Somewhere near the border of Dawnstar, Harin and Serana were on their way back from patrolling when they encountered a figure standing silhouetted against the stark, grey sky. He was clad in full ebony armor, the dark metal gleaming dully in the fading light. Only his eyes were visible through the narrow slit in his helmet.
Serana's eyes turned bright red and her claws elongated, her posture tensing. A low growl rumbled in her throat.
"Harin, be vigilant. The scent of old blood hangs heavy here, a disturbing amount."
"Is it coming from that guy?" Harin, her brow furrowed in confusion, stared at the armored figure.
"The time has come." The figure stepped forward, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in the cold air.
"The time has come? What do you mean?" Harin asked, her voice sharp.
"I have done all that can be done," the armored figure said, his voice laced with weariness.
"There is nothing left. No quests to be undertaken. No villains to be slain. No challenges to face. Except for you. You are my last challenge. Only you can send me to Sovngarde with honor. Make your preparations. When you are ready, come find me at my last vigil."
Before Harin could react, Serana launched a swift, pre-emptive attack. Her claw flashed, aimed at the figure's neck.
"Sovngarde, you say? I'm sure they're just dying to have you. Though, I suspect they have standards."
The armored figure moved with astonishing speed, leaving only the blurred motion of his gauntleted hand. He caught Serana's hand mid-swing, completely stopping her momentum.
"There is no place for you in this battle." The armored figure said.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he sent Serana sprawling, her body hitting the frozen ground with a sickening thud. She lay still, unconscious.
"Serana!" Harin's eyes widened in shock and fury.
"You wanted a release? Fine, I'll grant you just that!" She drew her own blade, the steel singing as it left its scabbard.
"If you wish to duel now, even better. No need to waste time." The armored figure chuckled, a low, menacing sound.
He charged, turning into a blurry figure of an unstoppable force. Harin met his charge, with a force matching the armored figure. The armored figure's strength was immense, his blows heavy and relentless. Harin, though skilled, found herself constantly on the defensive, parrying and dodging to avoid the crushing force of his attacks.
The figure moved with a strange, almost unnatural grace and his ebony armor seeming to flow with his movements. His strikes were precise and calculated where each blow aimed to incapacitate. With her adrenaline surging, Harin fought with a ferocity born of desperation.
The clash of steel echoed across the frozen tundra, every clang of deflections a parries spread through the vast, empty landscape. The amoured figure's relentless onslaught threaten to overwhelm Harin. Feeling the weight of the amored figure's power, her breath turned into ragged gasps.
"Good! Good! Good! Hahahaha! You fight well, Dragonborn. But your efforts are futile. My destiny is sealed." The armored figure laughed.
As if high on adrenaline… or drugs, he unleashed a flurry of blows, each strike caused thunderous impact on Harin's arm. Soon, her arms began aching and she struggled to maintain her guard. The figure's strength was beyond anything she had ever encountered. His relentless movements driven by an unknown but desperate purpose.
Harin, realizing she was outmatched, tried to create some distance. She rolled away, managing to gain few more feet and springs back to her feet, panting. She now realized that there will only be one survivor to this battle. The armored figure has shown her his determination, that this will be a duel to the death.
"Alright, it seems like I have to go all out. State your name." Harin throws her sword away and pulls out her baton, the .
"I am the Ebony Warrior," the figure said, his voice echoing in the wind. "And I seek only a worthy death."
The Ebony Warrior launched himself forward, his ebony greatsword moving like a black serpent, aiming at Harin's throat. Harin reacted instantly, her King's Glaive morphing into a gleaming spear, parrying the attack.
The ebony greatsword skidded along the spear's body, leaving sparks. Before the Warrior could follow up, Harin teleported, reappearing behind him. She thrust, aiming for the chink in his armor, but he spun, deflecting the blow with the flat of his sword, then retaliating with a brutal backhand that sent Harin skidding across the rocky terrain.
She recovered, her King's Glaive transforming into a pair of blades, and launched another flurry of attacks, a dance of death that forced the Ebony Warrior to retreat. He countered with a barrage of frost magic, transforming the moisture in air into a biting frost.
