred the company of women over men, she had lain with no one, and especially no so distinctive an outlander. She had never even met such a person, and she knew without a doubt she would have remembered such a woman if she had. Silently enduring these dreams for a month, she finally told her father when the dreams expanded from those of the erotic but rather mundane variety to more…alternative situations, including she and several other women attached by leashed collars to a throne, whereon sat the outlander.

When those dreams had become the norm, she had never been gladder that her magics let her summon water from air and snow, because enduring the knowing looks and giggles of the other women of the tribe would be too much, if they saw her washing her bedding two or three times a week to clean them of sweat and…other fluids.

Her father, bless his heart, had resolutely ignored the implications of her words as she had stuttered through her highly-sanitized explanation of her nightly visions, instead chastising her for her inaction. Clearly, judging by the golden dragon that feature in every dream as well as their increasing intensity and frequency, the Lord of Time was growing impatient with her and her refusal to acknowledge the message he conveyed on behalf of the All-Maker. Frea hadn’t been entirely sure about that logic, but had been forced to concede that this was unusual in the extreme, and there were very few ways one could interpret the constant symbolism of a golden dragon, though neither of them could discern any meaning from the mark bearing two heads.

Feeling very much the disciplined child, she had departed the village to search the coast for this outlander, a twice-daily ritual she had by now kept up for a considerable amount of time with nothing to show for it. Her father encouraged her to remain steadfast and continue her efforts regardless. Now that she had heeded Him, the chieftain believed, The Dragon would surely begin to act upon the All-Maker’s will. Privately, she was beginning to grow irritated by the base manipulations, for she did not enjoy having her emotions, or her lusts, yanked hither and yon with no apparent result or purpose. She had no desire for any such thing, for though she craved adventure and love as much as the next girl, she did not appreciate being toyed with in the least. By gods or by man.

Quite suddenly and as if in response to her impatient thoughts, lightning blazed across the cloudless sky, a column of blinding energy striking the ground some hundred yards before her with a crack so deep and thunderous she would later swear she felt her bones rattle. Despite her proximity, she felt no pain, no tingle of electricity in the air, but instead an all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around her as if it was the height of summer, rather than the depths of winter. Even more bizarre, the lightning was not the violent purple shade of nature, but was instead a shining, burnished gold, and it lingered for several moments. Almost as if it was showing the way to something. Recognizing the activity of a god when she saw it, she hastened forward, picking her way down a small cliff. After a harrowing journey of several minutes and a few close calls (she really needed to have her father send some men to fix the cliff-side paths), she finally reached sea level and found something both expected and not.

The outlander woman was there, just as naked as she had been in her dreams, her raven-black hair just as long and (once it was cleaned and dried) silken. There was the Mark of The Two-Headed Dragon on her back, its golden form shimmering faintly across her muscles, and Frea had no doubt that her eyes were the same blazing gold she remembered from dreams of bliss and courage alike. Frea shifted slightly on her feet and rolled her over, licking her lips and forcing herself not to focus on the long, powerful silken skin of her legs, the small tuft of black hair marking the place she had tasted both a thousand times and never at all. Full, firm breasts topped with nipples of which she could recall every texture, but what caught her attention was the amulet that rested between those breasts.

It was large and made of what looked to be pure gold, a massive ruby set in the center of its diamond-shaped face. As beautiful as the amulet was, and it was the most beautiful object she had ever seen, what was truly incredible about it was the pure power she felt emanating from it. The magic before her was old, older even then the Stones of Power that littered Solstheim. She could feel its magic soaking into the woman wearing it, and she sensed that any attempts at theft (not that she was so inclined, she was no thief, especially not of a gods-sent hero’s possessions) would end very, very poorly indeed for the would-be thief. Most likely fatally and in a distinctly painful fashion. The Amulet would not suffer the unworthy to touch it, this she knew. However, that was not what was important right now, she reminded herself. What was important was to get this Outlander back to the village for protection and healing. Any predator would be more than willing to feast on such easy, vulnerable prey. What any Reavers who found her would do…she hated to think of it, because what they would do would be far worse than the quick death at the jaws of a predator. If she was lucky, they would have killed her right after. If she wasn’t…life as a toy for bandits was no life at all.

