Chapter Text
Clearing out the rest of the dungeon had been pretty standard. Not easy, but standard.
The pair pressed onward, fighting through wave after wave of Draugr and Silver Hand members as they navigated the labyrinth of corridors in the ancient tomb. Yasmen was relentless, her sword flashing with each strike, her shield blocking incoming blows with practiced ease. Farkas, meanwhile, was pushing forwards with brute force, each swipe of his greatsword cleaving through enemies as he raged, trying to ignore the injury he had sustained.
"Farkas," Yasmen said softly, catching up to him as they paused to drink a stamina potion. "Are you sure you’re alright?"
“I’ll manage, whelp. Don’t you worry about me.” He gave her a genuine smile, but the beads of sweat still dripping down his forehead and the slight wheeze in his breaths was far from reassuring.
The Draugr kept coming, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the gloom of the tomb. It was a lot less daunting to fight them once she got used to their unnatural presence. Yasmen’s shield absorbed their strikes while her sword hacked away with precision, but every few moments, she would glance at Farkas, his injury acting up again. He gritted his teeth as a Draugr struck him across the chest, and he stumbled back, his left side seizing up from the force of the blow.
“No you don’t!” She stepped in immediately, beheading the Draugr with a swift stroke before turning back to him. "Farkas!" Yasmen hissed, grabbing his arm as he stood there, a cold sweat on his brow. "You need to take it easy. We should stop to rest.”
He shook his head, his breathing labored. "We don’t have time. The map says we’re close.”
“That fragment isn’t going anywhere!”
“I mean…” He cleared his throat. “It will , if the Silver Hand find it before us. I’m sure that’s what they’re here for.”
Yasmen froze, she hadn’t even considered that. No wonder they had brought a whole battalion to raid this place. She sighed softly. “At least have another healing potion.” That wouldn’t really solve anything, she knew. Healing potions would only work to speed up the natural healing process, not lessen the pain. Farkas shook his head and wiped the sweat from his brow. “We’ll clear this place out, and rest once we have our hands on the fragment, alright?”
“Deal.”
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of fighting and navigating through endless chambers, they reached what was, according to Farkas’ map, the final chamber. The air grew colder, the shadows deeper, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, heavy with anticipation. There was no doubt about it, Yasmen realised as she gaped at the massive iron door before her. A great power lurked behind those doors.
As they glanced at each other, Farkas nodded to Yasmen. She took a deep breath, and together, they pushed open the doors, revealing a wide passage that led to a round chamber, with torches on every wall and lit chandeliers on the ceiling. In the center, laying on a raised stone platform, there was a glint of metal that flickered with the firelight– the fragment of Wuuthrad.
“Is that it, Farkas?” She pointed towards it as they approached the platform.
The man nodded. “That’s the Fragment, all right. I’m glad we got here in time.”
Yasmen felt a surge of awe as she stepped forward. She reached out, her fingers brushing the air around the weapon, not daring to touch the legendary relic. The fragment was large and somehow still sharp. She rarely used axes, but if this was just a fragment, Yasmen couldn’t help but wonder how grand and powerful Wuuthrad had been in its golden days. What would it feel like to wield it? The raw strength of Ysgrammor’s weapon would surge through her, combined with her skill with weapons, would she be unstoppable? Would she be able to thrash arrogant fools like Vilkas who dared question her ability? Would she be able to clear out dungeons like this with ease, single handedly?
She stared lustfully at the fragment, transfixed, almost hypnotised. If this weapon were to somehow be re-forged, she wouldn’t even want the Companions anymore. They’d only hold her back. Would she ever have the chance to wield a weapon of such power? Would she-
“Yasmen!” Farkas’ yell cut through the barrage of thoughts swirling in her head.
She turned to him, frozen as he drew his blade. A deep rumble reverberated through the chamber. The sound was almost imperceptible at first, like a faint shifting of stone, but then the coffins lining the walls—ancient iron and stone sarcophagi—began to creak and shift. A low moan followed, and the stone lids of the coffins cracked open with a groan and crashed to the ground, revealing some fifteen Draugr, all clad in heavy Nordic armour, carrying two handed battle axes and greatswords.