Numerous ice spears tore the air like bullets. Harin weaves through the ice spears with ease, never staying on the same spot twice. While evading the ice spears, Harin responded with a Shout.
"STRUN BAH QO!!"
The sky cracked with thunder, followed by lightning bolts lashing out, illuminating the battlefield in blinding flashes. The Ebony Warrior summoned a Storm Atronach, its crackling energy now proven to be a chaotic counterpoint to Harin's lightning, acting like a lightning pole, effectively nullifying Harin's Storm Call.
When the Shout ends, the Atronach lunges, its electrical tendrils snapping, but Harin teleports behind it with a burst of speed. She swung her blades, slicing through its ethereal form, dispersing it in a shower of sparks.
Harin's King's Glaive shifted constantly into multiple forms of blades, hammers, and staves, with each strike infused with raw magical power. She wove through the Ebony Warrior's defenses, her teleportation allowing her to strike from every angle.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!!"
"FUS RO DAH!!"
Harin unleashed a "Fire Breath" shout, the flames licking at the Warrior's armor, only to be met by his own "Unrelenting Force," which sent her flying.
The Ebony Warrior pressed his advantage, delivering slashes relentlessly. Harin, now bleeding but unbowed, channeled the power of King's Glaive, the air around her shimmering with raw magical energy. The King's Glaive extended into a longsword, now glowing with the stored power, ready to be unleashed at a moment' notice. She met the Ebony Warrior's blow and the force shatters the very ground beneath them.
"ZUN HAAL VIIK!!"
The Ebony Warrior, enraged, unleashed a "Disarm" shout, attempting to wrench the King's Glaive from Harin's grasp. She resisted, channeling the power of what was once the Eye of Magnus, empowering her strike. The magical backlash sent both combatants reeling.
The ground once again erupted as the Ebony Warrior unleashed a devastating, wide and powerful downward slash that carved a deep trench in the rock. Harin, anticipating the power attack, transformed the King's Glaive into a massive warhammer and met his blow, resulting a thunderous impact that shattered the Warrior's sword. The force of the collision sent them both flying, crashing into the trees and rocks nearby, respectively.
The clash has turned the frozen tundra into a scorching field, an unintended but expected effect of the power of two beings locked in a battle for supremacy. The very air around them distorted, and the ground cracked and shifted. Gritting her teeth, Harin raised on her feet. With a final, desperate surge of magic, she unleashed a wave of pure energy from the King's Glaive, a blinding flash that engulfed the Ebony Warrior.
When the light subsided, the Ebony Warrior stood, his armor scorched and cracked, but his resolve unbroken. Harin too, her armor now cracked and smoking, the King's Glaive once again transformed into a longsword, now a lot dimmer, a sign of its near exhausted magical energy. The Ebony Warrior's eyes show a grim determination under his battered helmet. He charged forward, despite his now jagged, broken sword.
They clashed once more, trading blows and slashes where one was trying to outmaneuver the other. Both fighters are now pretty much low magical power and this clash has boiled down to who has the superior skills.
Harin weaved through the Ebony Warrior's attacks with fluid movements, with her longsword dancing along the motion. She mustered one last teleport and reappeared behind him, piercing her blade against his weakened armor with all her might, channeling what's left of the raw magical energy of the King's Glaive, rampaging The Ebony Warrior's body.
The Ebony Warrior roared, a sound of defiance and pain, and turned, his eyes burning with a final, desperate surge of power. He aimed his broken sword at Harin's heart. Despite her breath laboured, Harin skilfully deflect the thrust and counter attacked. The King's Glaive, still in its longsword form, slice through The Ebony Warrior's chest, and a blinding surge of energy burst from the wounds.
"You are worthy," the Ebony Warrior said, a hint of awe in his voice. "A true warrior's death."
The Ebony Warrior staggered, his eyes fading, and collapsed, his body now a smoking ruin. Harin stood, her breath ragged, the Eye of Magnus pulsing softly within her baton. The battle was over. The Ebony Warrior, the ultimate test, had fallen.
