Chapter 2: The Longest Night
Day had come and passed, and Rhaegar Dragonbane had not yet decided which path to pursue. His potential destiny as Dragonborn loomed within his mind, and still most of the day was spent within the city of Whiterun, trading goods and spoils with the locals. Evening came, and Rhaegar was approached by a guard with reports of strangeness from the Hold. Stretched thin by the recent dragon attacks, Rhaegar could offer support to the Whiterun guards by patrolling the area around the city.
Rhaegar left the city and began heading west and day began to turn to night. A short way from the city he was blessed with a finding, an ebony sword held by a skeletal hand in a small pond. He took the sword, but chose not to use it unless necessary, relying on his Ebony War Axe he had pilfered earlier, and his Crossbow, ever reliable.
Night fell without incident. In the dark, a torch glowed softly. With caution, Rhaegar approached it, only to find a lone Khajiit, and together they conversed for a while, the Khajiit warning Rhaegar of the dangers in the night. M'aiq, as he was called, told Rhaegar of a cursed sword within a pond somewhere in the hold. Rhaegar quietly mused on the warning, and travelled on.
Within minutes, horror descended on Rhaegar. A pair of vampires loomed out of the darkness, ambushing him on the road. In a desperate fight, he was able to slay them, but felt himself burning up, contracting their disease. His vision blurred and more nightmares were thrown upon him, two vampire werewolf hybrids bearing down on him with vicious brutality.
Miraculously, Rhaegar survived the second assault, both hybrids falling beneath his axe. Exhausted, bleeding, out of breath and diseased, Rhaegar was night on delirious. He began proceeding north, hoping to reach the village of Rorikstead and gain some treatment for his wounds, but the curse of the sword was in full effect.
Stepping out from beneath a bridge, like a troll, was a lonely thief, dressed in elven armour. He threatened Rhaegar's life, but Rhaegar, humourless, spat back in his face. The thief drew his daggers.
Rhaegar was not amused.
Continuing north, Rhaegar quickly realised he was lost, far from Rorikstead, and yet unsure of his location. He came upon a forest, snowing in the dark, and wandered for what felt like hours, completely lost until buildings emerged in the distance; the town of Morthal.
He saught treatment immediately, heading to the Thaumaturgist's Hut, and cured himself of the disease immediately. The alchemist questioned his late night need for such a cure, and when Rhaegar was forced to explain he found himself before the Jarl, Idrod Ravencrone, who tasked him with finding the lair of these vampires and slaying them all. Rhaegar, wounds bandaged and head clear, agreed that the vampires were to be stopped, and was given a contingent of warriors from the town to travel with to the marshes and find the vampire's lair.
It didn't take long for the crew to find the lair; outside, guarding it, a vampire and her thralls awaited. A skirmish ensued, with the townspeople struggling, surely likely to be slaughtered without Rhaegar's intervention. Disposing of the guards, he told the townspeople to stay behind while he scouted ahead. The guard held on her a journal, noting the name of the vampire lord within the cave; Morvath, a dangerous and powerful vampire that Rhaegar would have to take down quickly, or risk losing his life.
Inside the cave, upon his throne, Morvath waited.
Between him and Morvath, Rhaegar found several thralls, each weaker than he'd expected, and he was able to take them out silently with his axe, sneaking in close. He came upon the main chamber, still coated in shadows, and there he saw Morvath, drinking from a goblet. Rhaegar drew his crossbow, took aim, and knowing that unless the shot was true and perfect, Morvath would be on him in seconds, he fired.
Rhaegar did not see whether the bolt had struck or not; instantly the cave came alight as Morvath's minions stirred, bolts of lighting heading towards Rhaegar. In desperation he fired off two more bolts at the vampires, before moving in with his axe. He finished them with ease, they're strength diminished with the approaching morning, and turned to face Morvath, but Morvath did not stir - for Rhaegar's bolt had pierced him below the right eye, and like the dragon, Morvath had died instantly.
Successful, victorious, Rhaegar emerged from the cave in the light of day, and beheld the town with clear eyes for the first time.
As he headed back towards town, keen to visit the inn for food and a bed, he was approached on the bridge by three strangers clad in strong armour, who began brandishing swords. Cursing his luck, Rhaegar stopped, and watched them cautiously. They called to him, taunted him, and told him why they were here - to repay a debt, decades old, from after the war. They charged, but did not realise Rhaegar's strength and ability, and he dispatched them in seconds.
Nearby, watching, the mercenary Benor watched with enthusiasm. As guards came to investigate the bodies, Benor congratulated Rhaegar on his victory over the men, but suggested he would need a bodyguard, as he was now known as a dangerous man - slayer of dragons and vampires. There would always be men wanting to prove their worth and value by slaying a proven hero. Rhaegar saw the sense in Benor's words, and suggested that the mercenary come with him, for a fee of course, but Benor would not be swayed. He, after all, wanted to prove he was a stronger warrior than the now famed Rhaegar Dragonbane.
Rhaegar's hand raced to his axe, but Benor laughed, and told him he only wanted a fist fight. If Rhaegar won, Benor would gladly come with him (for a fee of course), but Benor swore that would not happen.
And so the brawl began. Rhaegar threw a devastating right hand, and Benor countered, stunning the man for just a moment, and swiftly he drew his sword, aiming to kill, not just injure. Rhaegar saw the movement from the corner of his eye, just in time to draw his axe, and spin, axe raised, and a battle cry erupting from his throat.
The result was not what Benor expected.
Finally, the terror of his night and morning at an end, Rhaegar ventured into the nearby inn and sat down to a meal. Beside him sat another mercenary, a man who introduced himself as Hoth, a man who had no idea who he sat next to, and said that for 500 gold he would join with Rhaegar for the next week, aiding him with whatever he needed, as long as it proved bloody and brutal as all that business outside. Rhaegar agreed to Hoth's terms, knowing full well that his return to Skyrim had set in motion events beyond his control, that blood and guts would follow him wherever he went, and the impressive figure of Hoth by his side would be an asset, and a cheap one, all things considered.
And so it was; Rhaegar and Hoth finished their breakfasts, and turning their backs to Morthal, left in search of the next part of their tale.