“There’s too many of them!” Yasmen hissed, clutching her sword tighter and instinctively bringing the shield closer to her body.
"Stay sharp," Farkas growled, his injury clearly still aching, but he was already raising his greatsword. Despite the strain in his posture, there was no hesitation in his actions. The Draugr began moving, their glowing eyes locked onto her and Farkas as they clawed their way out of the coffins, straight towards the pair.
Yasmen’s heart was beating out of her chest. There were too many to fight with just the two of them. There was no way she could do this. No way. No way. Her hands shook and anything she did to steady them was pointless. She wanted to hide behind the shield until it was all over, she didn’t want to die like this. It was a humiliating thought for someone so prideful, but she was petrified. She hadn’t felt this way since-
“Farkas, can’t you transform?” She blurted out, not wanting to get lost in her head.
“It’s too dangerous to do it more than once a day, I could die.” The man shook his head as he lowered his body, knees bent slightly for stability and pointed his blade at the oncoming surge of living corpses. He turned to her, offering a small smile. “Wouldn’t want to leave a whelp like you alone here, now would I?”
Yasmen swallowed thickly, realising her mouth was dry. Suddenly she longed for the cool liquid from her waterskins; the anticipation was killing her. The Draugr moved slowly towards their platform, and the Companions didn’t dare move forward or attack before they needed to. Conserving their stamina was crucial at this stage.
The first Draugr raised its blade at Farkas, and the bloodbath began.
Farkas lunged forward, his greatsword sweeping through the air, cutting through the creature’s decaying flesh. Yasmen followed close behind, her shield raised and her sword flashing, her fears long buried by the storm of Adrenaline. Thinking was secondary now; the only reliable thing remained her muscle memory as she tore down the incoming Draugr with practiced precision.
Just people. She told herself as her gaze met their glowing green eyes, their half-eaten faces and stinking, rotting bodies flailing around with weapons that should have been too heavy for them to carry. These are just people.
The creatures were relentless. Their undead strength and numbers were formidable, and for every Draugr Yasmen cut down, another seemed to take its place. She parried with the flat side of her sword as one Draugr attacked, sidestepping to avoid another, before thrusting her sword into its chest. The creature fell, but her heart was still racing, her senses on high alert. Her breathing was harsh and loud, this was one of the most difficult battles she had ever been in. And this is just a test?
“Tired, whelp?” Farkas cried as he cut open the chest cavity of a particularly large Draugr.
Yasmen spat, ignoring a stitch forming in her side. “Not even close.” With a grunt of effort, she blocked a blow from one of the creatures, the impact sending waves of pain down her right arm. They had killed what seemed to be twenty Draugr so far, but at least their numbers seemed to be dwindling. Suddenly, Yasmen saw one of them approaching behind Farkas. It had a battleaxe, aiming right at his back.
What happened next was a blur. All she felt was a painful spike of Adrenaline that fuelled her feet as she lunged, tackling Farkas out of the way. The next moment they were both on the ground, warm liquid coating her hands. It was probably the shock, thanks to which she barely felt any pain.
Getting to her feet, she adjusted her stance and readied herself to fight again. There was no movement next to her though. “Farkas?” She turned, only to see the man lying motionless on the ground beside her, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. It was only then that she realised, the blood coating her hands and knees wasn’t hers at all. She had failed to protect him from the axe. No wonder she wasn’t feeling pain. She wasn’t the one that got hit.
“Farkas!” Before she could make a move, she found herself being flung across the chamber by the familiar magical shout the Draugr used. Crashing painfully into one of the stone sarcophagi, Yasmen blinked tears out of her eyes as the remaining creatures flocked towards her.
A furious growl escaped her throat, her muscles burning as she charged at the group, hacking and slashing away at those worthless, useless, brainless living corpses. The rage of her ancestors flooded her body, fueling her in the form of Adrenaline and filled her with a strength she never knew she had. She was going to end them.
With a final, savage cry and a powerful swing, Yasmen decapitated the last of the standing creatures, and it fell to the ground unmoving, nothing more than a pile of bones and flesh.
She dropped to the ground as her knees gave way, chest heaving from exertion as her sword and shield hung limply to their sides. Breathing was painful, and her throat felt like sandpaper. There was a sharp stitch in her side and her toes felt broken, but none of that mattered because Farkas is bleeding out.