Shifting her weapon belt so that her axes were at the small of her back, the shamaness of the Skaal knelt beside the foreign beauty and reached out to touch her. She immediately recoiled, for the outlander (who looked to have seen at most seventeen or eighteen years, like herself) had skin far, far warmer than was normal. Not necessarily painful to the touch, but different all the same. Concerned, she sent her magic flowing into the other woman, but the healing spells did nothing. Her temperature did not abate, and she grimaced, shifting uneasily in her dreams. Cursing softly, she scooped up the darker woman into her arms and surged to her feet, turning back towards the cliffs determinedly. Taking a deep breath in preparation, she began her ascent.

Half an hour later, and she was now really quite positive of three things: first, that the path she was traversing really needed to be cleared out and cared for, made easier and safer to use. Second, that she really should have brought other people with her on these searches, just in case of something like this very situation. Third, she really needed to work on her strength and endurance training, because she should not be this tired, this quickly, after carrying for so short a distance a girl that had not a single scrap of clothing to add to her weight. She had managed to reach the top of the cliff, but she was unsure that she could make it all the way back to her village without either herself or the outlander being harmed, perhaps badly, or even killed. Her only real option was to seek help from the warriors of the Thirsk Mead Hall, cousins to the Skaal. They would doubtless be willing, perhaps even eager to aid her by escorting her back to her home in exchange for some gold or supplies. A chance for a good fight and rewards would be more than sufficient temptation for them.

Traversing the path to the mead hall, which was in far better condition than the one that she had used to ascend the cliff, she at last staggered up to the door and entered, though working a door whilst holding onto the outlander was no easy task. In the end, she managed it and stumbled inside, losing her footing almost immediately, a wordless cry falling from her lips as she began to topple over. Strong arms promptly steadied her and her burden, and she saw her rescuer to be Halborn Iron-Fur, the Thirsk smith and one of the few outside her people capable of smithing with stahlrim materials, though he could not craft items of the same quality with it.

“Frea? Here, give me the girl.” Bujold, leader of Thirsk and a competent axe-woman, stepped up quickly, and Frea was grateful to let another take the outlander’s weight. Bujold hissed in surprise at the great warmth she now held, glancing at Frea with wide eyes. “Frea, who is this? Where did you find her, and why is she naked?”

“An outlander, I don’t know her name, and I found her on the shore where I saw golden lightning had struck the ground. As for her nakedness, I can only assume that Akatosh did not provide her with any, for what need does the Dragon Sire have for the vestments of mortals?” Frea responded with a shrug. The Thirsk warriors exchanged looks but said nothing aloud, they were used to the shamans of the Skaal saying strange things, even with the fairly limited interactions they had with their long-distant kin. And, given tattoo on the outlander’s back, it wasn’t so bizarre an assumption even if it was (or so they believed) an erroneous one. Especially with the almost magical sheen and texture to it.

“Why bring her here then? Blade-wounds and the after-effects of mead I can handle well enough, but great exposure to the frozen waves and icy shore are beyond my skill. Would not the healers of your tribe serve you far better?” Hilund, Bujold’s sister and an excellent spear-mistress, inquired as she wrapped the outlander in furs, trying to give her warmth and thus inspire her body to fight the fever that surely had her in its iron grip.

“In this we agree, but I couldn’t continue to carry her over such a distance without rest, nor could I have defended us from Reavers, Rieklings, or any manner of wild beasts that might have tried to attack us.” The Skaal heiress explained tiredly, getting murmurs of understanding and agreement in response. Looking around at them all, she continued. “I would ask of you an escort to my village. Compensation will be yours if you should require it.”

