Elder Scroll series, Halo 1. Chapter 1

**Apologies to all of my Mass Emile fans, I know I promised you an update, though to be fair, this is another Emile fic. Why another Emile fic you may ask? Well the answer is quite simple. He's my favorite, and remarkably underappreciated (my own opinion of course). **

**If you are wondering on the status of the next chapter of Mass Emile, fear not, I'm nearly halfway through. I was nearly done then I took a look at the chapter and realized that nothing that I had written made any sense, so I had to start over. I hope you all understand and thank you for bearing with me.**

**Now, onto this story, as you can tell from the section it's under, this is a Skyrim/Halo crossover that will start from the very beginning of Skyrim because I have no imagination, whatsoever. I will, however, show you how Emile manages to get captured, rather than just start him off in a cart wondering how he got there. We've all seen those stories, they all suck.**

**One last thing before we start, for those of you familiar with Mass Emile, don't expect the same personality in this story. I plan on making him a little more drawn back, internalized, and observant. **

**And without further adieu, we can begin.**

_One ton of steel roared through the air at ludicrous speeds before boring a hole from bow to stern on a small purple ship. The pieces of the Type 52 Phantom dropship flew out in all directions as a small fireball erupted from within._

"_That one was for Kat," a small, dark whisper emanated from behind a glaring skull._

_The massive tower of steel and titanium swerved again and found another phantom. The skull's eyes reflected an LED screen in front of it as the mini series MAC canon spooled up the solenoids along each rail. As the energy began to build in each rail, so did the electrical discharge, casting an eerie blue light on the complex in lieu of the failing sunlight._

_Emile let go of the triggers, watching the screen intently as the electrical discharge exploded into a fiery line, pointing straight towards the distant purple dot. Not even a quarter of a second later the thin yellow line ended in a brilliant purple and pink fireball._

"_That was for Jorge," the Spartan said again, this time louder and filled with a certain amount of contempt, anger obviously building within this armored titan._

_Noble Four twisted the joystick by his right knee, swinging the turret around again to face behind him, the pushed the left joystick to lower the barrel before pressing and holding the triggers and watching the energy build all over again._

_BANG… BOOM!_

"_Carter!"_

_Again, the skull clad warrior spun the turret, this time finding a Spirit class dropship, and again, he pulled on the triggers, held them down, and released them._

"_NOBLE!"_

_A slimmer, more feminine version of the Spartan in the Onager, ducked under the swing of a giant hammer before coming to her feet and slamming a knife into the brute chieftain's spine and twisting. As the giant simian slammed into the ground the female Spartan swung her gaze around the landing platform before turning her attention to the canon above her._

_The MAC roared again and another miniature sun bloomed into existence as another phantom straying too close to the landing pad exploded._

"_**REACH!**__"_

_Emile angrily swung his gaze from side to side, as did Noble Six down on the landing pad, "COME ON YOU MOTHER FUCKERS!"_

"_I don't think they're coming, Four," Six said, attempting to soothe the volatile Spartan._

"_Bunch a fucking pussies," Emile muttered back, much to the woman's amusement, "Keyes, the pad is clear."_

_In response, a loud, clear, and noble sounding voice flooded the comm. system in Spartans' helmets, "Copy that Spartan, we're on our way."_

_Emile kept his skulled gaze on the sky, watching for anymore Covenant ships that may want to make a pass at the landing pad, while Six kept her gaze firmly locked on the pelican dropship descending from the gargantuan Pillar of Autumn._

_Emile kept an eye on the handoff below, Six and Keyes were talking about something, the captain was holding the package. _

_Suddenly, movement caught the male Spartan's attention, a phantom that had hugged the bottom of the canyon between the Autumn and the landing pad fired upon the second pelican, crippling the human dropship, before moving on the MAC canon itself._

_Emile didn't bother turning the gun, but rather grabbed his shotgun, an M45 Tactical shotgun and raised the barrel up to the window, just in time to shoot an intruding zealot. The buckshot tore through the glass canopy and stripped most of the shields straight off the maroon colored alien._

_Rather than reloading the weapon, Emile surged forward, wrapping the thousand pound saurian in a crushing bear hug around the waist as he pushed with all his might. The two crashed down onto the steel deck plating below._

_The powerful sangheili warrior was still stunned when the Spartan reared back, slipping the kukri from his right shoulder paldron and slammed it down through the reptilian's skull._

_A red dot flared on Emile's motion tracker, prompting the super soldier to roll to his left, keeping a grip on his knife as another zealot landed on top of the dead one, impaling it with its plasma sword. The saurian roared in anger as it looked down at the body of its former brother in arms. The sangheili never registered the silver flash of steel plunging into its eye._

_A series of clangs sounded behind Emile as the rest of the phantom's crew dropped into the warehouse below, three zealots, twelve grunts, two pairs of jackals, and to top it off, a field marshal with a fuel rod canon._

"_Gonna need some help up here!"_

"_Acknowledged, on route to assist, Four!"_

_Emile didn't acknowledge the lieutenant, instead he pulled his magnum from his thigh holster and opened fire on the zealots taking moving towards his position. A hail of high velocity plasma rounds responded, easily slicing through the thin steel railing which Noble Four was taking cover behind._

_Moving quickly, Emile fired four more shots as he leapt from the platform down to the second level of the warehouse. More of the hot plasma followed him as he ducked behind a supply crate. The familiar staccato of an MA37 Assault Rifle joined the whine of the alien plasma rifles as Six finally entered the fray._

_Swapping the clips inside his magnum, Emile cursed his foolishness in leaving his shotgun back in the cockpit of the MAC canon. He had used that particular shotgun since he had first been assigned to Noble team._

_He slipped the pin from one of his numerous grenades slung across each side of his chest and tossed it towards the sound of a nearby zealot. The resounding boom and a shriek of rage was all he needed to pull out of cover and raise his pistol._

_BANG!... THUD_

_Emile had no time to revel in his victory as his motion tracker blared in alarm. Instinct took over as the warrant officer ducked underneath a swoosh of plasma. Rather than rising, the Spartan lashed out with his foot, smashing into the knee cap of the zealot and making a rather satisfying crack._

_The hulking saurian crashed to the ground next to Emile with an incapacitated leg, but still managed to lash out at him with its energy sword. The skull clad warrior rolled away from the strike, coming up with his pistol in his right hand, kukri in the left. Four shots finally put the alien out of its misery, but also drew the attention of the remaining two elites, one of which was carrying a very, very big gun._

"_Sonnava-" Emile barely got out of the way in time as a green blast struck the steel where he once stood._

_Taking cover yet again, the Spartan watched a red dot approach his cover, and readied himself for a close quarters confrontation when a yellow dot appeared with the steady barking of a DMR._

"_I got your back, Four!"_

"_Jaysus, what were you doing down there?!"_

"_I'm engaging a zealot with a pair of plasma rifles, looks like the big guy is still focused on you," she replied._

"_I see that," Emile said as he slipped another grenade from his chest and popped it towards the red dot that was standing alone._

_Once it exploded, Emile rolled out of cover, firing his magnum. Unfortunately, the elite's shields were incredibly powerful, and the grenade had hardly been one of the Spartan's more accurate throws. Each fifty caliber slug simply bounced off the incredibly powerful shields and did nothing to deter the field marshal from swinging its shoulder mounted canon to bear._

_Leaping from place to place, each leap punctuated by a green explosion, Emile finally landed behind cover again. Glancing to his left as he was facing back towards the MAC gun, he took notice that Six was finally done with her zealot, and was similarly taking cover._

"_Emile we have a problem," she said, pointing up._

_The male Spartan looked up into the sky, and immediately saw the problem. A CCS covenant battlecruiser was advancing upon their position, undoubtedly for the express purpose of destroying the Pillar of Autumn._

