Bound in Battle

[Fifteen Years Before the Present Day]

The day was dreary, the sky swollen with storm clouds that had already wept across Skyrim’s dirt roads, turning them into thick, clinging mud. Travelers struggled to navigate the hills, boots sinking into the softened earth with each step. Yet the miserable weather did little to dampen the spirits of a particular Khajiit caravan and their young cubs.

The Khajiit—humanoid felines from the distant province of Elsweyr—had long since adapted to life in Skyrim as wandering merchants, peddling their wares to any town that would have them. On this day, however, commerce was secondary to the joyous commotion at the head of the caravan. The cubs marched ahead, their voices ringing through the rain-soaked air as they sang, led by their cheerful companion—Falwon V’orrn.

A Redguard bard with a well-worn lute slung over his shoulder, Falwon had an undeniable charm, particularly when it came to children. His presence had been a welcome one, providing entertainment on the long journey, and the little ones adored him. Now, as they stomped through the mud with unrelenting enthusiasm, he led them in a raucous tune, strumming his lute with nimble fingers.

“Oh, traveler, traveler, please watch your feet,” he sang, his deep voice carrying over the pattering rain.

“If you dare slip, your end you will meet!” the cubs chorused back, giggling.

“Oh, traveler, traveler, please watch your tongue,” Falwon continued.

“Speak out of turn and you’ll surely be hung!” the cubs sang, delighted by the dark humor of the song.

They carried on like this for hours, marching and laughing until, one by one, the children began to tire, their boundless energy finally waning. Soon, they were fast asleep in the carriage, curled up beneath thick blankets to ward off the evening chill. With his audience now slumbering, Falwon rejoined the adults, sharing idle conversation as they pressed onward through the wooded path.

The road they followed was narrow, flanked on either side by towering trees, their branches heavy with rain. The dense canopy muffled much of the surrounding sounds, making the occasional snap of a twig or rustle in the undergrowth all the more unsettling. At one point, the caravan was forced to halt as a fallen tree blocked their way—its roots torn from the softened earth. It took some effort, but with combined strength, they managed to push the obstruction aside and continue on.

It wasn’t long before Falwon spotted figures moving up the road toward them. The worsening weather made it difficult to make them out at first, but as they drew closer, a sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

Thalmor.

A battle mage in a black hooded cloak trimmed with gold walked at the front, flanked by two foot soldiers clad in golden Elven armor. Between them, stumbling with each step, was a Wood Elf prisoner. The man was barefoot, his feet caked in mud, and he struggled to remain upright on the treacherous road. Each time he slipped, the soldiers’ impatience grew more evident.

As the caravan neared, the prisoner lost his footing entirely, crashing face-first into the mud. Without thinking, Falwon stepped forward to help him up—only to be intercepted by one of the soldiers.

“Don’t worry about him,” the soldier said, his expression sharp with warning. “He’s our business. I suggest you folks move along.”

Falwon’s eyes flickered downward. The soldier’s hand rested on the hilt of his sword, his grip white-knuckled. The message was clear. These were not men who tolerated interference, especially not from those they deemed beneath them.

The other soldier sneered, prodding the prisoner roughly with his boot. “On your feet, trash! The longer you drag this out, the harsher your punishment will be.” His tone dripped with scorn. “You’ve stolen a lot of gold from us, pirate. Every coin will be returned—one way or another. Now up with you!”

The elf barely had time to lift his head before the soldier grabbed him by the collar and shoved his face further into the mud, eliciting a strangled grunt. He was emaciated, weak from what must have been days—if not weeks—of mistreatment. Shackles bound his wrists, leaving him helpless to defend himself.

Falwon clenched his jaw but did not move. He had no doubt that intervening would only bring trouble upon the caravan. And so, despite every instinct screaming at him to do otherwise, he forced himself to turn away.

Then, suddenly—thunder cracked overhead, deafening in its ferocity. The sky ignited with blinding light.

For an instant, everything was white.

