hero-series - Tumblr blog

[hero-series]

Chapters 20–24, "Hero of Legend"

The Skyrim Fanfiction "Hero Series" finale.

The final five chapters of "Hero of Legend", the fourth and final novel of the Hero Series, were posted in 2019, around the time I lost access to this tumblr account for three years.

I'm sure most of anyone still following this blog who were reading the fic have already read it, but I figured I'd post the links here anyway.

Thank you for reading!

[hero-series]

“Hero of Legend” Soundtrack

Rambling Man - Laura Marling

Sing for the Wind - Roo Panes

Ho Hey - The Lumineers

Fly (acoustic) - Meadowlark

Weightless - Courtney Jones

Landslide - Robyn Sherwell

Long Time Traveller - The Wailin’ Jennys

The Dragonborn Comes - Erutan

Venus (acoustic) - Joy Williams

Halo - Ane Brun

Crazy In Love (remix) - Beyonce

What A Wonderful World - Joseph William Morgan

Ain’t No Grave - Hidden Citizens

Dust And Water - Antony and the Johnsons

Don’t Panic - Clarity

Rise - Katy Perry

Heroes Fall - Hidden Citizens

The Weight Of Us - Sanders Bohlke

Wait For Me - Shiny Toy Guns

Shake It Out - Eklipse

listen: [spotify]  [youtube]

[hero-series]

“Eternity can wait.”

[hero-series]

The queen’s eyes were wide, horrored. Guards rushed past us—toward the Great Porch.

Dragon, said my mind, my gut, my blood.

It was not here to harm.

I ran to the porch with the guards. I pushed them aside, pushed everyone aside. A great roar shook the palace again and men and women alike screamed, shouted orders. The massive porch doors were left wide open. A concert of arrows loosed forward in an arc, glittering from the brazier light.

I clenched my fists, inhaled, and let go.

Force. Balance. Push.

The world stopped spinning. The guards—everyone—hushed, turned to me. I had Shouted toward the sky, bypassing person, dragon, masonry, but those nearest were covering their ears and wincing. They widened a path for me, lurching backward, avoiding.

What was the epithet Stenvar taught me?

The One They Fear.

He had meant dragons. Dragons feared the Dragonborn, so went the song. For mortals, well… Awe and fear were overlapping emotions.

Above the heads of the people I saw the mass of red I knew to be Nahfahlaar. Brother.

Kin.

[read at AO3]

[hero-series]

Sometimes the dragons gave me a headache, like now. Sometimes it went away, sometimes not, for days, and days. Sometimes it was bad, real bad, lightning everywhere bad. Like now. Maybe I’d been distracted by Erandell or maybe the headache just decided to creep up. There wasn’t anything that could get rid of these headaches, as they were not of my physical, actual brain or of my blood or meninges or skull but rather my thoughts, and thoughts were, unfortunately, intangible and unreceptive to any of Skyrim’s curatives, even magic which could do many things to the intangible.

My father had this thing called ocular migraines. He saw shimmery halos when they came on, had to stop driving or he could crash. He knew the headaches would come after that, shortly after, and they were bad. Had-to-lay-down bad. What I had was not this, it was the dragons, I knew it was, but I likened it to my father’s intermittent ailment. It was just as random, nothing causing nor curing. In this way I couldn’t wholly hate the headaches because they made me think of my father, and even if they hadn’t they reminded me of the dragons’ presence, of me never being alone in this universe again until I die, and maybe not even then. Who could tell? Certainly not the gods or Meridia or Elodie. Thanks for the heads up—not.

[read at AO3]

[hero-series]

Have you ever thought of changing some names around and approaching a publishing company??? Or asking Bethesda if you could publish it unchanged? This series is so beautiful and emotionally connecting in a way many books will never be!

Thank you for your interest, and thank you for reading!

I have given thought to removing all aspects of Skyrim from the story, yes, but it would be a somewhat harrowing experience, and I’d still have to take the story offline (probably). 

While Bethesda did publish a sort of off-shoot novel written within TES lore, I don’t think the Hero Series is enough of an off-shoot. It follows its own path, sure, but toward similar ends.

