Chapter One

Fucking Hagraven, she thought, staggering up the stairs towards Vindrell Hall. Fucking Hagraven and fucking Markarth with its fucking stairs.

All she'd wanted was a place of her own far away from everything else. When the Jarl had approached her asking if she wanted to be Thane, she had quickly agreed. The thought of living in Vindrell Hall, in all its secluded glory atop the city, was not something she could easily pass up. All she had to do was help out five people in the city, which wasn't nearly as difficult as her introverted mind thought it would be. But when she'd returned to announce her tasks complete and purchase the Hall, Jarl Igmund had requested one more task of her.

There was a blood dragon, it seemed, roaming the country side and causing mayhem for all travelers to and from Whiterun. If only she would get rid of this dragon for him, the Jarl would give her a hefty bag of change along with a housecarl. Neither the housecarl nor the gold caught her attention, but she couldn't deny that it was her duty to dispel the dragon. So, after arranging for her house to be furnished, off she went in search of the blood dragon.

She started walking the long road to Whiterun, figuring it would be easiest to take the path that was most attacked. It wasn't long before she saw signs of the dragon, but not the dragon itself. Eventually, she'd stumbled upon a cottage near an empty field, and suspecting a chance to stock up on some rare potions, decided to venture inside. That didn't go quite as planned, she thought, remembering the wizard she encountered as she snuck around grabbing potions. Raising her hands and dropping her loot, she slowly backed out the door, and while the wizard gave chase. Luckily, once they were outside, the dragon roared overheard, sending the wizard into a fit. He cast spell after spell trying to bring the beast down, while she crouched behind a boulder and attempted to stifle her laughs. Frustrated and tired, the wizard had dropped to the ground to catch his breath. The dragon, of course, took advantage of the situation and settled down to make a meal out of him.

A few arrows from her enchanted bow had made a quick death of the dragon. Once the soul was collected, and the wizard's now empty house ransacked for supplies, she turned back towards Markarth, quite pleased with the way things had turned out. Taking target practice at foxes and whistling a tune, she wasn't paying any attention at all to the Forsworn who had noticed her bulging packs. Fucking Forsworn and their fucking hagraven.

She won the fight, of course. She always won…but this fight hadn't ended without its tolls. She'd spent the last day casting healings, drinking potions, and slowly dragging herself back to Markarth. If only she could make it up the stairs to her new home within Vindrell Hall, she was sure she'd be able to pull the ice spike from her shoulder and heal the wound for good. If only.

But first, I have to make it up these fucking stairs.

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Markarth was beautiful in its own right. It was the kind of city that surprised you. By all means, the place should have been nothing but an ancient dwemer ruin, but somehow the Nords had forced it to work as their city. It really is beautiful, but damn there are a lot of stairs, Argis thought. Still, he couldn't believe his recent string of bad luck.

Argis the Bulwark, he was called, the man who led the charge against the Forsworn. He'd been celebrating his contingent's recent victory and told the bartender to put the Inn's drinks on his tab for the night. Only, when night turned into morning, he was left with a large bill and no money. Argis had drunkenly told Kelps that he'd be right back with the gold, and stumbled outside to find some poor soul to take it from. This is where things got a bit blurry for him, but near as he could remember, he'd thought the guard wouldn't mind being relieved of his change purse, and had ended up in Cidna Mine.

Despite all his fighting for the city, Argis had made enemies of the guards and Jarl Igmund thought it was about time he learned his lesson. From the moment he woke up in the mines, with Forsworn all around him, Argis knew he was fucked. He'd spent the first two and a half weeks watching his back, sleeping with one eye open, and trying to find information on the Forsworn to pass along to the guards in exchange for his freedom.

The mines had served as a sort of detox for him, and he was happy to discover that he could indeed last the day without a stiff drink. With clarity of mind came attention to detail, and Argis had no problems of conscience telling the guards of the tunnel that the Forsworn were digging to freedom. With his help, the guards easily dispatched the Forsworn and collapsed their tunnel, but when he went to leave Cidna Mine with them, he had be roughly pushed back and locked inside.

"We're just following orders, Argis," they said, "You understand."

Argis didn't understand, and was furious. Jarl Igmund had let him sit for another week and a half before sending for him, and when he did, it wasn't to grant freedom, but rather to assign him as a servant to the Dragonborn. Me, Argis the Bulwark, servant to a female.

Still, he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to meeting the face behind the hype, and grudgingly had to admit that maybe this was his chance to change his perception. He'd certainly earned his title of Bulwark, but lately Argis found it harder to keep up with the younger guys, and his time in the mines had reminded him that he wasn't as young as he once was, and couldn't lead the charge forever. Strip away the title, and Argis was left with no friends or family, and nowhere to lay his head. Perhaps playing housecarl for a bit would give him time to change people's mind, settle down, and start a family.

Who am I kidding, I'm no family man.

Inserting his key in the lock, Argis bid farewell to the guards that had escorted him there and entered Vindrell Hall. It was empty of course, the Dragonborn hadn't returned from her trip to slay the blood dragon. Fine with me, Argis thought. He wanted time to get in a good workout before washing the grime and blood of the mines off his skin.