When Falwon’s vision returned, the road was no longer empty. Figures had appeared on either side, lurking just beyond the reach of the lantern light. The rain made it difficult to make out their forms, but one thing was certain—they carried weapons.

The first Thalmor soldier stepped forward, his annoyance flaring into aggression. “Oi! Out of our way, you lot! We’re on official Thalmor business!”

Silence.

Only the distant rumble of thunder answered him, mingled with something else. A sound like creaking bones. Low, guttural groans drifted through the air.

Falwon’s grip tightened on the hilt of his scimitar. Something was wrong.

The soldier, emboldened by the lack of response, marched toward one of the shadowy figures. “You deaf?” he snapped. “I said—”

He froze.

A sharp intake of breath. A strangled cry.

The figure before him was no man.

Skeletal hands clutched a rusted axe, its blade crusted with ancient grime. Hollow sockets burned with an eerie blue glow. Its jaw, half-rotted, stretched open in a silent snarl.

“It’s… it’s… a Draugr!”

The soldier barely had time to react before the undead warrior’s axe came down, cleaving into his shoulder. He screamed—a wet, gurgling sound—before being dragged down into the mud.

Then, chaos erupted.

Draugr poured from the shadows, their guttural howls piercing the storm. Weapons were drawn, steel meeting ancient steel. The Khajiit warriors fought fiercely, but the creatures were relentless, their numbers growing by the second.

Falwon twisted, slicing through the arm of one of the undead. “They must have escaped from a nearby tomb!” he called over the cacophony. “This is bad—we need to move, now!”

The battle mage, who had remained still until now, finally stirred. He turned to his remaining soldier, whose face had gone ashen with fear.

“Well?” the mage said coldly. “Why are you not defending us?”

The soldier didn’t respond. His eyes were locked on his fallen comrade, who was now little more than a bloodied heap beneath clawing hands.

The battle mage scoffed. “Must I do everything myself?”

With a dismissive shove, he pushed the soldier aside and stepped forward. Raising one hand, he began to weave a spell, ice gathering at his fingertips. A sigil flared to life beneath him, crackling with magic.

“Come,” he whispered, lifting his sword. “I will end you, wretched things.”

The first Draugr charged. It barely made it a step before stepping onto the rune.

A jagged spike of ice erupted from the ground, impaling it instantly. The mage leaped forward, shards of ice swirling around him as he cut through his enemies with almost surgical precision. Lightning crackled through the air as he unleashed another spell, reducing a cluster of Draugr to smoking husks.

Falwon barely had time to register the devastation before more of the creatures poured from the forest, overwhelming the caravan’s defenders.

Desperate, he turned to the mage. “You are clearly formidable. Will you not help us?”

The elf didn’t even glance at him.

“I fail to see how that is any of my concern… Redguard.”

Then he turned his back.

A scream cut through the rain-soaked battlefield, sharp and desperate.

Falwon twisted around, his heart hammering. Through the chaos, he spotted the source—a frail elderly Khajiit woman, struggling beneath the skeletal grasp of a draugr. The undead creature pinned her down, its rusted axe poised for a killing blow. She clawed at its decayed arms, her terrified wails piercing through the storm.

Falwon tried to push forward, but the battle was thick with bodies. More draugr swarmed around him, forcing him to parry and strike just to keep from being overwhelmed. Nearby, the Khajiit warriors were losing ground, more of them falling with every passing second.

Then he caught sight of the prisoner.

The Wood Elf had been yanked upright by the Thalmor soldier, but his face was twisted with fury. His eyes darted between the old woman and his own shackled hands, his entire body tensed with frustration. He was powerless to do anything.

Falwon scanned the battlefield, searching for an opening—a way to stop this. His gaze locked with the prisoner’s, and in that fleeting moment, an unspoken agreement passed between them.

The elf gave a single, sharp nod.

Falwon responded in kind.

Then, in perfect sync, they acted.

The prisoner tore himself free from the Thalmor soldier’s grasp, sprinting forward as fast as the mud-slicked ground would allow. At the same time, Falwon lowered his stance, his grip tightening around the hilt of his scimitar.

