A word: This is a fan-fiction of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. The warriors within have just finished clearing out Embershard Mine, not far from Riverwood, and are experiencing their desires for each other. Young Betty Webb is a magus of Bruma, while Daniel is a native of Skyrim and one of the Companions. The part you are about to read is a portion of a much larger fan-fiction which is currently in the making. As a disclaimer, I own none of the references, and anything representing people in the real world is entirely coincidental. I thank you for reading and hope you enjoy.


Using a spare shirt wrapped around his hand, he grabbed the large cauldron of stew off the fire, setting it down nearby and sprinkling in some salt from a spice pot above the flame. He stirred it in with some herbs Betty had found then dished it all out. Some Fly Amanita grew nearby, and he picked off several stalks after examining the crop. The wild ones were rarely good, but they’d gotten lucky with these particular few. He dunked them into the stew, using them as bitable spoons, the gills holding broth that spilled over across the tongue. He groaned at the taste, and Betty smiled, taking a large helping. She also grabbed some of the ale that they’d found, several bottles, in fact, passing two to Daniel, but keeping the rest for herself.
She ate and drank quite a bit, enough that Daniel believed she was drunk. He removed his gauntlets and boots not long after, setting them in the pile with his armor. The roll provided some padding between his ass and the rock, but not enough for it to be considered truly comfortable. He polished off the last of the prepared stew and the mushrooms they’d found, then lay back with his eyes closed, staring at the rocks above them.
“So, Betty: were you with the Imperial mages back in Cyrodil?” he asked.
“Well, yeah,” she said with her mouth half-full. “I had to learn somehow. I pretended to agree with their philosophy, but secretly studied more than they would have liked. I constantly exceeded their expectations that way, but always had to hide my true affinities. I also studied under a high-elf alchemical guru. The man was amazing, taught me about something called Nirnroot, and its properties. He had to have been nearing the end of his half-millennium life when he departed for Skyrim.”
“What was he looking for here?” the large warrior asked curiously.
“Something he called the Crimson Nirnroot,” she shrugged. “Said it was in a place called Blackreach. It’s supposed to be some ultra-secret network of caves spanning the entirety of the province that the dwarves used at the height of their civilization.”
“I’ve heard of it,” Daniel admitted. “Largely a legend, considering no one has been able to get past the Falmer to explore the depths. And it appears to require some sort of sphere that’s to be attuned to their particular harmonic resonations, sending out a signal to operate something. I’ve never heard of anyone able to create a sphere with the proper attunement, but perhaps your friend found one: likely some crazed mage searching for forgotten knowledge.”
Betty was speechless for a moment before she frowned, “How did you manage to word that? I thought you were supposed to be some sort of dumb warrior-brute.”
“My mother was interested in magical properties, and figured that, even though I showed no aptitude for it, I should know something of it to help protect myself,” he shrugged, “that, and I’m particularly fascinated with the Dwarves. Their armament was sturdier than anything I’ve ever seen. I believe the metal is a combination of good old-fashioned steel, corundum and gold. The problem is, no one can find the proper proportioning to re-create this metal. I’m close to unlocking the secret: I can feel it in my bones.”
“How did you make that shield?” Betty asked. “Not to mention your blade.”
“Well, some explorer found dwemer struts and a few solid metal blocks, and gave them to Calcelmo, who heard I was looking for items to make dwarven armor, and offered them to me in exchange for a service,” he shrugged. “I heard that the items were of optimal strength when combined with both iron and steel, and used that. It turns out that just one of the other ingots each combined with two or three dwarven-metal ingots makes items of astounding strength. You just have to smelt it all together, then shape it, carve it, temper it.”
“You really are a good blacksmith, aren’t you, Dan?”
“Well, I’m not a master, but I am good enough to make Ebony, if that counts as good,” he shrugged. “I also have experience making and tempering Elven and that green Glass stuff.”
“So you don’t just do heavy armament?” she asked skeptically.
“Eorlund has been helping me,” Daniel admitted. “Vilkas and Skjor were the ones to help me learn my melee combat skills, Aela taught me how to use a bow, and now Eorlund is teaching me how to make and maintain these things for myself. For instance, to repair a notched weapon, you heat up a small piece of metal and insert it into the notch, heat the entire blade, then hammer all the metal hard, to make it hold tightly. The patch melds almost seamlessly with the original, and you have a continuous, sharp edge.”
“Well, I guess you really do know what you’re doing, don’t you?” Betty laughed. “I’ve never heard anyone explain it so thoroughly.”
“I don’t think there’s any other way to do things but thoroughly,” Daniel shrugged. “And, well, Eorlund is, arguably, the best smith in Skyrim. I say arguably because Skyrim is home to many good, solid Nord blacksmiths, each saying they’re as good or better, and that the Companions’ smith is only the best due to his good fortune. The Skyforge behind the place is, in all honesty, the oldest thing in Skyrim: its discovery led to the mead-hall Jorrvaskr and the Companions’ base of command itself. Not to mention their weaponry.”
“So every companion uses a weapon made from the Skyforge?” Betty asked.
“Well, not necessarily uses, but for every meeting with a client, we wear our Skyforge Steel weaponry,” he admitted. “The magical properties of the forge seem to work only on steel weapons and armors, holding the metal’s composition tighter than with a normal forge. However, it does work on other metals: my shield, sword and mace were made in the Skyforge’s fires. They’ve never required maintenance.”
“That’s astounding,” Betty said softly. “Do I get a weapon…?”
“Well, you have to go on your Trial, first,” Daniel shrugged. “Afterwards, Kodlak will dictate to Eorlund that he will make you a weapon of your choosing. So long as it has a blade, he can make it. Blunt weapons are something the Skyforge does not affect all that much, sadly enough. That’s why I prefer to use the harder, rarer metal of Ebony, or even the Dwarven stuff: doesn’t hurt that they’re nice to look at, either.”
“That is true,” Betty agreed. “But why doesn’t the Skyforge affect blunt objects, like maces and warhammers?”
Daniel sat up to meet the woman’s eyes as he explained, “Well, my theory is that few warriors liked the mace when the forge was created: it’s slow, off-balance, and heavy, same goes for the larger warhammers. That, and armor was rarely as covering as it is in this era, according to most scholars the Dwemer were the first to come up with full-body heavy armament. Some would mistake them for their creations, the automatons. In any event, since armor wasn’t so covering, there were numerous weak points, some thin, some thick, that would be best exploited by a well-aimed slice from a blade or axe, rather than bashed in with a dull flange, or heavy head.
“Now, however, armor can cover virtually the entirety of one’s body, with the exceptions of joints, though those can be covered with chain, as I’ve done with my own armament. A hard head can effectively turn a man’s protection into his enemy. Cave in the chest-plate enough, an enemy can’t get the breath he needs. Smash a shield with the head of a warhammer, you have the ability to dent it, or even shatter it, rendering it entirely useless. Blunt weapons have the potential to turn an enemy’s greatest asset, such as their hard, thick armor plating, into their weakest point. You merely have to wait for an opening… or create one with a well-timed bash.”
“Your reasoning is sound,” the red head nodded. “But what about when a lightly-armored bandit comes at you?