"_We better get to work then, fast," Emile replied, looking back to Noble Six._

_The lieutenant held up three fingers, and began to count them off. When she finally held up a fist, both Spartans lunged out of cover to face the field marshal, canon raised to meet the duo's weapons._

_CLICK!_

_CLICK!_

_CLICK!_

_Emile and Six shot a look at each other, both of their weapons were empty. Both Spartans searched for more ammunition, hoping to find a spare clip, a few extra rounds buried in their armor's pouches, and came up empty. A quick look showed that the field marshal was not as unlucky as the two of them, having already grabbed a green rack of fuel rods._

_They only had two options, take cover and find some more ammunition, which would give time for the cruiser overhead to glass the Autumn while it was still in dry dock, or Emile, as the fastest sprinter of Noble Team could rush the elite while it was still reloading._

"_SIX GET THE GUN!"_

"_EMILE!" Six was too late. At nearly thirty miles per hour, Emile was on top of the alien even as it slammed the rack into the fuel rod canon. Wrapping the bigger combatant up similarly to how he had tackled the zealot on the MAC gun, both Spartan and sangheili were flung from the building, missed the small ledge, and began falling the near two thousand feet to the bottom of the canyon…_

…

"HEY!"

Emile looked up at the voice, the memory he had been replaying coming to a halt as he regarded the dozen humanoids in front of him. They were tall, no where near his six foot ten, but probably an average height of six foot four, the tallest standing around six foot six. Of the twelve he was now facing, eight of them were on foot, wearing some sort of gold colored alloy for armor that seemed to have been made by an artist. The other four were on horseback, and were each wearing some sort of black cloak, the gaudy gold accents marking their clothing led Emile to believe that these were the commanders of the small force assembled here.

Of all the oddities striking the Spartan then and there, such as the lively green forest he stood in, the strange metals the soldiers wore, even the horses the commanders rode or the swords and shields they wielded, what really made Emile think twice, were the people themselves.

The foot soldiers wore helmets that left their faces bare, allowing Emile to see their golden skin and yellow eyes, but the woman who was obviously in charge was the most revealing. The other commanders all wore hoods but she sat with her hood down, allowing the Spartan's enhanced eyes to see two very long, very pointy ears sticking out from behind her blonde hair.

As the giant human was taking in all of this, the soldier addressing him was moving forward, "I'm talking to you, _human._"

The disdain marking the word human brought the Spartan's icy emerald eyes back to the lead soldier.

"I asked you a question! How did you get out here?"

…

_Emile and the sangheili were falling…_

…

Noble Four squashed the memory before it could begin, he needed to stay focused. The situation was obviously hostile. Each soldier was holding a sword, seemingly made of the same metal as their armor, some where holding shields, others seemed to have their hands open for some reason, and the one who asked the question was advancing on him, albeit, rather slowly.

Emile subtly shifted his weight forward, ready to intercept the leader when another soldier asked a question.

"What happened to your clothes, Redguard?"

Emile tilted his head slightly at the question till a gentle breeze reminded him why someone might ask that question, he wasn't wearing a shirt. In his escape from Reach his MJOLNIR had rapidly deteriorated, so there he stood, in front of a small party of humanoid aliens in a pair of size eighteen combat boots, padded grey Kevlar battle pants, and no shirt.

But even then, the question made him halt somewhat, they had called him a Redguard, the aliens speak English, it was entirely possible that they had encountered humans before, though it was entirely possible that these people weren't friendly with humans.

Finally, the woman in charge spoke up from her horse, "Enough of this; detain this… human…" again with the distaste, "and we shall execute him with the others."

_Others?_ A slight shift of movement ninety degrees to the Spartan's left caught his attention. Three wagons, one had four people in it, the two facing him definitely human, the second one had five humans in it, and the third was filled with human corpses. Guarding the convoy were more humanoids in leather armor, though they had different skin color and may actually be human.

More questions sprang up in Noble Four's mind, why were the guards on the convoy different than the soldiers still standing around him? Why were they dressed like ancient Roman Legionnaires? Why were humans helping aliens execute humans?

A hand reached for Emile's right arm, cutting off his musings and switching his mind from passively observant, to destructively active.

Twisting the offending arm with his right hand, a sickening snap was heard as the arm was pulled out of its socket and the forearm bones crushed under the Spartan's iron grip. Before the soldier could cry out, Emile's left fist met his right jaw, crushing the light, pliable metal and the wiry alien's jaw. Another snap was heard as the head jerked back fast enough to actually separate the skull from the spine, causing the head to roll loosely as the Spartan allowed the body to fall to the ground.

A split second passed as the events sank in to the audience before the seven alien soldiers still alive sprang into action. The lead soldier approached from the super soldier's left, shield raised and sword drawn back ready to plunge into waiting flesh.

With a battle cry, the alien charged forward, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by Emile's palm flat against the shield. The alien thrust his sword forward towards the towering human, but was deflected as his dead comrade's sword swept it to the side before coming across, slashing the yellow skin of the throat.

Emile deflected another soldier's sword and ran him through in one swift, fluid motion, and left the sword buried in the alien's body as he ran forward.

Another alien raised her shield and brought her sword in a sweeping undercut, an undercut that the Spartan merely leapt over, as well as the soldier herself. Twisting in midair, Emile landed behind the soldier, grabbed both sides of her head, and twisted.

An imperceptible *twang* filled Noble Four's ears. Using immeasurably fast reaction times, the Spartan twisted his upper body, caught the broad arrow, and spun back to jam the arrowhead into the neck of another charging alien.

Grabbing the sword out of the falling soldier's sheath, Emile spun, deflected another arrow, reared his arm back, and flung the sword forward. Spinning end over end, the golden blade buried itself in the archer's chest.

The soldiers backed off of him now, keeping their distance as one of their commanders raised his arm. Emile barely saw the action, but he definitely heard the fire building in the alien's hands and he contorted his body to avoid the ball of fire.

Righting himself, he made eye contact with the alien on horseback, meeting the commander's orange eyes with his own icy emeralds before leaping into action, literally, leaping. The alien's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets when he saw the impossibly huge human leap the twelve foot gap with ease, but Emile's fist helped push the eyes back into their sockets, and into the frontal lobe, and all the way through the back of the skull.

Emile turned to attack another nearby soldier when something struck him from behind. There was no warning, no sound, just a sudden stiffness in his muscles. The Spartan resisted, slapping the sword of a charging soldier away and breaking the alien's nose.

Before he could turn to see what struck him, Emile was hit again, his muscles going completely taught. He fell to the ground; face first, completely unable to even move his fingers. It was a miracle he could still breathe.

"Quickly, before he snaps out of it!" he heard the lead alien shout.

As soon as the order was given, he felt something solid connect with the back of his head. If he had to guess, the alien must have meant the blow to kill, but thanks to an unbreakable skull, the blow only managed to knock him out.

…

Ralof watched, stunned, as the elves stood over the massive Redguard. The Nord made eye contact with his commander and personal hero Ulfric Stormcloak, and could see the same stunned expression that must be plastered all over his own face. What kind of man could kill six Thalmor soldiers, resist a paralysis spell then knock out a seventh, before succumbing to two paralysis spells at once?

The speed at which the huge man moved was incredible. Like liquid lightning the dark skinned man moved from elf to elf with a grace that made the Thalmor look like they were horkers attempting to fight off the Heroes of Sovengarde, but rather than multiple heroes, they were only fighting one man. One impossibly huge man.

_Too bad he's dead,_ Ralof thought. After the Redguard had gone down, an elf moved in with a mace and swung.