[hero-series]

Sat at the kitchen table, Erandell used warm water to attempt to clean the ink from my skin. It seemed a lost cause, but I was grateful for his effort.

“I have a mirror, you know,” I told him as I desperately avoided eye contact. “There’s no need for this.”

“The ink looked fresh when I arrived.” He paused. “I won’t bang on your door, next time.”

“It was less your banging than my mindset at that moment. I was writing about—” I sighed. “Well, let’s just say that my imagination, for all of two heartbeats, thought something very bad was about to attack me.”

I turned to Erandell as he made a wicked grin. He quickly fought to neutralize his reaction. “You’re a writer now, too? Let me guess. Cautionary tales for children?”

I snorted. “No. Well…” I thought a moment. “No. I’m writing about all that’s happened in my life.”

The man let his hand rest on the table as he eyed me, taking in the new information. “I see.” He recommenced rubbing at my skin, this time my chin.

If it weren’t for the storm outside, the world would have fallen completely silent.

“I don’t think the ink will come out of my dress,” I said.

“Urine might work,” he offered. “Or buttermilk.”

I scrunched my nose. “It’s a dark dress, anyway.”

“It looks expensive.”

“No.”

Erandell hummed. “Well… it’s a nice dress.” He paused, rag pressed still against my chin. “Was a nice dress.” He smirked.

I got a chill, and turned away. The fire was dying down. I needed to add another log.

[read on AO3]

[hero-series]

“I didn’t think the tales were true,” Erandell said to me while looking at his wine glass.

“Ah, so you do know,” I replied.

“I do. Or, I thought I did. There are a lot of stories about you. I think my mother was an admirer.”

“Admirer of…?”

“You, naturally.”

I scoffed. “Me. An admirer of me? Okay…” I said, slipping into English, clearly edging on tipsy.

“Is it so unbelievable? For a woman to look up to another, powerful woman?”

[read at AO3]

[hero-series]

“There’s a man at the museum entrance, asking to see you,” Ash said in English.

“What about?”

“Dunno. But he asked for you by name.”

“Does he look dangerous?” I looked to Ash, who shrugged.

“My spidey-sense isn’t tinglin’, so I guess not.”

“Ha.”

“What about yours?”

“No spidey-sense here. Dragons, however…” I set down my custom portable desk (thin, polished wood with an indentation for an inkpot and ridge for a book to sit against) and walked towards the doorway. I made a quick assessment of the figure shining red a few rooms away, and chuckled. “Nah,” I said. “No tingling.”

“I’ll come with you, just in case.”

“You’re not usually so paranoid,” I said as we walked, unconcerned that anyone would understand our conversation.

“Yeah, well, he looks like he wants somethin’. Or wants to sell somethin’. Like a used car salesman. You know the type.”

“Is he carrying a briefcase?”

“Nah, nothin’.”

“Weapon?”

“No.”

I smiled at the younger man. “I’m sure we’ll be okay, then. But, just in case, keep your fireballs on call.”

“Yes ma’am.”

[read on AO3]

[hero-series]

Quiet. Absolute quiet. Though in reality the Throat of the World was windswept and harrowing with the occasional wailing blizzard, the mountaintop in my mind was a desolate snowscape without any weather at all to disturb the senses. I could concentrate on the sky, on the earth below, or on myself, mind and body. Or, more comfortingly, I could let my mind fade into the emptiness and stare out at nothing at all, and simply be.

Now, in my mind’s eye, I saw the rockface that was the western slope of the mountain. Hostile. Unscalable. I wondered what it would feel like to jump from the height, to soar down towards the valley below, towards Whiterun.

The wind roared in my ears as I fell.

[continue at AO3]

[hero-series]

Together through snowfall and sorrow we stride for now, for now the Dragonborn comes.  [x]

[read on AO3]

[hero-series]

Well, I’ve been afraid of changin’ ‘Cause I’ve built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I’m getting older, too ~ “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac

[read chapter on AO3]

[hero-series]

“The west has good hunting grounds, I am told. Mammoths?” She turned to me, smiling broadly. “I would like to see a mammoth.”

