Lorkhan's Eclipse [A Skyrim Fanfiction]

11. History Lessons

Ralof grunts as he's dropped on the hard, stony floor, but he still can't speak properly so he isn't able to protest the rough handling. Hadvar is significantly more careful about laying Hjeralt down, given the teenager is still unconscious. Killian has managed to drag one of the braziers over to the middle of the large room, and clear the bodies of both the dark elf and the draugr from our immediate space, piling them into a corner.

Despite being fed a healing potion, there's still a sharp pain in my back when I stretch. Hadvar reassures me it'll fade, but I'll believe it when I feel it.

"We're not in any shape to continue for now, so we're gonna rest here for a bit." Killian tells me, his words still heavily slurred but he seems less dazed now. He's already started cooking something over the brazier – it looks like tomatoes and potato, but I'm reluctant to get up and properly look.

"We should be fine here for now, but I'd suggest we keep people on watch while the rest sleep," Hadvar says, settling in between Ralof and Hjeralt. "I can take first watch. You both need to rest."

"I want to argue, but I've been fighting to stay conscious the whole time," Killian admits. He's used a little of his drinking water to rinse the venom from his face and hair, but apparently there's a creek deeper in and he intends to use that to fully clean off. "Don't let the food burn; wake me when it's cooked."

I can't stop the small chuckle as he settles down in his position, closing his eyes as he pulls his hood low.

"You too, Brighid. Rest,"

"I'm not tired," I tell Hadvar, instead turning my attention to the food. "What exactly were those things? The draugr, I mean. You said they were undead, but... they seemed sentient."

Hadvar sighs heavily, but he doesn't seem annoyed. After a few moments he nods slowly. He's grabbed a broken arrow, and pokes the fire with it, shifting some of the coals about to get more light – or more heat, I'm not sure.

"They're ancient Nords, to put it simply," he explains. "Once upon a time, they were living and breathing people, like you and me. But when they died, they were embalmed and preserved. Well," he glances at the pile of bones in the far corner. "Mostly preserved."

"So, what, they protect tombs now?"

"More or less," he nods, still stirring the fire. "Different types serve different roles. Some tend to the tombs, keep braziers lit and clear away the bodies of would-be grave robbers. Some, like the ones we met, defend the barrow and the other draugr within.

"So these ones just happened to have a pet spider hanging around," I grimace. Hadvar shakes his head.

"A spider that size, that deep into a barrow isn't normal. I think the spell that prevents most draugr leaving the tomb ends at the start of this room."

"They're bound here by a spell?"

"Most," he nods, setting the broken arrow aside and wrapping his arms around his knees as he gazes into the fire. The low light creates deep shadows on his face, making him look a little more haggard and worn. Something in his gaze as he watches the fire seems distant.

"There are... other kinds." He says it slowly, hesitant to share the information. "There's the simple draugr and thralls, those who died in ancient times and were embalmed. Scourges are those who were executed as heretics, a practice that continued up until the Third Era although the Dragon Cult that ran things died out in the Merethic Era. Scourges were embalmed and sentenced to an afterlife in the tombs to atone for their misdeeds. Then there's the Restless, those who broke their faith with the gods and, upon their mortal death, awoke in the nearest barrow. They're condemned to eternally be guardians of the tombs; nothing can truly kill them, only put them down for a time. They're... always awake, always aware."