A groan broke the silence. Serana stirred, her crimson eyes fluttering open. She pushed herself up, her gaze sweeping across the destruction. The shattered ground, the scorched earth, and the broken form of the Ebony Warrior painted a grim picture. She then looked at Harin, whose armor was cracked and smoking, and whose face was streaked with dirt, soot and blood.
"Well, you certainly look like you've had a… productive afternoon." A dry, almost amused, chuckle escaped her lips.
"He wanted a worthy death. And he certainly got it." Harin, her breath still ragged, turned to Serana, a flicker of irritation mixing with relief in her eyes.
"Worthy death, was it? He certainly made a mess of things trying to achieve it. You look like you had a friendly wrestling match with the giants in a volcano." Serana raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on the Ebony Warrior's remains.
"I'd rather take a friendly wrestling match with the giants in a volcano any day rather than face that madman again. He was… strong. And he wouldn't stop. What a determination," Harin sighed, the adrenaline slowly draining from her system.
Serana's expression softened, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.
"He was… determined, then. More than determined. Obsessed, perhaps." She paused, her gaze drifting back to the Ebony Warrior. "But to come at you like that… something drove him to it."
"You're lucky to be alive, you know. He was trying to kill you." She walked over to Harin, her hand reaching out to gently touch the cracked armor.
"I know. But… he also gave me a strange sense of respect. Like he saw me as… an equal." Harin nodded, her eyes still fixed on the fallen warrior.
"An equal who nearly turned you into a charcoal briquette. Well, I suppose that's one way to show respect." Serana scoffed, a hint of her usual sarcasm returning.
She stepped closer, inspecting Harin's wounds.
"We need to get you back to Dawnstar. Illia and the others won't be happy to see you in this state. And I'm sure Ibnor will not be either." Serana's tone shifted, a hint of genuine worry in her voice. "Come on, let's get you patched up."
Harin nodded, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. The battle had taken its toll, both physically and emotionally. She leaned on Serana for support, her gaze lingering on the Ebony Warrior's remains.
"He said there was nothing more to do," Harin murmured, her voice barely audible. "I wonder… What was his story?"
"Perhaps it doesn't matter anymore. He found his 'worthy death,' and you survived. That's his story... and history." Serana shrugged.
Harin made a face.
"It's that bad?" Serana asked.
"Never again."
"Agreed. In fact, never happened."
"Good call."
Despite having no injuries after being healed with the restoration spell, the condition of their armor and the dirt they have all over made them look less than presentable. They hurriedly went back to Dawnstar.
As they approached Dawnstar, the city's silhouette emerged from the swirling snow. But something was different. A large, gleaming structure dominated the skyline, a stark contrast to the rough-hewn buildings of the port town. As they drew closer, the structure revealed itself to be a massive statue, sculpted from pristine white marble. It depicted Mara, the Divine of Love and Compassion, her serene face gazing out over the harbor.
Near the statue, a building, still under construction, buzzed with activity. The workers, usually a dour and lethargic bunch, moved with an unusual enthusiasm, their hammers ringing out with a newfound vigor. They seemed invigorated, their faces flushed with exertion and a strange, almost joyful, energy.
Serana's usual confident stride seemed a little off, her shoulders slightly slumped, and a faint frown creased her brow. Harin, noticing her companion's unusual demeanor, nudged her gently with her elbow.
"You alright, Serana? You seem… off."
Serana sighed, a dramatic, theatrical sound.
"Oh, just peachy. Absolutely thrilled. Though, if you must know," she lowered her voice, her crimson eyes flicking towards the towering white statue of Mara that dominated the harbor, "these… temples. So… bright. So… loving. It's all a bit much for my delicate sensibilities."
Her tone was laced with her characteristic dry humor, but Harin caught a flicker of genuine unease in her eyes.
"The Mara statue?" Harin raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. "Didn't peg you as someone easily unnerved by depictions of divine compassion."
"Oh, I'm not 'unnerved,' darling," Serana retorted, her chin lifting slightly. "Merely… experiencing a profound sense of cultural disconnect. All that… light. It's practically blinding." She shuddered dramatically.