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Finally making it to the top of the stairs, she pushed open the door and promptly dropped her bags and began stripping her clothes. The faster she was free of bags, gauntlets, and facemask, the faster she could pull the ice spike from her throbbing shoulder and begin the healing process.

No, just a few more minutes, she thought, as she collapsed against the wall in exhaustion. Dizziness blurred her vision, and the room swam around her. Closing her eyes and taking deep breaths, she forced herself to focus on one thing at a time.

First things first, take off the mask…ok, and now the gauntlets…now just breath. On the count of three, I'm going to pull this out, and cast heal as quickly as possible. That way, I won't start bleeding profusely, and can hopefully prevent infection. I can do this. I've done it before. Granted, I've never had to do it to myself, but there is a first for everything.

She took a deep breath, and began to count as she lifted her hands to the ice spike impaled in her left shoulder. One…two…deep breath…THREE!

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Argis woke to a bloodcurdling scream, followed by dead silence. He continued to lie in bed for a few moments listening to the silence and arguing with himself over whether or not to check out the source of the sound. It was the first good sleep he'd had in a month, and Argis was reluctant to leave his warm bedroll. Finally convincing himself that this was his job now, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed a sword, and slowly cracked his door open.

Not seeing anything, Argis swung the door open wider and began to creep through the rooms of Vindrell Hall looking for intruders. He was about to turn and go back to bed, when he spotted a growing puddle of blood in the hall by the front door. Peering down the hall he spotted her, the girl he could only suspect was the Dragonborn, slumped against the wall by the entrance, sitting in a pool of blood pouring out of her left shoulder with an ice spike on the floor at her side.

Some housecarl I am, haven't even met the girl and she's already almost dead on me, he thought, dropping his sword and running to her side. The spike had torn a hole through her shoulder, going in one side and out the other. She must have pulled it out at an angle, he thought eye the gaping wound. Still, it was a clean wound, and would heal with a little time and patience on her part.

Argis quickly jogged back to his room, careful not to track blood all over the place, and reached for his apothecary satchel. He pulled out a brown mixture, a potion he liked to call magic sludge, and ran back to her side. First he tried waking her up to drink the stuff, but it was no use. The Dragonborn was out cold, and wouldn't be waking up for a while.

Must be more of this awesome luck I've been blessed with lately, he thought forcing open her jaws and emptying the bottle down her throat. He eyed the wound, watching in fascination as the muscle began to regrow before his eyes before the skin also grew back. He didn't know how it worked, but the magic sludge could heal almost all wounds in a matter of minutes. Scooping the girl into his arms, he carried her to her bedroom and removed her boots before closing the door. Fast recovery or not, he knew the magic sludge would also force her into a deep sleep for at least a day or two before allowing her to wake up feeling groggy but healed.

Now wide awake, Argis set about the task of cleaning up her blood and putting her bags away before finally crawling back into well after the sun had risen above the horizon.

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Checking on her often throughout the next day, Argis couldn't help but notice the Dragonborn's looks. At first glance, Argis thought she was young…too young…but now he realized that he was wrong. She was fully a woman, in her mid to late 20's, with longish light brown hair pulled up in a sloppy bun. She had round eyes, an average face, and an above average chest…well, what he could see of it anyway. He hadn't dared take off her leather armor, but even with it on, he could see the curve of her body.

Average, she's definitely average looking. Definitely not what I was expecting…she seems…normal.

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The Dragonborn stirred at around 6:30 the next morning. Groggy and hot, it took her a few minutes to place exactly where she was. Having never been there before, she could only assume that she was in the bed of her room in Vindrell Hall. Well now this is interesting. How did I get here? Slowly, very slowly, she began to assess the damage by wiggling fingers and toes, moving arms and limbs, and taking deep breaths. She had just gotten herself into an upright position when the door to her room creaked open and in walked a beast of a man.

"FUS RO DAH!" She shouted on instinct, propelling him against the wall opposite her room, where he crumbled with a grunt. Without thinking, she jumped out of bed to grab and weapon, but her vision blurred around her and she instead found herself sitting on the floor by the bed. Oh Lord, I'm going to die, she thought as she saw the man slowly get to his feet and make his way towards her.

"I'm Argis," he said, stopping just outside the door. At her blank expression, he added, "I'm your housecarl, assigned to serve and protect you by Jarl Igmund. Mind if I come in?" He didn't wait for an answer, just walked in and knelt by her side. "I gave you a little potion that I call magic sludge to help speed up the healing process, but it does cause a bit of grogginess. Don't worry; it will fade in a day or two. My Dad owned an apothecary shop, you know, and I was apprentice to him before leaving to join the army. Our shop had been raided by Forsworn too many times for me to ignore it any longer. Anyway, magic sludge will knock you on your ass for a day or two, so it's not really ideal for a quick healing, but when you're passed out on the floor in the entry-way, there really is nothing better…"

He kept up a steady stream of conversation as he poked and prodded her shoulder, felt her head, and took his time looking at her eyes while moving a finger back and forth in front of her. Given his size, she was surprised with his gentleness, and the grace with which he moved. He was tall, easily over 6 feet, with large shoulders, a thick neck, and bulging biceps. He wore a pair of old, ragged trousers with a rough spun tunic, and had a red tattoo on the right side of his face. The left half of his face had deep scars, running from his eye, which was milky and white, to the left of his full lips. Despite his rough clothes, his blond hair was trimmed to shoulder length, and he wore a well-kept goatee. His good eye was a very light brown, almost matching the almond color of his skin.

