Foreword:

Almost fifty years after the Oblivion Crisis and more than four years since the events of the Infernal City, the story begins. A farmboy from Falkreath and a merchant turned adventurer forge an unexpected bond in the Colovian wilds. Circumstances eventually draw them into a shadowy plot involving agents from Alinor planning to undermine the stability of the Empire of Titus Mede I.

Authors note: With some artistic license, all reasonable effort made to maintain parity with canon established in Oblivion, The Infernal City/Lord of Souls, and Skyrim.

Rated M for mild adult content.

Although it should go without needing to be stated, let it be said: Bethesda owns The Elder Scrolls and all related materials. I am merely contributing my own interpretations in a public forum and no profit is derived or intended from my work.

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Accident and Destiny

Greg J Miller

~O~

Chapter 1

Turdas the 6th of Sun's Height 4E48

It was either the pain or the heat that woke Alex. Or perhaps the bright light that assaulted his eyelids as he rolled over onto his other side. He rolled back over and was rewarded with a face full of shrubs. His measure of awareness remained dull at best. His right leg and shoulder both ached in a fashion that he could hardly credit to a bad sleeping position. He also became aware of the throbbing aching of the left side of his head. Moving his hand to his head, he found it even more painful to the touch. A sizeable lump with a crusting of something in his hair. He suspected dried blood, not yet opening his eyes to check.

He wondered why he found it so difficult to come to full wakefulness. He was not one for strong drink, so that seemed unlikely. That aside, where in the world was he and why was it so damned hot?

Alex forced his eyes to open through several fluttering blinks. It was certainly bright. A clear sky and blazing sun near to directly above. He found himself half covered by the shade of a low bush, a rough road just a few paces to his left.

Several more moments passed before he managed to raise himself up to a sitting position. Several more passing before he regained enough of his senses to retrace his thoughts.

It was yesterday that he had set off. At least he was fairly sure it was only yesterday. It had been two weeks since he had finalised the sale of Pinewatch Farm, his family home. After the passing of his mother, Alex held no desire to continue that lifestyle. With no one else to tie him down, he was still young enough to strike out toward something new.

Old Captain Bolfur had paid a modest amount for the farm and had agreed to keep on both farmhands. He would be moving his family from Falkreath to Pinewatch over the next few days. It was in good hands with someone that had truly wanted to take it on.

Alex had planned to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather's youth. Many years ago, before Erik Pinewatch had settled down to live the life of a farmer with grandmother Illiana, he had lived a life of an adventurer travelling throughout many regions of Tamriel. Alex had always been excited and inspired by his grandfather's tales when he was just a boy. Of course that was years ago. His grandfather had died peacefully in his sleep at the farm, more than ten years earlier.

Alex had packed his personal belongings and left Pinewatch behind for the last time. He had secured passage with the trade wagon out of Falkreath, southbound for Chorrol by way of the pass in the west of the Jerall Mountains.

A trade wagon always set off at dawn on the first Middas of the month. This particular month, Sun's Height in the 48th year of the Fourth Era, with Alexander Pinewatch aboard. A young nord bound for Cyrodiil and a life of adventure.

From the back of the wagon, the westward journey from Falkreath to the border had remained fully uneventful. He was almost disappointed that there were no bandit attacks or other such troubles along the road. He was almost certain that he had spotted a troll in the forest just before sunset. However, it was quite a ways off. It could have been a bear, or an elk, or almost anything.

The only other passenger in the back of the wagon was a burly bearded Colovian by the name of Duncan. The man periodically dozed throughout the day. Not much of a talker.

Alex watched the northern lights dancing in the darkening skies as the wagon began the ascent toward the mountain pass. Eventually, he had fallen asleep to the rhythmic rocking of the wagon. He held a tidy sum of gold and a bright unknown future ahead of him. That was the last thing that he remembered.

Still sitting by the side of the road, Alex's hand moved to his coinpurse. Of course it was gone. As was the other purse hidden inside his shirt. His sword was also gone. That is, the elven sword that previously belonged to his grandfather. The very sword that Erik Pinewatch carried with him until he retired from his days of youthful adventure.

In fact, Alex had lost all of his belongings. Everything else that he owned was in the trunk in the back of the wagon; including the remainder of his funds that he had received for the sale of Pinewatch Farm. All he had left was the clothes on his back and nothing else. He was almost surprised that he still had his boots.

It took little imagination to piece together what must have happened. The Colovian, Duncan, if that was his real name, had waited until Alex was fully asleep before beating him over the head and rolling him off the wagon. It was reasonable to assume that both the wagon driver and guard were also in on it.

