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hyperfixations-everywhere · 2 months ago

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The Heart of A Warrior (Or Two)

Chapter 1: Take Up Arms (Part I)

The road to Whiterun from Honningbrew Meadery was short and sweet, and Yasmen’s now-heavier coin purse just made it all the more jovial. Even the sharp pain in her right side had momentarily faded to a dull ache. She looked forward to a few days of resting, feasting on delicious Horker Stew and some nice, warm ale. Having some time to relax after a while sounded great. Alyssa had given her fifty Septims extra for returning her daughter unharmed. Quite the unexpected outcome, but Yasmen wasn’t complaining.

There was a sense of relief, and with each trot of Zephar’s hooves, the weight of the kid’s responsibility on her shoulders was getting lighter. She found herself smiling softly, trying to latch onto the fleeting warmth she felt when she thought of Alyssa and Simon, the gleam of hope in their eyes and tears of gratitude they shed, and how they profusely thanked Yasmen for getting their little sugar pie back. What would it feel like to have that?

She brushed away the thought as quickly as it had occurred to her. Don’t go there. She patted Zephar’s soft mane and he nickered in response, his ears twitching. She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword and ran the other down her stained steel breastplate. This was the life she had chosen. This was the life she had asked for when she ran away from the orphanage. This was the life she wanted. No ties, no messed up emotional connections, no expectations to manage, no responsibility for anything but herself and Zephar. Freedom and purity. That’s all she needed in life. She was happy. End of story.

As she approached the hills leading into Whiterun, a sudden movement caught her eye. Squinting her eyes, a group of figures made themselves visible in the distance, silhouettes against the bright morning sky. There were three of them, no- four. What the hell was that? A giant?

Yasmen leaned forward, urging Zephar into a canter. This was crazy. There were no giant camps anywhere close to Whiterun. Had these guys lured this one from near the Bleakwind Basin? And now they were fighting it? What the hell were they, adrenaline junkies? Or perhaps Skooma junkies. She found herself smirking, eager to watch those idiots get crushed and squashed like bugs. Maybe then she would try killing it herself, or at least slicing off a toe or two to sell to an apothecary.

She halted, close enough to clearly see what was happening, petting Zephar’s neck to calm his nerves until his ears were no longer pricked up. It was two women and a man trying to take down a giant with swords and bows. Now that she had a closer look, they didn’t seem to be completely underwater. She would even go as far as to say they were holding their own. Against a giant? Yasmen had only ever killed two giants in her entire life, and she considered herself an example of swordsmanship. And yet, these guys seemed to have damaged the Giant quite a bit. She was invested now, still watching from a safe distance. Or at least, that’s what she thought. Zephar, on the other hand, seemingly already had alarm bells ringing in his head.

He reared. “Fuck!” Yasmen yelped as the sudden jerk threw her off the saddle, sending her crashing to the ground and unfortunately making the giant aware of a third party watching its humiliating battle.

Poor Zephar galloped away in fear, but Yasmen wasn’t too worried about that. He wouldn’t wander far. No, right now she was more concerned with herself, and the twelve foot tall monstrosity slowly lurking towards her with its inhuman gait. The other fighters had noticed her too, but continued attacking.

Yasmen hesitated. She was in no state to fight a giant. But these guys had already weakened it, and who knows, if she helped kill it, maybe she would get a share of the reward these guys were getting. Because obviously for someone to be doing something this colossally stupid, there had to be a lot of money involved.

Besides, Yasmen didn’t want to back down. Not in front of a group that had been holding their own so far. That would be beyond humiliating.

Fuck it.

She readied her sword, and without thinking twice, charged at the abomination walking towards her. Shields were useless here, one step, and it would be crushed beyond repair, so she left hers lying on the ground before charging. Giants were large, but slow. She just had to be really, really nimble. Hard to do that with a three inch deep wound in your abdomen, but that didn’t matter.

The ground trembled beneath her feet as the giant stomped its feet in rage. One of the fighting women was nearly trampled on right there. She shook her head. What an amateur.

Yasmen hacked away at the giant, targeting the shins first because she knew that would hurt. Pain would distract it, giving her just enough time to slice off a toe. She maneuvered between its legs, repeatedly slicing at its shins with practised perfection, before almost running into the man from the group, a big, burly fellow with impractically long hair.

She had managed to slice off two of its toes, before an arrow whooshed past her and pierced into the giant’s thick knee, making it stagger on its feet. She looked towards the source of the arrow to see the third woman of the group, already nocking another. Impressive marksmanship. Feeling competitive, Yasmen decided to up her game too.