The elf ran straight toward him, his arms outstretched, shackled wrists held apart. Falwon raised his blade.

The moment they passed each other, Falwon swung.

His scimitar sliced through the iron shackles with a single, precise strike, severing the chains in a shower of sparks. In the same motion, his blade arced upward—cleaving clean through the skull of an approaching draugr. The creature crumpled to its knees before collapsing lifelessly into the mud.

But the elf didn’t stop.

With his hands finally free, he dove toward a fallen draugr, snatching up a discarded bow and a loose arrow in one fluid movement. He tumbled across the ground, rolling into a kneeling stance with the bow already drawn.

The elderly Khajiit woman was moments from death.

The draugr standing over her lifted its axe high, ready to strike—

An arrow whistled through the air.

The shaft buried itself in the creature’s throat just as its weapon began to fall. The draugr froze, its head twitching, glowing eyes dimming. Then, it staggered back and collapsed, the weight of its rusted armor sending up a spray of mud as it hit the ground.

The woman gasped, scrambling away from the corpse. The prisoner motioned sharply to her. “Go! Get the others out of here!”

She hesitated only a moment before nodding and rushing toward the caravan.

Falwon exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. One life saved.

But the battle was far from over.

The draugr’s numbers had finally begun to thin, the ground littered with their rotting corpses. Falwon and the prisoner fought side by side, cutting down the last of the undead until only a handful remained. Each strike was slower than the last, exhaustion creeping into their limbs.

Then—applause. Slow. Mocking.

Falwon and the elf turned.

Standing just beyond the carnage was the Thalmor battle mage, watching them with a smirk. He clapped lazily, golden robes barely touched by the battle. “Bravo, bravo… what an enthralling display of teamwork and compassion. I was almost inspired by you two… really.”

Falwon’s breathing was heavy. The elf beside him stiffened, muscles coiling with tension. He knew—they both knew—that the battle mage had been waiting for this moment. Now that the draugr were gone, there was nothing to distract him.

The mage tilted his head. “That was a very noble thing you did for the Khajiit hag, you know. I never knew a pirate could show such… heroism.” His smirk widened. “But the show’s over now. We must be on our way.”

His eyes flicked to the remaining foot soldier. “Retrieve him.”

The soldier stepped forward, sword drawn.

Falwon moved without thinking, planting himself between them.

The soldier hesitated. “Move aside, Redguard! You’re interfering with Thalmor business, and that’s not something you want to have to answer for.”

Falwon’s grip tightened around his scimitar. “During the attack, I asked you to assist us, and you denied it.”

The battle mage shrugged. “What of it?”

Falwon’s voice was steel. “Yet this man helped me save an entire caravan despite being your prisoner. As far as I’m concerned, he no longer belongs to you. He’s one of us now.”

A long silence.

Then, the battle mage chuckled. “Do you really mean to undermine the Thalmor, Redguard? Are you even aware of how grave an offense this is?”

Falwon did not flinch. “It matters not to me now—nor has it ever.”

The battle mage smirked, unsheathing his sword. “Very well then. This will be the highlight of this entire blasted trip!”

The elf tensed beside Falwon, gripping his bow tightly. He didn’t understand—why was this man doing this? Risking his life for a lowly prisoner?

Falwon turned his head slightly. “Either take your freedom now and run… or ready yourself. Our enemy approaches.”

The prisoner was still for only a moment. Then, with a sharp breath, he grabbed a quiver of arrows and slung it over his shoulder. He lowered his stance beside Falwon, ready.

The battle mage grinned. “Now… LET US BEGIN!”

Lightning crackled in his hands as he surged forward, unnaturally fast. The prisoner leapt, grabbing onto a low-hanging branch and climbing swiftly into the trees.

Falwon swung his scimitar, but the mage sidestepped, the blade slicing through empty air. Arrows rained from the canopy above as the prisoner leapt from branch to branch. The mage dodged, flipping backward as the arrows struck the ground where he had just stood.