The rest of the hall’s warriors looked to their leader, and Bujold sat in silent contemplation for a moment that, though brief in truth, nonetheless felt interminable to the young shamaness. If she refused, Frea would have to brave the journey alone, and pray that the All-Maker would shield them from harm. Finally, Bujold smiled warmly at her and nodded her agreement, and Frea’s shoulders slumped in gratitude. Halborn patted her shoulder reassuringly, though she stumbled slightly from his strength, before hefting the bundled girl into his arms with enviable ease.

“Come brothers and sisters, let us see our cousin safely home, hmm?” he said in his deep, slow way of speaking. There was a clamor as the warriors of Thirsk prepared for travel and for battle, adjusting armor and checking weapons before announcing their readiness one after another.

“Halborn, you carry the girl and follow Frea to the village. The rest of us will form a ring around you. Don’t break formation if we run into trouble, just let us handle it. Frea, can you take the point, or are you too weary to fight?” Bujold gave instructions crisp and clear, and Frea smiled slightly and hefted her twin axes.

“Unburdened by the weight of another, I can easily move and fight long enough to reach my home, though I think I will need to increase my training in endurance and strength, for I confess that I am sorely taxed from my earlier exertions.” She responded with a roll of her shoulders, before looking to Halborn. “Cousin, does she feel abnormally heavy to you, or has my strength waned even further than I had thought?”

“Heavier. Hotter. She burns, but not as one does with fever.” He grunted in response, confirming Frea’s own opinion on the matter quite handily. It was also reassuring to know that she had not fallen so far into weakness and complacency as she had feared, if the massive bear of a smith was saying the outlander was heavy as well.

“Well, hopefully your father can divine what is going on and why it is happening, because nothing about this outlander is typical. None of us are wholly unattractive, but she is almost unearthly in her beauty. Perfectly proportioned, perfectly complexioned…and then there is that mark on her back! I know of no magic, ancient or newly found, that can create such a thing.” Bujold commented as the group departed the mead hall.

Frea simply nodded in agreement. She knew that there was nothing remotely normal about this outlander, and indeed thought that it should be readily apparent. Of course, she knew things that her cousins did not, so perhaps that was influencing her opinion on the matter. And it wasn’t as if it would make any difference for them to accept the truth of the matter, for they were already helping to protect herself and the outlander without such knowledge or acceptance. In the end, that is what truly mattered right now.

The trip was peaceful for the first several minutes, but Frea felt a tingling sensation, a notion that something was very wrong, and it continued growing stronger and stronger until finally her senses screamed at her in dire warning. A ward snapped into being just in time to intercept the flock of riekling spears that came whistling out of the underbrush. As if it were a signal, which it undoubtedly was, a large horde of the filthy beasts appeared howling from the underbrush.

“Blood for the Blood God! Blood for Lord Dagon!” they howled and shrieked, sounding far more coherent in the common tongue than their kind were usually capable of. The Warriors of Thirsk tightened their circle, shields and blades ready as the tide descended. What the creatures said next had Frea’s eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Kill the daughter! Kill the daughter! KILL THE DAUGHTER!”

“They’re after the outlander!” she cried out, wreathing her axes in fire and lightning as wave struck shore. Two rieklings fell to her axes in rapid succession, their psychotic litanies to Mehrunes Dagon ending only when their deaths were complete. Another pair immediately took their place, and once more her axes sang and bit and shocked and burned. Once more howls turned to screams of pain and anger and fear, and once more did blood paint sky and snow crimson. So it continued for what felt like an era, yet in truth no more than fifteen minutes passed before the last of the rieklings collapsed into the crimson slush of blood-melted snow. Chest heaving with exertion and adrenaline, Frea cast about her with both eyes and magic, before sighing in relief.