She paused, taking a few deep breaths, waiting for just the right moment, and then stabbed the giant right in its other knee, successfully bringing it down to their level, its wounded knees unable to support its weight.

With a pained grunt, she grabbed onto a wisp of the giant’s foul-smelling hair and with momentum, swung right onto its neck. Blood was rushing in her ears, her own heartbeat deafening, the familiar high overcoming all other senses. With an adrenaline-fuelled roar, she raised her sword to strike the giant right through its skull into its tiny brain, while the other fighters kept its hands busy.

Too late.

The giant shook its head violently, and for the second time that morning, Yasmen found herself being flung like a twig before crashing painfully onto the ground below. This time, it was nearly impossible for her to get back on her feet. By the time she did, the giant was already out cold, most probably dead.

With herculean effort, she heaved herself off the ground, her steel armour feeling ten times heavier than it was just a few moments ago. Leaning against a nearby fence, she turned to look at the fighter group.

One of the women, the one who had shot the giant in the knee, was jogging up to her. “You alright?”

Yasmen nodded reluctantly. She was not alright. She was anything but. Almost as though to prove that point, a wave of sickness overcame her and she turned away as the last half-decent meal she’d had made its way out of her system in the most painful, unpleasant way possible. Every time she retched, the pain in her side increased tenfold, and every time the retching stopped, she was confronted with the humiliating reality that she had just made a fool of herself in front of these clearly capable fighters. She needed to die right there.

“Hey, that was pretty solid, stranger.” The only man in the group spoke up. He had a deep, resonant voice. Before Yasmen could say anything, another wave of nausea caused her to double over. “Or, I guess liquid.” The man winced.

He was promptly nudged in the ribs by the archer woman. “For once, Farkas, shut up.” She offered Yasmen a wine bottle.

Wiping her mouth, Yasmen raised an eyebrow at the archer.

“Oh, it’s water. Drink up.”

Reluctantly, the mercenary took the bottle and opened it, smelling its contents to make sure it really was water. Paranoid thoughts crept into her mind. It could very well be poison. Colourless, odourless poison. She knew plenty of places one could buy it. Or it could be a drug meant to induce sleep. Were they planning to take her anywhere?

Yasmen couldn’t blindly drink whatever some strangers gave her. “You.” She pointed at the other, younger looking woman, who had nearly died under that giant. “Drink from this first.” If it indeed happened to contain poison, Yasmen would be doing this group a favour anyway.

“Why?” The man, Farkas, demanded. Before Yasmen could open her mouth though, the younger woman walked up and took the bottle, taking a large gulp from it without hesitation.

A few moments passed. When nothing happened to the younger woman, Yasmen’s instincts quieted down and she took a swig from the bottle for herself. It really was water. At least, it tasted like water. If it was laced with some slow acting poison-

Shut up. Another voice inside her head whispered. The world doesn’t revolve around you.

The cool water wet her parched mouth and soothed her sore throat. It felt way better than she would like to admit.

“You’re injured.” The younger woman spoke up.

“Great observation.” Yasmen remarked between thirsty gulps of water.

“Do you need help?”

In truth? She did. Was she ever going to admit that to these strangers? No. She took another mouthful of water to avoid answering.

“You handle yourself well.” The archer woman spoke once Yasmen was done drinking. “You could make for a decent shield-sister.”

“A what?” Yasmen raised a brow.

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the companions?”

“Whose companions?”

Farkas clicked his tongue. “It’s an order or warriors that we are part of. We are brothers and sisters in honour.”

“Okay but…what do you do?” Yasmen crossed her arms, squinting against the early afternoon sun.

“We show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.” Said the archer woman.

“Interesting.” Yasmen nodded. “So you’re mercenaries?”

“Not exactly. We don’t kill unless we have to, and we have a lot more discretion in the jobs we take up.” Farkas replied.

“So you wouldn’t do a heinous criminal’s bidding even if it paid thousands?”

The three looked at each other in confusion, before the archer woman answered. “No, ideally we wouldn’t.”

“So ‘if the coin is good enough’ is a joke?” Yasmen snorted, before wincing in pain slightly. “Sounds like a waste of time.”

At this, the younger woman spoke up, her voice bold. “Listen, lady. You’re a good fighter and we wanted to acknowledge that. But we won’t hear foul words about our guild any longer. If your bidding is done, please leave.”