"Auri-El's grace, he's still alive!"

Ralof looked back up at the noise. How? How could he have survived that? This man was absolutely ridiculous, completely impossible. Capable of leaping great distances, killing man or mer with a single strike, and snatching an arrow out of midair, this Redguard was obviously no mere man, he was something more.

That bitch, Elenwen, spoke up, "He won't be for long. Tullius, have your men load him onto a cart."

"I don't take orders from you, Ambassador," General Tullius responded.

Ralof blinked at the response, he had always assumed that the Military Governor was used to bending over backwards for the damn Aldmeri Dominion, but here he was, essentially telling Elenwen to fuck off.

"All of my men are dead, General. Which reminds me, where were _your _soldiers during all of this?"

"Making sure the rebels didn't make run for it," Tullius retorted, "and not all of your men are dead."

With that final remark, the General turned his horse and moved to the front of the wagon line. Ralof looked at the Imperial with a new level of respect as he passed the wagon, even Ulfric's eyes didn't hold the same level of hate they normally did for the smaller man.

Elenwen sneered at the General's back before snapping at her subordinates. The two elves atop the horses scrambled down to help the soldiers move him, casting telekinesis to lighten the load for the two soldiers not killed, after they woke the unconscious one back up, of course.

When they finally managed to get the massive man over to the wagon line they approached Ralof's, obviously intent on putting him on. Both Ralof and Ulfric moved to the side, to allow them to put the prisoner deeper in the cart, but the thief sitting next to Ralof had an objection.

"You can't put him in here! He'll kill us all when he wakes up, you haven't even restrained him. He- OOF!"

The thief was silenced by Ralof, "Silence you fool, do you want them to kill us?"

The two soldiers hauling the huge man sneered at the thief before dumping the Redguard at the front of the cart, opposite Ralof and right next to the fourth passenger of the wagon, a girl. She was a high elf, obviously not Thalmor though, if the tattered rags she was wearing was any indication.

She was also young, at least young looking. With elves, who knew, but she was certainly a sight to behold. Her eyes were still closed, due to her being unconscious, so Ralof had no idea what color those were, but if red hair meant the same for mer as it did for men, then her eyes were either blue or green. Her skin was more of a pleasant golden tan, rather than the typical sickly yellow most Altmer displayed.

As soon as the newcomer was set down, the elf immediately shifted towards him in her slumber, so far as to rest her head on the bigger man's shoulder, making Ralof smirk.

The convoy kicked off again, and the wagon lurched forward, and soon they were feeling the stones beneath the wagon as they moved on towards their final fate. The elf's face as she continued sleeping relaxed; obviously she wasn't suffering from nightmares, but the Redguard's face contracted, into an expression of exertion. Whatever he was dreaming wasn't very nice.

…

_Emile and the field marshal were falling, the elite was already doomed and the Spartan didn't have a very high chance of survival either, not unless he could separate himself from the alien._

_Bringing his knees to his chest, the super soldier kicked the sangheili away from him, or at least he tried to. The massive covenant warrior was holding on, intent on taking the accursed 'Demon' with him. _

_Still holding his kukri in his left hand, Emile jammed the twelve inch titanium blade deep into the unarmored midsection of the alien, bringing forth a waterfall of blue tinted blood, and loosening its death grip enough for the Spartan to kick again, this time with a measure of success._

_While he had managed to put some distance between himself and the field marshal, two four fingered hands desperately clung to the super soldier. Noble Four wrenched the knife from the alien's gut and picked a new target, its head._

_Lashing out with all of his strength, the Merciless Wrath of Noble lodged the blade deep into the alien's brain, causing the alien to let go, but also causing the kukri to slip out of Emile's grip. He didn't have any time to attempt to retrieve the blade as both he and his dead adversary slammed into a deep pool of water._

_The elite hit first, back first, then Emile hit the water just where the alien had gone in, slamming into the water like a ton of bricks. The MJOLNIR's shields blew out from the impact and the gel layer was ripped away in pieces between the super dense titanium plates. If he had had time to lock his armor, overload his shields, the fall damage would have been minimal, even without water, but as it stood now, the twenty foot deep pool was the only thing that saved him._

_Water was beginning to leak into his helmet from the tears in his gel layer as Emile stood on bottom of the deep pond. Kicking the body of the dead field marshal out of the way, the Spartan began moving through the murky waters. Three hundred feet later, Emile could see light from the surface, but his helmet was also half full of water._

_Bursting from the pond at its shores, the super soldier ripped his helmet off, spewing water from his mouth onto the rocky beach he found himself on. A surprised warble alerted him to the fact he was _not_ alone._

_The Spartan looked up from his knees and found three sangheili warriors that must have been trying to cut off inbound convoys from reaching the Autumn. The lead alien was one of the biggest Emile had ever seen, nearly nine feet tall, and was clad in the golden armor of a general, energy sword in its right hand. The other two were far less impressive, merely the standard eight feet tall of their species and wearing white ranger armor._

_Emile was the first one to jump into action, throwing his skull engraved helmet at the ranger to the general's left then charging the golden elite. The general brought the sword upwards in a diagonal slash, but was too slow as Emile grabbed the arm, spun with it, and buried the sword in the ranger to the general's right. Using the big elite's momentary loss in focus, the Spartan slipped his second combat knife from his left shoulder pad, this one underneath the titanium plate, and bringing it up through the massive aliens mandibles and through the brain._

_Letting both aliens drop to the rocky beach, Emile ducked underneath a massive two toed hoof headed straight for his helmetless head. Rising underneath the outstretched appendage, the Spartan flipped the alien on to its back before rearing back and finishing it off with another fatal stab to the brain._

_The super soldier snatched his helmet back up from the ground, ignoring the screaming in his muscles as he slid the very expensive technological marvel back onto his head. Only then did he allow himself to feel the aching throughout his body. Weeks of constant fighting capped off with falling two thousand feet left Emile weak, tired, and slow._

_Gritting his teeth, Noble Four stood up, ignoring any pain, any feeling of weariness, and began moving. The giant figure of the Autumn next to him lit up with activity, the launch thrusters were beginning to ignite. Emile had to get out of there fast if he wanted to avoid being roasted alive by the massive retro-rockets._

_Before he got far, however, a loud blast was heard, echoing throughout the canyon and beyond, followed by a massive boom as the covenant cruiser above them absorbed a hypersonic round directly through the main plasma coils. Secondary explosions rocked the vessel and it veered away from the Pillar of Autumn, managing to make it nearly a kilometer before falling into the bay after a particularly large explosion._

"_Good work Six," Emile spoke, hoping to get a reaction out of the female spartan, but to his surprise, only silence answered._

"_Six? SIX!" Emile grabbed at the right side of his helmet, where the radio transceiver was stored, but only found a pack of wires attached to nothing, "Wonderful." _

_Emile began hoofing it up a dirt slope in the side of the canyon, hoping to meet up with Six, maybe even find a way off of Reach before the Covenant could glass it._

_The light behind him intensified, the Autumn was taking off, a roar bellowed throughout shipyards as the massive retro-rockets lifted the multi-million ton vessel out of its dock and into the air. Smoke followed the Spartan as Emile sprinted the last hundred yards up the trail to avoid being annihilated by the rocket burn. He made it to the top of the artificial canyon when the rockets dropped off the bottom of the ship, allowing the Autumn's powerful engines to take over, smashing through the sound barrier and blasting through the upper atmosphere._

_The Spartan turned away from the canyon, not even vibrating under the massive shockwave following the sonic boom, despite the fact the environment was not as stable. Like the Specter of Death, Emile walked._