Then, she abruptly changed the subject, her usual sharp curiosity returning.
"Speaking of blinding, what in Oblivion has gotten into this city? It's more bustling than Riften on market day. What's the occasion? Did someone finally discover a decent skooma supplier?"
Harin chuckled, the tension from their encounter with the Ebony Warrior easing slightly.
"Not skooma, I'm afraid. They're preparing for Ibnor's coronation ceremony. It's happening soon."
Harin and Serana entered the city with heavy footsteps and their arrival went unnoticed amidst the bustling activity. They made their way towards the keep, the imposing structure stood out like a sore thumb in the swirling snow. As they entered, they found Ibnor standing near the entrance, with parchments in his hands.
When he saw them, he stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze fixed on them. He observed them for a long moment, checking their condition. After confirming nothing is wrong with them, he lets out a sigh of relief.
Harin, her patience wearing thin, finally broke the silence.
"What?" she asked, her voice laced with irritation.
Ibnor's eyes flickered from Harin's battered armor to Serana's weary expression.
"You both look like shit," he stated bluntly, his voice devoid of any pretense. "What happened?"
"Specifically, what happened to you? Did you have a friendly wrestling match with the giants in a volcano?" He gestured towards Harin's cracked armor.
"Hahah!" Serana lets out a laugh. "That's what I said."
"Your Majesty, we need to talk!" Illia's voice boomed across the corridor.
"Well, that's my que. Duty calls, and apparently, so does Illia's wrath. We'll discuss this... later. Love you! And try to stay out of volcanos, please." Ibnor said and disappeared over the walls.
Soon, Illia arrived.
"Lady Harin? Serana?" Illia was surprised to see them. "By the divines, Lady Harin, what happened to you? Did you have a friendly wrestling match with the giants in a volcano or something?"
Serana lets out another chuckle while Harin begins to feel the redness of her ears.
"He went over the wall!" Harin didn't hesitate in exposing Ibnor.
"Ah, thank you, Lady Harin." Illia thanked Harin before running after Ibnor.
"Am I really that savage in their eyes?" Harin grumbled which elicited another giggle from Serana.
"Where are you going?" Serana asked when Harin began to stomp away.
"Where else? I need to clean up before a fourth person asks me whether or not I had a friendly wrestling match with the giants in a volcano!" Harin grumbled. "I swear, if another person asked me that.."
She left the words trailed off when she saw Brina around the corner.
"Dammit!"
Harin cursed and ran as fast as she could, before Brina could see her. Serana followed closely, her melodious voice let out pearls of laughter.
***
As the day of the coronation approached, the atmosphere in Dawnstar grew more festive. The streets were adorned with banners and garlands, and the air was filled with the sound of music and laughter. The people were eager to celebrate their new King, a man who had brought them hope and prosperity.
Delegations from other holds, led by their respective Jarls, began arriving, their eyes wide with wonder as they beheld the city's transformation.
Dawnstar had undergone a remarkable change under Ibnor's rule, its once-dilapidated streets now bustling with activity. The docks were bustling with trade, the markets overflowing with fresh goods, and the taverns filled with the laughter of happy patrons. The city had become a beacon of prosperity and hope, a stark contrast to the war-torn landscape of Skyrim.
The Jarls, accustomed to the grim realities of their own holds, were astonished by what they saw. Dawnstar had become a model of what Skyrim could be – a place of unity, prosperity, and a brighter future.
On the day of the coronation, the grand hall of Dawnstar was filled with dignitaries from across Skyrim. The Jarls, their retinues, and other notable figures gathered to witness the crowning of their new King.
The heart of Dawnstar had been transformed. Where once stood a training yard, now rose a magnificent open-air arena, reminiscent of ancient coliseums, yet built with a distinctly Nord aesthetic of sturdy stone and timber. Tiered seating carved into the hillside surrounded a central platform, creating a natural amphitheater under the vast Skyrim sky. Banners bearing the silver aurora of Dawnstar fluttered from tall flagpoles, and the festive mood of the city had reached its crescendo.