Falwon charged in. His scimitar was heavier than the mage’s longsword, meaning he had to be precise. But the mage was quick—too quick. He sidestepped Falwon’s strike and twisted, positioning the Thalmor foot soldier directly in Falwon’s path.

Falwon’s blade struck home.

He barely had time to register what had happened. The foot soldier let out a strangled gasp, his eyes wide with betrayal. He turned to the mage, barely clinging to life. “But… my lord…”

The battle mage sneered. “Useless.”

The soldier collapsed, dead before he hit the mud.

Rage flared in Falwon’s chest. “Is this truly how the Thalmor conduct themselves? Leaving their own men to die like dogs?”

The battle mage scoffed. “Come now… You saw him during the ambush. He was utterly useless. He even let the prisoner escape. Tell me… what use would I have for a weakling such as that?”

Falwon’s hands tightened around his scimitar. “I don’t have an answer for that. But you… you will be answering for everything you have done here today.”

The veins in his arms bulged as his body tensed, adrenaline sharpening his focus. The air around him moved. The prisoner, still perched in the trees, watched in silent awe.

Falwon raised his blade. “Your move, mage.”

The battle mage grinned. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Redguard. I was just starting to enjoy myself.” He rolled his neck, raising his sword. “But if you insist on being so serious… let us be about it.”

And then, the fight truly began.

The battle mage moved first, his blade cutting the air in a rapid flourish as he charged. Mid-stride, he flicked his free hand forward—lightning cracked from his fingertips, surging toward Falwon in a blinding arc.

But Falwon didn’t move.

The bolt struck his scimitar with a violent crack, the energy crackling along the curved blade before he whipped it downward. The stored lightning discharged into the mud, splitting the ground in a furious explosion of sparks and steam.

The mage’s smirk faltered.

“Impressive…” he murmured, eyes narrowing.

Falwon wasted no time. He lunged, scimitar cleaving in a wide arc. The mage sidestepped, his agility keeping him just out of reach, but the sheer force of the swing sent a gust of wind whipping past him. Falwon’s strength was immense—every missed strike felt like a killing blow that had only barely been avoided.

Arrows rained down from above.

The prisoner moved through the treetops with practiced ease, loosing arrow after arrow with deadly precision. The mage dodged most of them, his body twisting and contorting unnaturally fast. But he wasn’t perfect.

A single arrow grazed his shoulder.

He hissed in irritation, snapping his gaze upward.

Falwon took the opening.

He surged forward, scimitar swinging in a brutal diagonal slash. The mage barely had time to react—he twisted, but the blade grazed his ribs, tearing through his robes and drawing blood.

Snarling, the mage leapt backward, thrusting his free hand toward Falwon. The air shimmered—a thunder spell at point-blank range.

Falwon pivoted. The bolt missed by inches, scorching the air beside his face. He pressed forward, cutting down at the mage’s legs. The elf barely dodged in time, stumbling as the scimitar tore into the fabric of his robes once more.

The mage was losing ground.

His expression hardened. His magic flared.

Another bolt shot forth—but not at Falwon.

The mage aimed for the trees.

A crack of thunder tore through the air.

The prisoner barely had time to react before the branch beneath him exploded.

He lost his footing.

Falwon’s eyes shot upward just in time to see the Wood Elf plummeting toward the ground.

The prisoner twisted in midair, rolling with the fall, but the impact still sent him skidding through the mud. His bow flew from his hands, landing several feet away. He gritted his teeth, trying to push himself up—

The mage was already on him.

Falwon moved on instinct, closing the distance between them. The mage raised his sword to finish the downed elf, but Falwon’s scimitar intercepted the strike, the clash of steel ringing through the storm.

For the first time, Falwon went on the offensive.

He pressed forward with relentless blows, each swing heavier than the last. The mage barely had time to parry—his smaller, faster blade was no match for raw power. He was forced to retreat.

Falwon blocked, parried, then finally dodged. The mage had been expecting another heavy strike, but Falwon feinted—sidestepping at the last moment.

And then, he struck.

The scimitar’s edge sliced clean through the mage’s sword arm.