_He followed Noble Six's trail of dead bodies, picking off the stragglers, even decimating scores of Covenant hunters attempting to track down the Lone Wolf. Of the hundreds of bodies on the trail behind him, Emile left at least half of them. Elites, brutes, hunters, jackals, and grunts, anything the Covenant could throw at him in the open terrain, Emile struck down with impunity. _

_Even without his shotgun, or his kukri, Noble Four was an absolute weapons expert. Perfection was the name of his game, absolute perfection with every weapon type he could get his hands on. Assault rifles, battle rifles, pistols, obviously shotguns, in fact, the only human made weapon he wasn't absolutely perfect with was the sniper rifle. He was a master by marine standards, even an expert amongst ODST's, but among his fellow Spartans? He was merely… average._

_Perfection didn't end with chemically propelled weapons. Emile was an expert at handling plasma powered weaponry, finding plasma repeaters was always an excellent compliment to his devastating shotgun, and an energy sword was always a perfect prize. This was his weaponry as he moved forward, finding bodies with still bleeding wounds, and moving towards the sound of gunfire._

_It was coming from a base, a small garrison was placed here; many of whom were slumped over at their posts, plasma burns cutting all the way through their dead flesh. Another phantom was making a pass at the base, dropping off four elite ultras and a field marshal directly on top of the gunfire._

"_Hang on Six, don't die yet," Emile muttered as he began moving towards the small outpost._

_On the perimeter of the outpost patrols of sangheili minors and their squads of grunts faced inwards, attempting to get a view of the battle within, of course this left them open to attack from behind. Emile kept the plasma repeater on his back and energy sword on his thigh, he couldn't risk being detected early._

_An eight inch carbon steel knife plunged through the spinal column of one blue armored elite, dropping it to the ground in silence. The Spartan then moved with speed that anyone watching would have been unable to follow, flowing from one unaware alien to the next as his knife moved through the air leaving a thin trail of blue blood. The last alien, an elite major, turned to face the Spartan, evidently hearing the last grunt collapse to the ground, but was too late. A slash to the throat ended the alien's life without any resistance, spilling a waterfall of metallic blue blood onto the cement._

_The gunfire was growing in intensity; the frantic warbles of high ranking sangheili were also growing more aggressive. Six was in a bad way, more high ranking sword wielders were inbound, and Emile was still a full minute out._

_Noble Four intercepted three ultras on their way towards the fight, using his energy sword to split the first one across the waist, the second one lost a head, and the third one took a slash across the back, severing the spine. _

_The skull clad warrior bolted between two concrete buildings on his way towards the sounds of fighting. The gunfire had stopped, but the aggressive warbling was still going on. Emile intercepted another elite, this time a zealot, and tackled the alien to the ground. He reared back and delivered a powerful punch to the alien's right eye, snapping the head back and snapping its neck._

_The Spartan leapt to his feet, sprinting off again, hoping to get to Six before she was killed. He was too late._

_He burst into the courtyard to a field of corpses, and the death of a fellow Spartan. Noble Six was being held down by an ultra. A field marshal stood above the woman, energy dagger on his gauntlet engaged. Emile was already running before the dagger was moving but even then, he was too late._

_The dagger plunged into the female Spartan's heart, burning it away and most of the other internal organs. There was no chance of survival, Six never stood a chance._

…

Emile awoke to the feeling of something nestled up against his right shoulder. Looking down, he found another one of those aliens from before leaning on him. The female alien was unconscious, undoubtedly a blow to the back of the head, if the welt back there was anything to go by.

This alien was different from the others, and not just because of the darker skin tone, or the unusual hair color. It was the fact she was clothed in what had to have been a potato sack not fifteen minutes before she put it on, not to mention the fact her hands were bound.

Speaking of being bound, Emile noticed a rather heavy pair of iron chains binding his hands. At least a foot of the grey metal was wrapped around his wrists, while the other prisoners in the cart were only bound with cloth.

A small moan sounded to the Spartan's right, the alien was waking up. She opened up a pair of ocean blue eyes to find dark skin. Blinking she looked up, making eye contact with Emile's frosty gaze. Here eyes widened at the situation she was in and she sat upright as fast as she could, blushing furiously. She reached up with her bound hands and brushed away a little bit of drool from the Spartan's shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbled, catching the attention of the blonde human sitting across from them.

"Hey," he said, sounding amused, "you two are _finally_ awake!"

The alien smiled back, but Emile just stared, "You were trying to cross the border, right?"

The female nodded back "Got caught in the Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

Both Emile and the girl turned to look at a skinny, darker man, "Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If I hadn't got caught in that ambush I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, _thief_," the blonde man replied softly.

Emile listened to every word as astutely as possible. Categorizing information and saving it for later. He didn't recognize any of the names, Skyrim, Stormcloak, Hammerfell, but whatever this Empire was, he was guessing that they were the ones leading this wagon train.

"What about you, eh?" the thief asked the bound and gagged man on Emile's side, "What do they got you for?"

"Watch your tongue!" the blonde man reprimanded hotly, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

This put an expression of worry on the thief's face, "Ulfric Stormcloak? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But that means, if they've captured you. Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"

"I don't know where we're going," the blonde man said with a trace of melancholy, "but Sovengarde awaits."

"You mean?" the woman asked, speaking up for the first time.

"Aye, lass, the headsman is sharpening his axe."

Emile was already thinking up a means of escape. Judging by the ancient weaponry and technology the guards were running around with, he wouldn't have any trouble getting away through the forest. Even without his armor, the Spartan was faster than a horse. Of course there was still that unknown power he had encountered earlier. The firebolt that he narrowly avoided, and whatever paralyzed him earlier wasn't a toxin. If he had to guess, he'd say the two were related.

Noble Four looked towards the end of the wagon train, spotting those aliens from the forest. Though they wore different uniforms than the humans around him, the two were definitely aligned in their intention to kill him.

Emile continued to consider other ways out. If they were with the leader of a rebellion, it was likely the leader of this unit of soldiers wanted the spectacle to be public, probably a populated city. It would be easier to avoid those… unknown powers if there was a crowd to go through, buildings to take cover behind.

A sharp jolt on the wagon broke the Spartan's thoughts, causing him to look forward to where they were headed. A large wall stood at either side of the road, a gate in between each wall that opened up to reveal a small, medieval town. Houses made from wood fit snugly inside the stone walls surrounding the town and a faint trail of smoke could be seen coming from each chimney.

A voice called out, "Everything is read, General."

"Good, let's get this over with!" the general replied with a weary voice. He was a smaller man, wearing armor that was incredibly reminiscent of the Roman Legion and riding a horse that was obviously bred for war.

His horse trotted to the side to allow the wagon train to pass as the aliens rode up to him. It was here that the blonde man decided to speak again.

"General Tullius, the Military Governor!" he spat, "and it looks like the Thalmor are with him, damn elves!" he looked at the female sitting next to Emile, "uh, no offense."

"They're no friends of mine," she replied.

Emile furrowed his brow. Elves? Like, Lord of the Rings elves? Where the hell was he?

Suddenly the line stopped, causing the thief to speak up again, "W-why are we stopping!"

"Why do you think? End of the line."

The elf next to Emile closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her face. The Spartan had no idea what possessed him to do this, but he nudged her as the wagon made its final stop. When she looked up at him, the super soldier gave her a nod of encouragement. She nodded back, used the cloth binding her hands to wipe her eyes, then stood up with the rest of the wagon's occupants.

She was definitely a tall woman, the top of her head coming even with Emile's chin, meaning she stood at least half a head taller than the rest of the prisoners. The potato sack acting as her shirt was a little short for her, providing the Spartan behind her with a perfect view of her lower back, stoking a primal desire that Emile crushed with impunity.