Alex was angry. Much of his anger directed toward the scum that had stolen from him and left him to the fates upon the side of the road. He was just as angry at himself for being stupid enough to allow such a thing to happen.

He stood and looked at the road. Despite the aches and pains, nothing seemed broken. Nothing but his sense of self worth. He had supposed he should consider himself somewhat lucky. He might ended up with a broken limb from the fall or far worse. He had wanted to set off upon a life of adventure, but this was not exactly what he had in mind.

He considered that he might follow the road back to Falkreath. However, he somehow doubted that his pride would survive the journey. The obvious alternative being to continue onward into Cyrodiil toward Chorrol. Then it suddenly occurred to him that he did not know exactly where he was.

He assumed that the road in front of him actually was the road through the Jerall Mountain pass. He glanced firstly to the left and then to the right. He looked about at the mountain around him. He remained satisfied that he must still be somewhere in the pass. Given that the sun was directly above at the height of summer, he was uncertain of north from south. In a few hours it would become more obvious. After looking about for more subtle signs, he had almost convinced himself that southbound lay to his left. Without any firm measure of conviction, Alex began trudging along the road to whatever lay ahead.

After a few hours, Alex felt vaguely justified that he was not a complete idiot. With the progress of the afternoon, he had confirmed that he was indeed travelling southward. The sun was gradually moving over to his right.

Although his right leg was sore, he thought that it felt just a little better from actually using it. Perhaps better than allowing the leg to stiffen about the bruises that he was certain of. Nevertheless, his pace remained rather sluggish. He thought it unwise to push himself too much.

By about the middle of the afternoon, he had come across a rather poor excuse for a mountain stream that intersected with the road. He was hungry and thirsty. At least one of those things could be sated. The water was surprisingly cool under the summer sun. Although he reminded himself that such a thing was probably normal at that altitude. He took his fill from the stream.

Alex caught sight of his reflection in the water. His brown eyes appeared almost black as they looked back at him. His hair also seemed longer and darker than its medium brown colour. The length was just an illusion caused by the angle from which he was looking down. For just a moment, he had considered the face that looked back. He didn't look like much of the rugged adventurer type. He didn't look like some kind of handsome hero. Not that he was unusually homely. To his own mind, he just appeared rather ordinary.

Alex took the opportunity to wash his hair in the cool stream, gently cleaning the mild wound upon the side of his head. It did not start bleeding again, reassuring him that it could not have been nearly as bad as the pain seemed to indicate.

Alex decided to sit by the stream and rest for a bit. As he sat and collected his thoughts, he considered that it might not be so wise to remain upon the road. If there were bandits about, it made sense that they would be targeting travellers upon the roads. He had already been assaulted once by bandits along the road and he had actually paid them for the deed, twice over.

He was in no shape to take on roadside bandits, and even if he was in better condition, he had no proper weapons. If only to bolster his confidence, he selected a sturdy branch to serve as a club. It was better than nothing.

As he continued onward, he tried to stay off the road. Keeping the road always in sight, but remaining just far enough off the path that he could quickly dive out of sight if the need arose.

Despite his concern, not a soul had come along the road throughout the afternoon. It was probably not so very surprising. Only traders travelling between Cyrodiil and western Skyrim or eastern Hammerfell were likely to take that road through the pass. Even then, hardly likely to make that journey every day. Nonetheless, Alex remained weary of travelling by the roadside without proper measure of caution.

Eventually the daylight faded and gave way to evening. At first he considered that he should halt his journey. However, the rise of Masser and Secunda seemed to provide enough moonlight to continue for a while longer.

He soon found reasons to revise that notion. Firstly, he had come across a fox by a shrub. It was difficult to tell which of them was the more startled. He had not seen it until only a few paces lay between them. In passing, he was reminded of his growing hunger. Not that he had a blade, or any way of starting a fire. Still, he idly wondered whether the fox would have been fair eating.

More sensibly, he wondered what other night creature might suddenly appear in his path. Perhaps something far more dangerous than a frightened fox.

A light cloud cover was beginning to form, rolling down from the mountains behind him and periodically obscuring the moonlight from above. He decided it better to find a reasonably safe spot to settle down for the remainder of the evening. Besides, he was far too tired to continue with any measure of satisfactory alertness.

He selected a rocky outcrop where he settled in with his back to the stone and some low bushes between him and the road. Although hardly even reminiscent of a comfortable bed, only moments after he had settled, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

~O~