From the grand archway at the eastern entrance, Ibnor emerged. He was clad in a striking ensemble of dark wolf furs over a finely crafted tunic of deep indigo, accented with silver embroidery. A hush fell over the thousands of onlookers – the citizens of Dawnstar, the delegations from other holds, all eyes fixed on their soon-to-be King.
Midway across the open ground, bathed in the crisp morning light, stood Brina and Illia. Illia held a cushion of dark velvet. Upon it rested the crown: a band of intricately woven silver, coolly gleaming, with a single, captivating moonstone set at its apex. Brina stood beside her, her usual stern expression softened by a proud smile.
Ibnor walked with a measured pace, his gaze meeting theirs. As he reached them, he offered a small, grateful nod to both women. Illia presented the cushion, and Brina offer the crown. The silence in the arena was palpable, broken only by the gentle whisper of the wind.
With deliberate movements, Ibnor lower his stance and Brina placed the silver circlet upon his head. The moonstone caught the sunlight, flashing with an ethereal luminescence. A collective gasp of admiration rippled through the crowd, followed by a spontaneous eruption of cheers that echoed against the surrounding hills.
Now crowned, King Ibnor turned towards the imposing dais that led to the throne. It was a majestic seat carved from the heartwood of an ancient tree, its dark surface polished to a deep sheen. The back of the throne was etched with swirling patterns reminiscent of the aurora borealis.
Step by step, Ibnor ascended the stairs leading to the throne. Each footfall was a deliberate act, a visual representation of his rise to leadership. The cheers of the crowd swelled with each upward movement, a wave of support and anticipation.
Finally, he reached the top. He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping across the vast arena, taking in the faces of his people and the visiting dignitaries. Then, with a sense of quiet authority, King Ibnor settled onto the throne.
A profound silence fell, a moment of held breath before the true reign of the King of Dawnstar began. The silver crown rested upon his brow, a symbol of his sovereignty against the backdrop of the cheering masses and the boundless Skyrim sky.
The moment King Ibnor settled upon the ancient wood of the throne, a hush fell over the colossal arena. Then, with a synchronized step, Illia and Brina moved to stand on either side of the dais, their gazes fixed on the newly crowned monarch.
Illia, her voice resonating with the unwavering conviction that had always marked her stewardship, stepped forward.
"People of Skyrim!" she proclaimed, her voice booming across the open space, amplified by the very architecture of the arena.
"By the will of Dawnstar and the strength of his own hand, we present to you Ibnor, first of his name, now and forever the sovereign King of Dawnstar!"
A fresh wave of cheers erupted from the assembled crowd, even louder and more fervent than before. Banners waved, and the air thrummed with the energy of thousands celebrating their King.
Brina, her voice steady and firm, added her own declaration.
"Let it be known throughout Skyrim and beyond! Dawnstar is no longer a hold, but a free and independent kingdom, under the just and wise rule of King Ibnor!"
The cheers intensified.
"Hail the King!"
"Long live King Ibnor!"
When the tumultuous applause began to subside, King Ibnor rose from his throne. He stood tall, the silver crown gleaming under the Skyrim sun, his gaze sweeping over the vast assembly. A profound sense of anticipation settled over the arena.
"People of Dawnstar," he began, his voice clear and strong, carrying to the farthest reaches of the tiered seating. "And honored guests from across Skyrim. Today, we stand at the dawn of a new era. An era of independence, an era of self-determination, an era forged by our own hands and guided by our own vision."
He paused, his eyes meeting the gazes of the Jarls in the delegations below.
"For too long, the North has been a land of division, a land caught in the endless tides of conflict. But here, in Dawnstar, we have chosen a different path. We have chosen unity. We have chosen progress. We have chosen to shape our own destiny."
His voice gained intensity, infused with a passion that resonated with the crowd.
"Look around you! Look at the city we have built, the prosperity we have fostered! This is not the work of chance. This is the fruit of our collective effort, our shared belief in a brighter tomorrow. This is the spirit of Dawnstar!"
He gestured expansively, taking in the entire arena and the city beyond.