Her skin was smooth; she had no scars and probably had never seen much in the way of battle. Emile wondered briefly if she came from money, especially considering her hands and feet showed no calluses, but considering she wasn't human, the Spartan really couldn't say for sure if that meant anything.

There was a human with a book and a quill, crossing off names as he called them out. Every name coincided with a prisoner walking towards a chopping block, forming a crowd around it. A burly man with an axe stood next to the block, sharpening his tool.

The thief, Lokir, as it turned out, tried to run, and was cut down by a vigilante troop of archers. Emile realized that if he was going to escape, it would have to be near the chopping block, so as to not provide the archers with a clear line of sight.

The man was crossing off Lokir's name when he came to the last two, Emile and the female elf, "Wait, you there, elf, step forward."

She looked back at the Spartan, who just closed his eyes and nodded his head, and stepped forward. The man seemed to look at her closely, "Who, are you?"

**There it is, Chapter One! I've had this idea brewing in my head for a while, I hope you don't mind me publishing just one itsy witsy chapter. I really enjoyed writing this one, I feel as though I have the action sequences for Emile down perfectly. **

**Now I know there are some questions you guys will have. No, Emile will not be the Dragonborn, he will not use magic, and he will most likely not see another Halo character until this story is pretty much over! **

**I don't want him to use magic for the same reason he won't be the Dragonborn, he's not from Tamriel! He won't have those abilities, plus he's already way overpowered compared to everyone else! It's why I took away his MJOLNIR! Could you imagine how stupidly unfair that would be!?**

**Not to mention that his warrior spirit is the perfect compliment to the character I will have as the Dragonborn. I haven't figured her name yet but I do know her skill set. She was on her way to the College of Winterhold to learn more about magic away from the politics of Cyrodiil and the Aldmeri Dominion and is incredibly skilled in all schools. That said, she has no ability with the sword, whatsoever. It's atrocious, and will be relying on Emile to be the muscle.**

**Her personality will compliment Emile's as well. being more carefree and generally happy compared to the Spartan.**

**Any other questions stick them in the reviews.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Guess who?! WRONG! I'm sorry, I have no idea what your answer was but you're just all so… special? Anyway, this is the second chapter of my absolutely blockbuster Halo/Skyrim story, or, you know, my regular ass Halo/Skyrim story. As you all should have a fairly decent idea by now, I like to get two chapters for one story out as fast as possible, just so you guys can have an idea for the progression of the story line. I can drop hints, answer questions, and argue a few points preemptively.**

**Now I know a couple of you already know my opinion on this, mcknight93 especially, but I feel as though I should bring it up. Project CHRYSANTHEMUM, the Spartan III augmentation procedures, were almost the exact same as the Spartan II's procedures except for essentially two key elements. They never received the thyroid implant, I don't believe anyway, which means they never had the unnatural accelerated growth, and most of the III's didn't come from the same gene pool as the II's. Well I have been reading up on this on Halopedia and found something interesting. The Spartan III's of Noble Team are all share the exact same genetic markers as the Spartan II's. meaning they gained the same boost from each of the augmentations as the II's did. That's why they all received their own MJOLNIR and were placed together on a team. They may have been created along with the rest of the III's, but they were essentially all II's.**

**I'm sure I'll get plenty of flak for that, but you know what? I don't care. I just want you guys to know why Emile is capable of running at speeds that most II's couldn't handle. That's basically it.**

**Now onto some details about this story. I noticed a few people lamenting Emile losing his kukri, a fact that amused me. Fear not! Emile may have lost his signature knife, but in its place he shall fashion a fearsome kukri **_**sword**_**! Yes, I did not cause the Spartan to lose his knife without a backup plan in place! Now there is another piece of information about Emile's future I would like to share with you. I'm toying with the idea of Emile learning the trade of the blacksmith. As a Spartan I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for him to learn. In fact he'd probably kick ass at it, able to build a helmet with the ferocious visage of a skull, but I mostly want him to bring an element of the modern world to Skyrim. No, he's not going to build a gun, but actually I was thinking about him building a compound bow. I'm sure I don't need to tell you that a compound bow with a drawback of 75 pounds is equivalent to a recurve longbow with a drawback of 150 pounds. My thought was that he could create a compound bow with a drawback of nearly 200 pounds. Just an idea.**

**Now onto the story!**

"Who… are you?" the human with the list asked. He was staring at a high elf in rags standing next to a huge Redguard dressed only in the strangest looking pants and boots. The elf would be considered beautiful by nearly any culture, pleasant golden skin, oceanic blue eyes, bronzed red hair, and rather than her peoples generally pointy features, the points on her face were softened. If one would have to guess, one might have said she had at least one human ancestor a couple generations back.

Almost in stark contrast to the golden skinned beauty next to him, the massive human stood a full six inches taller than the woman next to him, who would be considered incredibly tall in her own right, at six foot ten inches. Dark skin rolled and rippled over massive muscles that bulged from his body. Not in the fashion that many Nords had muscle, big round bodies. Instead, this man sported a leaner build, clearly built for speed, but not taking away from his awesome strength.

Marring the giant's skin were scars, nearly a dozen of them. Some looked like they came from bladed weapons, long and neat, cutting across his entire body. Other's looked more like the direct result of a very powerful firebolt spell, twisted skin that had grown over burnt flesh. But there were some that didn't make any sense to the observers. Neat, almost perfectly symmetrical circles were clustered in various areas along his body. Arrows usually left an uglier looking scar when they were pulled out and swords and spears would have left a larger hole.

The elf stepped forward to answer the question, "M-my name is Alea. Alea Faladhen."

"What are you doing in Skyrim, Alea? You're certainly not from the Thalmor Embassy," the man inquired.

It looked like he was about to get an answer until the captain of the guard stepped in, her harsh voice admonishing the scribe, "Silence, Hadvar! We require her name for the record, not her life story! Get her to the block and keep going!"

"By your order, Captain," the man now identified as Hadvar said, "I'm sorry Alea, I'll make sure your remains are returned to Summerset Isle."

The golden skinned woman's eyes shot wide, she gave the scribe a pleading look, but the man just lowered his gaze back to the list, writing her name down and crossing it off. Alea looked back to the man beside her, but his eyes were locked on the unaware captain. Feeling abandoned, the elf trudged over to the other prisoners as Hadvar turned back to the huge Redguard.

"What's your name Redguard?"

A frosty pair of emeralds was his response. Hadvar shifted under the man's glare, "Your name."

Still silent, the captain moved forward, sword drawn, "Your name!"

When still, no answer came, she thrust the butt of her sword into the giant's abdomen. The pommel struck with a great force, certainly enough to double any man over, except this one. The sword bounced off the man's abs, not even causing the Redguard to flinch at the strike. The captain looked up into the cold emeralds of the giant man, mouth hanging open in awe of just how big he really was.

"When I get out of these chains," the man spoke for the first time, "You die first, and I'm not a Redguard, or whatever the fuck you been calling me. I'm a Spartan."

The captain backed off, "Put Spartan down on the record," she gulped, "And let's get this show on the road."

Emile silently snarled at the imperial as she moved off, walking quicker than she would have liked. The Spartan moved into the crowd of prisoners standing next to the chopping block. It wasn't much of a sight, just a literal block made of wood with a depression on once side so the heads would roll into a wooden crate. The headsman stood next to it, grim eyes set behind a black leather mask. He was a tall, muscular man, nothing next to Emile, of course, but he certainly cut an imposing figure. The headsman's tool of the trade only added to the imposing figure. The blade was notched from executions going back long before its wielder was even born.