"You have a name?" he asked, rocking back on his heels, "Or should I just call you Dragonborn? Dovahkiin maybe? Or should I just refer to you as the only woman in my life?"

"Oh. Um…Argis was it? Can you help me out of this armor?"

"Sure thing Sunshine, and lucky you, I have water warming for a bath as we speak." He quickly undid the belts and buckles of her leather thieves' guild armor, and retreated to the fire. He was back in moments with a kettle full of steaming water, which he poured into a basin tucked in the corner of her room. "You need help pulling the armor the rest of the way off and getting into the tub? No? Well then, I'll leave you to it. I checked, and the Jarl saw fit to stock your wardrobe full of fine clothes, so you shouldn't have any problems finding something to wear. Lucky you, all I got was this beggar's uniform and my old armor!" he called over his shoulder, and chuckling to himself, he shut the door behind him.

Well now, isn't he just full of words? If he keeps this up, I'm giving him back to the Jarl. I wanted this place for its solitude, not so I could be pecked to death with meaningless chatter. Still, he's got a look about him, like a lost puppy without a friend. Maybe I'll keep him, just for entertainment's sake.

After her bath, she let the water drain into the hole in the floor under the tub, and not wanting to deal with a dress, threw on her thick blue mage robe belted at the waist before heading out to the main room where she smelled something tasty.

"Argis was it?" she asked, grabbing a bowl of the stew that was warming on the fire, "As in, the Bulwark?"

Argis turned from the fire and looked her up and down with his one good eye. "The only," he replied, "You seem surprised?"

"Um, not surprised so much as just, um, well how did you come to be my housecarl exactly?"

"Not all of us are stealthy enough thieves to be accepted into the guild," he winked, noticing a slight reddening of her cheeks.

"It's a good source of information," she snapped back, "and also none of your damn business."

Argis held up his hands, "Whoa Sunshine, it was merely a jest. I don't care what you do with your time and energy, so long as you're not caught and expecting me to break you free. I've done my share of jail time of late, and I'm not eager to go back anytime soon. I'm your housecarl because the great ass Jarl Igmund gave me the option of rotting in Cidna Mines or being your housecarl."

Sensing a sore subject, she changed the topic, "Er, I'm sorry that I released my thu'um at you."

"I've had worse," was his response.

Putting down her empty bowl, she eyed the rest of her new home. It was large, by far the biggest of her homes, and was fully stocked. She left Argis by the fire to explore, and was pleased with what she found. She found a fully stocked apothecary as well as a weapons room, and two large dining/sitting rooms. Across from her own room, she glanced in a smaller room which she assumed belonged to Argis. She was also excited to find bookshelves with complete sets on the shelves, including her favorite, The Real Berenziah. She snagged book III of the series off the shelf and sat down to read.

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By noon Argis was going stir crazy. If being housecarl meant sitting around and watching the nameless Dragonborn read a book, he would gladly trade it for time back in the mines. At least there he had the prospect of something exciting happening, like a bard being thrown in or a drunken brawl between the guards and prisoners. Without a glance in his direction, the Dragonborn eventually got up and left. Up and out the front door, she was suddenly just gone.

Argis let out a sigh. He felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He wasn't exactly the conversationalist, but felt like he had gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable with his presence, only to have her pretty much ignore him. A desire for a bit of solitude he could understand, but this one had taken silence to an art form. Argis sighed again, and headed to the weapons room for a workout and some training.

She came back at around 8:00, just as the sun was setting, hands full and a pastry sticking out of her mouth. Striding purposefully towards him, the Dragonborn dropped her sacks at his feet with a loud clang. "Some clothes," she said, "as well as Ebony armor. I noticed the steel armor in your room, and if you're to come with me, you'll need something heavier than that. From what I've heard, you like one handed weapons, so I have the blacksmith working on a Daedric sword for you…I hope that's ok. Tomorrow you're heading out with me; we're going to clear the Karthspire of Forsworn. It's a ways from the city, so we'll be leaving here at six. The blacksmith knows to have your sword ready by then. I suggest getting a good night's sleep, I don't like to stop and rest often."

She turned and walked to her room, but stopped just before entering, "Oh, Argis?" he heard her call. He slowly raised his eyes from the bundle at his feet and looked in her direction. "My name is Ionuin, and I didn't ask to be the Dragonborn any more than you asked to be my housecarl," and with that she shut the door to her room behind her.