“You haven’t seen one yet?”

“No. Strange, is it not? I am told they used to graze in Eastmarch, in the southern parts, but have concentrated west now. In this hold, perhaps.”

“You’ll see one eventually. Just… be careful, when you do.”

Frea grasped my hand briefly before speeding up her pace.

She was taking me to the one actual structure they had built, a sort of yurt made out of elk and cattle bones, branches, and found mammoth tusks and ribs, covered in various hides and fabrics. Frea opened the flap for me and I hunched my way inside.

A small hearth fire glowed within, letting up a delicate wisp of smoke that exited the yurt through a central gap in the domed hides. The fire was near embers, and Frea gave it a poke, added some sticks.

Virald sat silently at the back of the yurt, legs crossed and eyes closed, meditating.

[read on AO3]

[hero-series]

What are your canon ages for the Hero cast?

ummm, well that depends what year it is. I keep a timeline of birth years for this, though, so, here it is below under the cut.

Canon NPC birthyears are of course based on my own imagination and logic etc.

The info below contains spoilers for Book 4.

Keep reading

[hero-series]

“Why are you down here?” I called to my husband.

He jumped a little and turned, smiled briefly. “Visiting some old friends,” he said before turning back to the bodies.

I approached him, letting the Candlelight spell I had cast dissipate. The three crypts he stood before had nameplates, small wooden plaques, painted.

Fralia Gray-Mane. Eorlund Gray-Mane. Vignar Gray-Mane.

“Your relatives,” I said.

“Aunt, uncle,” he said and, pointing to Vignar, added, “father.”

“Wow.”

It wasn’t so scary, anymore, after knowing who these few dead folks were. I reached around Stenvar to hold him to me, rub his back.

“Don’t put me down here,” Stenvar said.

“Hm? No? You want to be burned?”

“Nah. Just bury me. On our property somewhere.” He then added, “Away from the well, though.”

“Why out there? You don’t want to end up like this?” I gestured to the crypts.

“Right. I want a grave. Out in the open. Become part of the earth but, leave my mark.”

[read on AO3]

[hero-series]

“The twenty-second of Heart Fire.” Ash readily changed the subject, reading aloud from the book he had been obsessing over. Zodiac analysis and such was a hobby of his. “Born under the sign of The Lady, a charge of The Warrior, this child will be kind and… tolerant, making many friends throughout their life. They will be physically r-resilient, resistant to some magic, and will rarely… fall ill, but any spells cast by them will be weak. Hmm… Expect those born under this sign to be s-steadfast on the battlefield, a tireless warrior.”

Ash closed the book and smiled at his recitation. After eight years his grasp of Norren was nearly flawless. He read at about the same level as Flavia, though with the comprehension level of an adult.

“I’m the warrior,” Vara muttered.

“You are, sweetie,” said Stenvar. “You are. It’s just a Star Sign. You were born under the sign of The Thief, remember? Evening Star. You and your sister’s lives will be full of good luck. It has nothing to do with being a thief.”

“Please don’t become thieves,” I said the girls, smirking. 

[read on AO3]

[hero-series]

Sometimes I would find the time and inspiration to write a bit. Several months ago, I began writing what Yrsarald had encouraged me to – my story. I had several dozen pages down, so far. Mainly I wrote about my earlier life, the years I lived on Earth. If I never finished the memoir, at least someone who knew me in Skyrim could write that half. But I did have a list of topics I wanted to write about. All the important things, good and bad, that I experienced. The list went in timewise order, and ended with a chapter titled The Museum. There was a blank space next to the following number.

As I sat at my desk, facing the window in what was now the museum’s office, I filled in the blank space, smiling as I did so.

The Handfasting. I wrote a sequential number after it, and again left the line blank. I did not yet have a name for this child.

I was writing about my university career when a knock came at the museum’s front door. The knock repeated three times before I waddled my way to answer it. I slid the wooden slab that covered the peephole, peered through, and huffed. Then I groaned.

[read on AO3]