Noble Four's footsteps were quiet as he approached the group of prisoners, all eyes on him after the quiet words he exchanged with the captain. Several of the 'Stormcloaks' moved away from the giant man as he strode up to the front of the crowd, right next to his fellow passengers from the cart. The elf's eyes locked with his, but unlike the others, hers showed no fear, instead her eyes displayed a type of pleading. She was asking him to find a way out, to do _something._ Luckily for her, Emile was never one to jump in without a plan.

"When it starts," the super soldier whispered, audible only to Alea, "get down."

Alea gulped deeply, and only gave the slightest of nods. She was a definite rookie when it came to high stress situations, she was sweating, shaking slightly, but all in all, she wasn't doing much worse than Emile was on his very first suicide mission. The only difference was the emotions coursing through them. When Emile was first condemned to a suicidal mission, he sweat, and he shook, but in an excitable giddiness, he was finally going to be able to kill, the very thing he was built to do.

The general of the Imperial soldiers walked up to the group of condemned, stopping at the bound and gagged man who was supposedly the leader of some rebellion. The shorter man wore an impressive set of armor, not steel, but perhaps some sort of bronze with golden accents. It was quite clearly made more for style than actual use, but as the various scrapes and scratches along the metal could attest, it had seen more than its fair share of use.

For the record, despite the man's smaller stature, he looked far more impressive than the fur clad man he now stood in front of. The Spartan quickly sized up the two of them, ascertaining threat levels, likely moves each would make when he made his moves, whether or not he would spare either of them the fallout. The one in furs, identified as Ulfric Stormcloak, according to Ralof from the wagon, would try to escape. He looked like an opportunistic fighter, preferring to fight when and only when he had the advantage, and only for himself.

The other man, General Tullius, would attempt to stop him, he seemed to have a strong sense of duty, as well as a disdain for the other elves wearing the black and gold robes. His stance showed a certain confidence when fighting, but not arrogance. He was a rigid commander, following strict adherence to protocol, that was evidenced by the way everything around him was set up. Archers at the perfect distance to strike effectively, while being close enough to the roads that if any prisoner made a break for it, they wouldn't get far. Tullius' rigidity was going to cost the general his life if Emile's plan worked.

"Jarl Ulfric," Tullius spoke up, loud enough for the entire village to hear, "Some people here in Helgen call you a hero. What kind of hero uses a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne?"

_Good question_, Emile thought to himself. The Jarl's muffled protest could be heard coming from behind the cloth, but the Spartan had made his judgment. He could see it in the man's eyes, his stance; he was a coward and a fool. Charismatic maybe, he had managed to get a good following going, obviously, but that led to arrogance and stupidity, as it had with this man. If Emile was ever pitted against this man, Ulfric Stormcloak would die.

"You started this war," Tullius continued calmly, "And now I will fulfill my duty to the Empire, and put you down. Captain, begin."

The captain seemed caught off guard by the request, hand on her hilt she had been staring at Emile with narrowed eyes, but soon caught herself, "Y-yes, General! Give them their last rites."

At that request, another woman stepped forward, this one wearing orange robes. She began speaking, some sort of religious talk, Emile didn't care, but everyone was looking at her, giving him time to begin his escape plan. His wrists were hard at work, slipping the chains loose. They still looked bound, but instead of being wrapped tightly in iron, his hands now clenched onto four feet of thick linked iron.

"Oh for the love of Talos," a Stormcloak yelled in frustration, "Shut up, and let's get this over with!"

Emile regarded the rebel with admiration as he boldly strode towards the chopping block, no fear, but a lot of pride. The priestess spoke again as the man stood in front of the block, "As you wish."

The captain moved forward, keeping an eye on the Spartan as she did so; truly he had gotten under her skin. She stood behind the prisoner, putting a boot into the back of the man's knee, forcing him forward onto his knees. The same boot she had put into the back of the man's knee was now on his lower back, pushing his neck down onto the block, nestling his head in the carved depression.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials," he spoke out in confidence as the headsman's axe ascended, "Can you say the same?"

The axe came down in a spray of blood. The headsman certainly had a level of skill, and plenty of strength. During a beheading like this, it usually took two strikes to completely take the head off, though a skilled executioner was capable of doing it in one.

The captain slid the body from the chopping block and a couple of men moved forward, two gathering the body, the third switching the wooden crate with a fresh one, when a roar was heard throughout the valley. Emile immediately tilted his head to the sky, as was everyone else, though no one else was capable of hearing the distinctive pounding of flapping wings like he heard now. Whatever it was, it was big, and had wings to match, and it was getting closer.

"What was that?" the scribe, Hadvar, asked.

"It was nothing," the captain dismissed shakily. First a giant Redguard who was stronger than a troll was threatening her life, now there was some beast? She obviously couldn't handle much, so she decided to get rid of one problem right now.

"Next, the Spartan!" That got some looks of confusion, though her sword was pointed directly at the man. Nevertheless, Emile took long confident steps as he started towards the block, giving the captain an unnerving smile.

The female soldier unsheathed her sword as he approached, "Sl-"

She never got to finish as Emile showed off a little sleight of hand. Flipping his wrists, the chain fell from his wrists and his right hand as his left lashed out. The captain went wide eyed as the chain wrapped itself around the hilt of her sword, they practically leapt from her sockets as the chain retracted, pulling the sword with it.

As Emile leapt into the air, crossing the distance between him and the captain, another roar reverberated through the town, the flapping near deafening to the Spartan. His left hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword in a reverse grip, his right hand cocked back ready to strike at the Imperial captain.

A dark winged figure appeared above the watchtower, shocking everyone with its presence, if they were not already shocked at the turn of events happening at the execution below the tower, and landed at the same time as Emile's fist.

It wasn't clear which made the louder noise. The dragon shook the very ground with its heavy frame when it allowed its full weight to slam into the top of the tower, but Emile's fist bent steel as it drove into the captain's helmet, forming a dent that ended some four inches deep into the woman's brain, killing her.

Whoever was louder, it didn't really matter. The situation was officially out of control. Emile looked up as the dragon looked down, burning emeralds meeting the dragon's fiery pits. The reptile's maw opened and a small shockwave burst out into every direction, causing thick grey clouds to form in the sky before they began swirling directly above the dragon.

It opened its maw again, releasing a much more powerful wave of energy, liquefying the internal organs of several Imperial archers taking aim at the dragon, sending them flying into the far wall of the town.

Emile watched the effects of these powers the monster exhibited, small meteorites were falling all around town, the archers sure weren't getting up, and it most certainly could fly. Snapping back into action, the Spartan turned and sprinted for the tower behind the prisoners. Most were already in the tower, but Alea seemed to be petrified by the dragon.

Noble Four didn't waste time getting her attention, instead opting to simply scoop the elf woman off her feet and into the tower. Crossing the six or seven meters to the tower in two long strides, Emile shoved Ralof aside, dropped the stunned elf, and slammed the wooden door behind him.

The blonde Nord shook himself off as he rose to his feet, "Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing?" Emile internally sighed, here he was in a world full of magic, and he was the only one who recognized a dragon, "Could the legends be true?" Or maybe not.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied.

Emile looked around the room they, and four other Stormcloak soldiers, huddled in. there was a staircase spiraling up the height of the tower, possibly a way out. Several of the rebels lay around on a straw bale, catching their breath and tending to wounds. Nothing in the bottom level was of use to the Spartan if he were to escape, he'd have to go up.

Alea rose to her feet beside the super soldier, obviously shaken form the way he had thrown her around, though she was grateful for the fact he had saved her life. Her deep blues sought out his emeralds, hoping that he wouldn't decide to abandon her now, and took a step back. In the wagon the man's eyes had regarded her and everything with a look that could outdo any blizzard, but looking now, Alea thought she might catch on fire.