Yasmen raised an eyebrow, a smirk plastered across her face to hide the growing pain in her side. Fuck. Had her wound opened up? “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll be on my way.”

“Good.”

Yasmen locked eyes with the archer woman. Something in the way she was looking at her made the mercenary nervous. As if she knew something she didn’t want to disclose.

“We’ll take our leave now.” Said the archer. “I’m Aela, by the way. People call me the Huntress.”

Yasmen nodded. “I’m Yasmen. People call me nothing.”

Aela flashed a small grin. “If you ever happen to change your opinion about the Companions, head up to Jorrvaskr in Whiterun and talk to Kodlak Whitemane.”

Farkas nodded. “Taste the life of glory once, stranger, and everything else grows dull. You’re strong. Your skills can be honed further with the Companions.”

Honed further? What was this guy on about? She had learnt everything she knew all by herself. And that’s what she would continue to do. Nobody could “hone” her skills better than herself. Still, she decided not to outright refuse these guys. They had been kind to her after all.

“Alright. I’ll see.” Yasmen replied, knowing fully well she would not “see” anything. The life of honour and camaraderie was not for her. There was no use for her in it. She wouldn’t be joining these guys anyway.

Or would she?

—----------------------------------------------------------

Yasmen sat by the warm fire, sipping on some Honningbrew mead. The flickering light cast long shadows across her face, making it appear even more contorted than it already was. She had spent the last four days at the Bannered Mare, nursing her wounds and trying to forget the encounter with the Companions.

Of course, she didn’t need their help, nor their camaraderie, but a small voice in her head kept thinking it would be nice to say something and hear actual words in return, instead of a neigh or whinny by Zephar, who was currently resting in the Whiterun stables.

Aela’s offer gnawed at her. Farkas’ words lingered in her mind. The way the younger woman retorted in defence of her ‘Companions’... when was the last time Yasmen had been so passionate about something as to defend it with her whole heart? Her life had always been solitary—her sword, her shield, her horse—these were the only things she had grown to trust since she left the orphanage at fifteen.

She had friends back then. Leilah, Nathaniel, Elek. She missed them sometimes, who knew what they were up to these days? Riften wasn’t a kind city. Maybe some of them had even joined with the Thieves.

Her fingers curled around her tankard, the mead inside sloshing with each minute tremor of her hand. What should she do? She could continue as she had been for her entire life, or she could change everything forever. Perhaps ruin everything. What if she grew to care about some of them, and gave up her life protecting them? She had heard those stories of idiotic nobility more times than she cared to count. She couldn’t do that, there was so much more she wanted to do, so many kinds of creatures she wanted to see, so much more money she wanted to earn. She couldn’t die just for some stupid friend who was too weak to protect themselves. But she would die for Zephar, though- No. That’s different.

These guys were all trained by, as they claimed, the best of the best apparently. What if they pointed out the faults in her technique? What if everything she had taught herself was wrong all along? Don’t be stupid. She chastised herself. It gets the job done. There were barely any faults they could point out. But…so what if they did? If Yasmen just swallowed her own pride for once, maybe they really could ‘hone’ her skills better. Was there really anything to lose?

Yes. Her dignity. She had made a fool of herself in front of them, bitten off more than she could chew and then threw up. She shuddered at the memory. Yet, a certain fondness came along with it when she remembered Aela’s soft smile and the kind words they had all offered her.

Did she really want this? Could she really open up to new people after half her lifetime spent alone? She could join them just to see what it’s like, right? And if the life wasn’t for her, she’d just leave. Yasmen doubted they would stop her if she did. She was brave, right? That was what she’d told herself forever. She was brave, she was bold, she was powerful.

Would a brave person really be so terrified to take this risk? Or was Yasmen just a coward disguising her weakness as independence? If she really was as strong as she had told herself she was, attachment and friendship shouldn’t scare her, right?

The worst that could happen was she’d get used, hurt and abandoned. She was a warrior. She would brush it off and rise again to stand tall.

She could do this. She had to give it a try, at least. She had to believe in herself, in her ability to face hardships and take it to her chest, her compassion and her ability to love and be human. I can do this. I can face the unknown, and walk into Jorrvaskr. I can join the Companions. I can trust them.

Trust them.

The words sat heavy in her chest, the tankard of mead drained of its last drop, its warmth no longer a comfort to Yasmen’s thudding heart.

There was something stirring inside her. Something that had long been buried under layers of pride and anger and independence.

The path ahead was uncertain, but it was a risk worth taking.

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