The severed limb hit the mud with a sickening thump.

For a brief moment, nothing happened.

Then the mage screamed.

He staggered backward, clutching the bloody stump where his arm had been. His face contorted in agony, his golden robes now soaked red.

The screaming stopped when he looked up.

The prisoner stood above him.

Bow in hand.

Arrow drawn.

The mage’s eyes went wide. He barely had time to whisper—“No… wait… you ca—”

The arrow flew.

It landed inches from his head.

The mage flinched, expecting death, but when he opened his eyes, all he saw was Falwon.

The Redguard stood over him, scimitar still slick with blood. His breathing was heavy, but his stance was unwavering. His dark eyes burned with something far stronger than rage—judgment.

Falwon spoke, voice low and even. “There was an attack. An ambush of draugr that claimed the lives of your two soldiers. And in the midst of all the chaos… the prisoner eluded you.”

The mage blinked, his expression twisting in confusion. “Wh… what are you saying?”

Falwon’s blade hovered just above his throat. “This is what you go back and tell your superiors. Are we clear?”

The mage was silent for a long moment. Then, exhaling through clenched teeth, he pushed himself up, still cradling his ruined arm. “Have it your way… Redguard.”

He turned, staggering away. But before he disappeared into the trees, he glanced over his shoulder, a bitter smirk on his bloodied lips. “But a word of wisdom before I go… you should’ve killed me.”

Falwon did not reply.

He simply watched as the mage vanished into the forest.

The rain had stopped.

The prisoner exhaled heavily, his shoulders sagging. The fight was over. Truly over.

The prisoner walked forward, stepping past the fallen corpses until he stood beside Falwon. He hesitated, then finally spoke.

“Why did you risk your life for me like that?”

Falwon turned, meeting his gaze. He looked confused—as if he didn’t understand why Eradros even had to ask.

“You did me and those caravaners a great service back there.” Falwon sheathed his sword. “When the draugr attacked… in the midst of all that chaos… you could’ve escaped. But you didn’t. You immediately stopped caring about your own problems because someone else was in trouble.”

He scratched the back of his head, looking away. “I’m no hero… just a lowly pirate that finally got caught.”

Falwon smirked. “Ha! You could’ve fooled me. The way you jumped in to save that old woman? The only thing you were missing was shining armor.”

The Wood Elf chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right about that.”

They stood there for a moment, the adrenaline finally fading.

The storm clouds had parted.

Sunlight streamed through the trees, golden rays cutting through the lingering mist. Birds began to sing, their melodies light and unburdened by the battle that had just taken place.

Falwon reached into his belt, pulling out a ring of keys. He thumbed through them until he found the one he was looking for, then knelt in front of the prisoner.

The lock clicked.

The iron cuffs clattered to the ground.

The Bosmer rubbed his wrists, wincing at the soreness.

Then, softly, he said, “Eradros.”

Falwon looked up. “Hm?”

“My name… it’s Eradros.”

Falwon paused, then grinned. “Falwon. Falwon V’orrn.”

Eradros nodded. “Well met, Falwon.”

Falwon chuckled. “Well met, indeed.”

For a moment, there was only silence between them. Then Eradros exhaled and gave Falwon a sidelong glance. “Well… I guess my life belongs to you now, huh?”

Falwon frowned. “What? Oh, no. I’m not in the business of trading slaves, my friend.” He patted Eradros on the shoulder. “You’re a free man now. Do with your freedom what you will.”

Eradros hesitated, as if struggling to find the right words. “I… don’t know what to say.”

Falwon smirked. “Don’t ponder it too hard. Let’s just say I couldn’t stand to see that bastard have his way.” He turned to walk, then added, “And besides… we’re friends now.”

Eradros looked at him, expression unreadable.

Then, quietly, he repeated, “…Friends, huh?”

The weight of the word settled between them.

For a man like Eradros—a pirate, a thief—friendship was not something easily earned.

But somehow, Falwon had done it.

And that was something Eradros would not soon forget.

Chapter End.