The tower shook and Emile jerked his head toward the staircase, letting the elf know where he was going, even as Ulfric spoke again, "We need to move, NOW!"

Alea sprinted to keep up with her newfound ally as he simply leaped up the stairs, and was right behind him as he approached a Stormcloak attempting to clear some rubble, "If we can just move some of the – ,"

The poor man never got a chance to finish as the wall next to him imploded, burying him under more rubble as a scaly midnight maw peered through the hole it had created. A hellish red eye opened up behind two layers of eyelids, but it only saw the fist.

Alea blinked, had this man actually just punched a _dragon_? In the eye?

The massive creature reared its head back out of the hole, roaring in anger. It opened its tremendous jaws, undoubtedly getting ready to roast the, comparatively, puny mortals alive, but was cut off again. Emile flung the sword he had stolen from the Imperial captain at the creature. It managed to close its mouth in time, but was awarded with a steel blade striking its nose. The ancient scales repelled the blade with ease, but it was thrown with no small amount of force as the blade shattered and the dragon roared in annoyance again, this time opting to simply fly off.

Emile glared at the reptile as it flew off, unaware of the two awed people behind him.

"Gods," Ralof whispered, "what kind of man are you?"

Emile spun, leveling his burning gaze at the elf and the Nord, "I'm a Spartan!"

With that said, the super soldier leapt from the hole, landing on a former load bearing beam of the building next to them before dropping down through the hole in its roof. Had he simply leapt to the floor, his four hundred pound frame would have simply gone right through, burning building or not. The Spartan turned to look back up through the hole, gesturing to his elvish companion.

She returned the look with one of worry, to which Emile responded by holding out his arms. _Well, _Alea thought,_ he hasn't led me astray so far._ Closing her eyes, the Altmer jumped…

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist before setting her down onto the floor. She opened up her eyes to find that the Spartan was already moving towards the other end of the building. Alea quickly followed. The super soldier turned to look back at her as he reached the end, before dropping down through a hole through the floor.

This time Emile didn't have to catch the Altmer as she readily followed the giant man, believing he wouldn't lead her to her death. As soon as she hit the floor she was greeted with the site of one of her would-be executioners running towards her with an old man, a young boy, and a middle aged man in tow. The middle aged man tripped as they were running, collapsing onto the street.

Hadvar, the man leading the trio turned at the man's cry, "Torolf!"

The aforementioned Torolf rolled over onto his back, grabbing hold of his knee, obviously in too great of pain to move. Hadvar moved to help the man get to safety when the midnight dragon returned, landing on the street and looming over the injured man.

Alea's eyes went wide as she watched the massive creature stand over Torolf. Movement to her left caught her eye as her savior ripped a post off the railing of the inn they had just moved through. One end was splintered down into a sharp end, and that end found itself hurtling towards the dragon.

Its mouth wide open, the nightmare never had a chance to defend itself as the splintered end struck its muscular tongue. Even here the flesh was too strong for the wood to find purchase, but it definitely hurt more than the sword to the snout had, and was evidenced by the dragon letting loose a deafening roar before fixing its hellish gaze on the Spartan. With one beat of its mighty wings, the beast blasted back into the air.

Hadvar turned in amazement at the giant man, blinking in awe at the dark skinned man as he simply rushed by, grabbed Torolf, and dragged him into cover underneath the awning of one of the few buildings still standing. Not even stopping to ask the man if he was alright, Emile motioned for Alea and kept running.

He wasn't sure why he kept helping the elf, but something about her was nagging at the back of his mind. Some instinct, the same instinct that had told him to tackle the zealot off of the mini-MAC rather than taking a second shot, was telling him she was important. Regardless, his number one priority at the moment was making sure he made it out alive, but he would save Alea as long as that didn't interfere with his primary objective.

The two found themselves slowing down as they entered a narrow alley between one stone wall and another burning building. They both kept an eye on the sky as the walked quickly towards the alley's exit, but the dragon seemed to be avoiding this particular part of town.

Turning right, Emile led Alea out through yet another burning building and into an open courtyard filled with soldiers firing arrows into the sky. Others were shooting some kind of firebolt out of their hands, but Emile would have time to worry about the implications later. As the Spartan turned towards what looked like a keep, he made eye contact with General Tullius. The two stared at each other for a few seconds, meaning neither was looking in the sky for the dragon. Fortunately Alea was.

Choosing to act rather than speak, the elf tackled Emile to the ground, an impressive feat, just as the massive reptile's talons scraped at the area the two were. Seemingly dancing on its two feet while beating its massive wings, the dragon turned towards the Spartan, clearly singling him out of the crowd and opened its maw again. This time Emile had no weapon to stop the tremendous power it was about to unleash.

Alea wracked her brain as the dragon's mouth opened wider, what could she do to save them? This man she was with had saved her more times in the last two minutes than she could count; she had to return the favor, at least once. Alea was an accomplished mage, but her hands were still bound, limiting her options for spell casting, leaving only one spell that would work. She just hoped wards could block dragon fire.

Extending her arms she used all her gathered magicka to create a magical barrier just big enough to cover the two of them.

**YOL, TOOR SHUL!**

Alea nearly lost control of the spell as she heard the words blast form the dragon's mouth. It was a good thing she didn't, because as soon as the words were released, so was the fire.

Emile looked up at the elf sitting over him, arms extended, repelling the fire with what looked like some sort of directed energy shield. The Spartan sighed at the further implications, _first elves, then dragons, now what can only be described as magic. Great, I'm in fuckin Narnia._

The blaze died away just as Alea ran out of energy to keep the ward up, slumping over exhausted. The dragon roared again in anger as it saw that the infuriating human was still alive, but finally the combined force of dozens of arrows and several firebolts forced the beast into the sky.

Emile leapt to his feat, hauling the elf woman up with him as he sprinted for the keep. The Spartan practically dragged the Altmer along as he passed through a wooden gate leading to the keep.

As the two approached the stone fortress, the blonde Nord from their cart came from the other side of Helgen, carrying an axe.

"This way!" Ralof yelled, "Into the keep!"

Emile changed his direction, and Alea's, and dashed for the closest door into the keep. The door was locked, but one kick shattered the oak door, revealing another door at the end of a small corridor, this one not locked. Emile held the door open long enough for Ralof to get in before slamming it shut.

…

Alduin roared again, reveling in the fear the puny joors displayed. Most had realized it was a futile fight. That nothing they had could destroy the powerful god, and he _was_ a god. The leader of the uniformed humans was barking orders, trying to keep his pitiful army alive and his own fear under control. Alduin would show him the folly of his ways.

Tilting his wings downward, the great black wyrm dove towards a group of soldiers. The dragon relished in the panicked looks in their puny faces as they ran from him, but no matter how fast they ran, his fire would find them.

**YOL, TOOR SHUL!**

Leather armor burned away, skin blackened, and blood boiled as the Thu'um's terrible fire poured from the dragon's mouth. One had managed to get out of the fire's path, but not Alduin's. Great black talons grabbed the soldier, shredding through the weak armor, and spilling the joors guts.

The midnight beast soared back into the sky. Meteors had stopped falling, and anyone who was still alive was gone, making their escape into the forest while Alduin had been slaughtering the soldiers. Still, Alduin lingered, soaring over the town of Helgen, content to allow the frightened survivors to run off into their hovels and share their fear.

The God of Destruction also lingered over the town for different reasons. There had been a joor, bigger than the rest, who had physically struck the wyrm several times. None of the strikes managed to injure him, but Alduin's left eye was still sore from where the human had punched him, and he would likely be spitting splinters for the next few days.

But even this did not worry the Firstborn of Akatosh; no it was the human's companion. Alduin could feel the latent power within the elf woman, and it worried him. Even with a magical ward, the elf could have only survived Alduin's fire breath if she herself was a dovah.