“They’re gone, we’re safe for now.” She told the warriors, sheathing her axes in their holsters, an action mimicked by her companions, and they all took a moment to gaze about themselves at the carnage. Some forty or fifty rieklings lay in bits and pieces across the ground, the stench of blood and other bodily fluids overriding their senses, and Frea felt her concern grow as she saw several of them clutching Summoned weapons which even now were fading away. “For the rieklings to throw their lot in with a Daedra, and Dagon at that…this is very worrisome. They and the Reavers are trouble enough for us and Raven Point alike. With Daedric assistance, they turn from troublesome to truly dangerous.”

“Agreed. A messenger bird should be sent to the Dark Elves immediately to warn them. I trust you have some available?” Bujold was frowning as the group began moving again, and Frea thought for a moment before nodding. Her village’s messenger birds were often taking or receiving messages from the other civilized portions of Solstheim. Civilized being a relative phrase, of course, the overwhelming majority of the island was still wilderness and moldering ruins, and had been since The Jailer had cast down The Betrayer, devastating the region. Indeed, it was their legendary battle that had turned Solstheim into the island that it was now. “Good, then let us make haste to safety and warn the people that our home has become even more inhospitable than before.”

The group picked up their pace, none eager to fight such a foe again, for it was a miracle that no injuries beyond simple scratches had been endured, and only a great fool counted on such a thing to happen twice in a single afternoon. A great fool, or someone of abnormally deep piety, that is, neither description one which any member of the group could honestly say they felt applied.

Finally, after nearly another hour had passed them by, the tense group arrived at the Skaal village, having been spared further danger and battle, much to their relief. Even the warriors of Thirsk were glad, for while they sought and craved honor and glory in battle, deranged Daedric-worshipping mobs of rieklings were immensely discomforting. Frea’s father took a single look at them and called for food and drink, further instructing that the outlander be placed in his and Frea’s home for care, and for Frea and Bujold to remain behind and explain.

“This is deeply troubling. Long have the Daedra avoided overtly influencing the inhabitants of this island, for Boethiah, Mephala, and Azura grow displeased when their siblings attempt to interfere with their chosen people, the Dunmer. For Mehrunes Dagon to go against that Triumvirate in an effort to kill this outlander is…interesting. Cousin, I recommend that you and your shield-siblings reinforce your hall, for in aiding Frea and the outlander you will have earned Dagon’s ire. Be extremely wary, and call for aid should you need it.” He said after hearing the entire story from the pair of them. Bujold nodded her agreement and gave a pledge to aid the Skaal if it was needed before departing to gather her shield-siblings and then return to their Hall. Now alone with his daughter, he continued. “We must do the same, for Dagon will neither forget this interference nor will he ignore this outlander. His hatred for The Dragon and those he favours burns strongly still, the insult of his defeat in Imperial City ever-fresh in his mind.”

“I had never thought that the day would come where we were forced to fortify our village. A part of me wishes to be angry at her for this, but I cannot bring myself to feel as such, and I do not think the cause lies only in what I have forseen. There is a…presence about her, Father, one that feels as the warmth of a summer breeze, but there is more than that. It feels like…like the mountains and the sea, beautiful and terrifying all at once.” Frea sighed, gently laying her hand on the other girl’s head and stroking it absently, fingers running through the strands now cleansed of salt as they dried quickly from the combined heat of the house-hearth and the girl’s own internal furnace.

“I know, my daughter, but this day was meant to come. This outlander is destined to shatter the corpse of the old world and reforge it anew, decay cleansed by blood and fire to rise purified from the ashes of a world-forge.” Her father responded, his words so sure, so firm, that she had no doubt that they were prophetic. Sighing slightly, he got to his feet and regarded her with a gentle look in his eyes. “Come, Frea, she will slumber for some time yet. Let us see to our people in the interim.”

“Of course, Father.” She acquiesced, feeling somewhat reluctant to leave the outlander alone, but knowing her village had to be secured if both her people and the sleeping young woman were to be even remotely secure and protected from their new-found foes.

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