"We are not bound by the old ways simply because they are old. We are not defined by the conflicts of the past. We are a people of innovation, of resilience, of unwavering determination. And as a sovereign kingdom, we will chart our own course, guided by the principles of justice, fairness, and the unwavering pursuit of a better future for all who call Dawnstar home."
His gaze softened slightly as he addressed his own people.
"My loyal citizens, the challenges ahead may be great, but our spirit is greater. Let us continue to work together, to build together, to face whatever comes with courage and unity. Let Dawnstar be a beacon, not just in the North, but for all of Skyrim – a testament to what can be achieved when a people dare to dream and have the strength to make those dreams a reality."
He turned his attention back to the visiting Jarls.
"To our neighbors, we extend a hand of friendship and a commitment to peaceful coexistence. Dawnstar seeks no conflict, but we will defend our sovereignty with every fiber of our being. Let us forge a new relationship, one based on mutual respect and the understanding that a strong and prosperous North benefits us all."
"Today, we declare not just our independence, but our unwavering belief in the potential of Dawnstar and the strength of its people. Let this day be remembered as the day we stepped boldly into our own future! Long live Dawnstar!" Ibnor's voice rang with conviction as he concluded.
The arena erupted once more, the cheers echoing with renewed vigor and a sense of shared purpose. The Jarls, though their expressions varied, could not deny the power of Ibnor's words and the undeniable transformation of Dawnstar. The coronation ceremony was not just a crowning; it was a declaration of a new era, and King Ibnor had laid down his vision for all to hear.
After the coronation, a feast was held in honor of the new King. The guests feasted on delicious food and drank to the health of their new ruler. The celebration continued late into the night, with music and dancing filling the air.
The coronation feast was a spectacle of Nordish abundance, combined with a touch of Ibnor's more refined tastes. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, platters of fresh seafood, and an array of colorful vegetables, a welcome change from the often-monotonous fare of Skyrim. Mead flowed freely, along with wines imported from the Imperial City, adding to the jovial atmosphere. Music filled the air, a mix of traditional Nord songs and some livelier tunes Ibnor had introduced, played by a band of delighted bards.
While the citizens of Dawnstar and their guests reveled in the celebration, Ibnor found himself the center of a different kind of gathering. He stood near a table laden with the finest vintages, a small oasis of relative calm amidst the joyous chaos. He was surrounded by the Jarls who had shown the most... interest in Dawnstar's rise: Balgruuf, the pragmatic Jarl of Whiterun; Elisif, the dignified Queen of Solitude; Igrod the Younger, the eccentric Jarl of Morthal; Korir, the stoic Jarl of Winterhold; and, of course, Maven Black-Briar, her sharp eyes missing nothing.
Pleasantries were exchanged, toasts were offered, and compliments were paid to Dawnstar's newfound splendor.
"King Ibnor," Balgruuf boomed, his voice carrying easily over the din, "Dawnstar has truly become a sight to behold. You've... revitalized this hold in ways I wouldn't have thought possible." He took a hearty swig of mead.
"The prosperity is undeniable, King Ibnor," Elisif added, her tone measured. "Solitude has always been a city of wealth and culture, but... Dawnstar now rivals it in its own way. Your... methods have certainly yielded impressive results."
Ibnor inclined his head.
"Thank you, Jarls. I merely applied a bit of... efficiency to the existing infrastructure. And the people of Dawnstar have proven remarkably receptive to change." He smiled, a hint of amusement in his eyes.
Maven Black-Briar swirled the wine in her goblet.
"Efficiency, you say? It's more than that, Your Majesty. It's ambition. Drive. And a certain... ruthlessness, wouldn't you agree?" Her gaze was sharp, probing.
"Ruthlessness is a tool, Jarl Maven, like any other. It's how you wield it that matters." Ibnor's smile didn't falter.
The conversation continued in this vein, a delicate dance of compliments and veiled inquiries. Ibnor parried their questions with practiced ease, revealing nothing of his deeper plans. He knew they were circling him, testing the waters, trying to gauge his intentions. He was the center of a political dance, and he knew the steps.
Finally, after a lull in the conversation, Balgruuf cleared his throat, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a more serious expression.