Roaring again in anger, Alduin dove down, grabbed a boulder with his talons, and flung it towards the stone fortress she and the two other joors had run into.

The Dovahkiin will not stop Alduin. He will eat this world!

…

Two humans and one elf stood quietly in a small circular room, two of them catching their breath, the other observing the room. Emile looked at one end of the room, seeing a wooden portcullis, why they had a portcullis inside was completely unknown to the Spartan, and at the other end was a rusty iron door. Neither would be too hard for the super soldier to smash down, but Emile had no idea which way to go. Medieval keeps tended to be connected to an underground passage, so that officers and civilians could evacuate in case the enemy proved to be too much, but the Spartan didn't know which way led to the underground passage.

As he looked around the room for clues as to which way to go, Emile came across a dead body, wearing the same black and blue cloth over iron mail that Ralof was wearing. Noble Four rolled the dead Stormcloak over, finding that this man had died clutching an axe in his hand, and a dagger in his gut.

"Gunjar," Ralof said, seeing Emile stooped over the body. He got closer, seeing the stab wound in the gut, "We'll meet again in Sovengarde, brother."

Ralof looked at Emile, "Go ahead, take Gunjar's gear, he won't be needing it anymore."

The Spartan slide the dagger out of the dead body, wiping it on the thick blue wool of the Stormcloak uniform he turned to Alea and gestured towards her bonds. The Altmer held out her bound hands, happy to finally be rid of the binding cloth. As soon as the rags were cut, Emile flipped the dagger over in his hand and offered it to the elf, handle first.

Alea raise an eyebrow as she took the small iron blade, "What if I wanted the axe?"

Emile just stared back as Alea nervously laughed at her own joke before stopping and murmuring, "Sorry."

Ralof spoke up again, "We need to find a way out," he moved towards the iron door, "Damn it! It's locked, maybe the-,"

Emile silenced him with a hand signal and pressed himself up against the wall near the portcullis, the others mimicking him without question. At first there was only silence, but soon both Alea and Ralof could hear voices coming from beyond the hallway.

"Imperials," Ralof hissed. Emile shot him a glare, and the Nord shut up, backing further into the stone wall.

"Get the door open!" one of the Imperial soldiers yelled, he sounded like a bigger guy, and every step he made was accompanied by a clank, leading Emile to believe he was the only one wearing heavy armor.

"Yes sir!" another soldier replied. She sounded confident, and her steps were light. She was most likely the most skilled swordsman of the group, but she was definitely wearing light armor, and wouldn't last long if she was too slow.

"I don't like this, sir," a man spoke up. Though the statement was nervous, the tone was merely cautious, "This could be a trap." This man was a guy that should be in charge, but due to the bureaucracy of any military, was still suffering under poor leaders.

"Shut up! Open the door soldier!"

Emile considered his options. One punch each to the head would kill all three of them, maybe two for the heavily armored man, but each punch would cost him time, and in the narrow hallway he wouldn't have the space to dodge any blows. He could use the axe to kill one at a range, throw it right into the woman's chest then deal with the other two, but he'd still be at risk. As the portcullis slid into the floor, Emile came up with a new plan.

The leader of the group grabbed the cautious man and pushed him in first. As soon as the bald man stepped through two large hands grabbed him and threw him to the other side of the room. Ralof didn't let the opportunity go to waste as he leapt upon the Imperial soldier, hacking at him with his axe.

The female soldier came in next, thrusting at the Spartan who grabbed her wrist and flung her past him straight into the stone wall next to Alea. The Altmer reacted instinctually as she thrust her dagger towards her opponent. Having never used weapons before, her thrust was pitiful and weak, but it did cut the soldier's arm deeply. The woman grunted as she felt the iron cut all the way to the bone, but she still had enough strength to turn, sword in her left hand, and slash at the elf.

Alea ducked under the slash and pushed the woman away. The soldier righted herself and was about to charge back when Alea finally just did what she knew how to do best. Extending both arms, electricity arced between her and the female soldier, lifting the Imperial off her feet and throwing her back against the stone wall. Alea continued to pump the magical lightning into the soldier even as she writhed against the wall. When the elf finally released the magic, the soldier was emitting smoke and was most assuredly dead.

Back with Emile, the Spartan towered over the armored soldier in front of him. The steel clad soldier struck out with his sword, but it was slapped out of his hands by an iron axe. Emile brought the axe up for an overhead strike but the Imperial managed to get his shield up in time. The axe stuck inside the steel, allowing the super soldier to rip the defensive piece of wood and metal away from the officer, tossing both shield and axe behind him.

Two quick jabs disoriented the soldier, both denting the steel helmet, but it was only a ruse to allow the Spartan to pick the Imperial up. Holding the officer overhead by the collar and the groin, Emile flipped the man over and slammed him down on his knee, shattering the man's spine through the steel plates.

Emile left the corpse were it lay, only stopping to pick up the deceased's sword, and turned back into the circular room. He saw that Ralof had picked his man off with ease, but Alea seemed to have more trouble. Speaking of Alea, she looked shaken about something.

The Spartan approached the elf woman and put a hand on her shoulder to steady her shaking. She opened up her eyes after taking a deep breath and looked into Emile's who asked, "First time?"

She nodded quickly before taking another deep breath and calming herself. She looked down at herself, a small amount of blood had sprayed along her 'shirt' and along the rough cloth wrapped around her feet, "I need some shoes."

Emile turned to the female soldier that Alea had electrocuted and compared the boots on her feet to the elf's barefeet. They were not a good match.

"I think these might be a good fit," Ralof said from the other side of the room, pulling the leather boots from his enemy, "Hah, do you always have to wear men's boots?"

Alea scowled, "Are you saying I have big feet?"

Her hands crackled with magical lightning once again, prompting Ralof to correct his mistake, "Uh, well it makes sense. You are much taller than Nord woman, so of course your feet and hands are bigger," he snorted, "You certainly have bigger…" he realized his mistake, "um…"

Alea cocked her head and folded her arms under her considerable 'ums', "I have bigger what? Ralof, I have bigger what?"

Ralof hung his blushing head, "Uh… nothing, here's your boots."

Alea smiled at the Nord's expense before bending over and unwrapping the strips of cloth on her feet. As the Altmer bent down, Emile's gaze followed her down, right down past the low hanging collar of her potato sack shirt, allowing him an ample view of her considerable assets. A burning primal desire rose back up through the Spartan's core. He crushed the desire, though with considerable difficulty and looked away, thankful for the dark skin hiding his blush.

Alea stood up, flexing her feet inside the leather boots, "Okay… lets go!"

**Oh my God, that's where I end it? Seriously? I'm such a douche! Oh well, I do what I want. Next chapter will be the escape from Helgen, as this chapter was Helgen and the chapter before was setting up Helgen. No flashbacks in this chapter, sorry but if you want to learn more about how Emile ended up in Skyrim you'll have to keep reading.**

**To everyone asking for a werewolf Emile, I have one word… no. That is all.**

**Check out my new story (when it comes out). I don't have a title for it yet and I in fact haven't even started writing it yet. It's gonna be a Halo/Marvel crossover, but not like Harbinger of Kaos' story, or free man writer's. I guess it will be kind of like free man writers in the way it will have Noble Team, but it won't be exactly the same, or even similar.**

**Noble Team ends up in the Marvel universe on the Ardent Prayer, and starts kicking ass. There won't be very much cooperation between the Spartan's and heroes, and the Spartans will in fact choose to remain mysterious. Just look for it when it comes out.**

**Drop a review, ask a question, tell me I suck, I don't care what you do.**


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