He was now slouched against the cold stone, his grey eyes hazy and unfocused. His left side, still healing from the earlier injury, looked tense and strained. His back, though, was far worse. The blood from the new wound had already pooled onto the floor beneath him, staining his armour and pants. His face was pale, but his stubborn expression remained unchanged, as if he could push through anything.
“I'm fine, Yasmen," he muttered, his voice rough and distant.
“Shut up.” She knelt beside him, muscles aching from exhaustion. Her hands shook slightly as she placed them gently on his shoulders, unbuckling his breastplate to examine the wound on his back. It was deep—too deep. The metal was thinner on the back plate, and the battleaxe had sliced into it, penetrating the layers of leather protecting his flesh, tearing into his skin and muscle. The bleeding was heavier than she had hoped, this was beyond her skill to heal. She had never suffered an injury this bad.
She reached into her satchel without second thought and brought out one of her own healing potions. A larger vial, and more potent. She hoped that it would stop the bleeding quicker as she handed it to the Companion.
He swallowed it in one go, wincing at the slightly stronger taste. His breaths evened out slightly, relieved that he most likely wouldn’t die, but the gash on his back remained raw and bloody.
“Now I’m going to clean it. You’ll have to take off your shirt and jacket again, sorry.”
Farkas gave a teasing chuckle. “I’m starting to think you like telling me that.”
Yasmen feigned a gag. “Shut up and keep your head down.”
She retrieved the waterskin from her pack and splashed some of it carefully over the gash. Farkas let out a sharp hiss at the sting, his back arching slightly from the pain, but Yasmen continued, who knew how many centuries worth of dirt and grime were on that battle axe? She really should have carried some salt and alcohol.
“Y’know,” Farkas began breathily. “You don’t have to-”
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She snapped. “I’m working on fixing you right now, let me focus on that. Talking will do you no good.”
Farkas winced, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment before snapping open. “Alright, alright…” He grimaced as Yasmen wrapped a bandage around his torso. “I trust you.”
The words made Yasmen freeze. Trust. He trusted her? He trusted her? He trusted her ?
“Uh, I’m…glad.” She replied awkwardly. Her feelings towards that were somehow not as simple as they should have been. She guessed this had all been a matter of trust anyway. Didn’t she trust Farkas? Would she have gone into battle with him if she didn’t? Would she have followed him into a dungeon to fight foes she had never even seen before, if she didn’t trust him? The thought made her queasy. She was growing to trust these people, and she wasn’t even one of them yet.
“Hold still now,” she said, surprised at the sudden softness of her own voice. She pulled a strip of bandages from her pack, carefully cutting it with a small knife before turning her attention back to Farkas. The bandages would have to be tight, but not too tight.
Farkas winced as the fabric touched his bare skin, but kept quiet as Yasmen had instructed until she finished patching him up. “You’re lucky you didn’t take the blow deeper,” Yasmen replied, her brow furrowing. She reached for her waterskin, uncorking it and taking a small sip before offering it to him.
Farkas hummed in response. “We should camp out here for the night.”
“ Is it nighttime?” Yasmen questioned. There was no real way of telling time in a dungeon like this.
“I’m not sure…” Farkas responded, proceeding to scoop the fragment of Wuuthrad and wrap it neatly in the rags of his discarded clothes, before placing it securely into his satchel. “Whatever the case, we should rest for a couple hours.” He leaned against the wall slowly, letting his eyes flutter closed.
Yasmen shifted uncomfortably. “You can sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
“Huh, watch for what? We’ve already killed everything in here!”
“You never really know that.” She argued. “Besides, you’re the one with a serious injury.”
“Yeah, but-”
She was not doing this here. “Just go to sleep, Farkas. Don’t argue with me right now.” She added sternly. Sleep could wait for when she was alone.
“Alright, if you say so…” Farkas hummed. “You’re a surprisingly good healer.”
Yasmen found herself smiling warmly. “You’re a surprisingly good patient.”
A comfortable silence soon settled in the chamber, only to be filled almost immediately by Farkas’ inhumanly loud snoring. Yasmen was glad she chose not to sleep. The monstrous sound would have kept her up anyway.