Middas, 4:51 PM, 26th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 201

Outside High Hrothgar

Noster Eagle-Eye had never seen Tamriel in such beauty. Once his fighting days had been forced to end, he thought he'd see nothing but the streets of Solitude. But now, looking out over endless plains, standing above all Skyrim, he was beginning to realize a few new things about the world.

He and Iseus had set out from High Hrothgar not five minutes ago. His Imperial uniform still smelled of new leather, but it was little help against this cold. He said nothing. Iseus was the Dragonborn, and he owed that man more than complaints.

"We have work to do," Iseus was saying. The mist of warm breath in icy air vented through his visor's slits. "Both of us."

Noster couldn't help himself. "What happened up there?"

"Paarthurnax has been in a war already. I have not. He offered some insights I wouldn't have thought of."

The Dragonborn had already explained to Noster that Paarthurnax was a dragon. A good dragon, by the sounds of it. That made as much sense as any of this. "I'll be honest, Iseus. I don't like it up here. Those Greybeard fellows, in High Hrothgar, they wouldn't say anything to me."

"I appreciate your honesty." There was a hint of amusement in Iseus' voice. "The Greybeards' voices seem to speak only in Thu'ums. It's said a Greybeard could kill a person just by trying to have a chat with them."

"Thu'ums?"

"Shouts, sorry. You know, like…" The Dragonborn paused, looked forwards, and braced himself. "Fus!" An invisible wall of energy, no better way to describe it, burst forth from the Dragonborn, and swept up the snow for a few meters ahead of him before vanishing.

That was the first time Noster had witnessed the power of Iseus' voice. He would've said he was in awe, but after all he'd seen in the past week, this was just another new thing.

Noster had first seen the Dragonborn from just across the street, strolling into town wearing that ancient golden armor of his. At the time, Noster had been a nameless Imperial beggar, wearing nothing but rags. He recalled walking up to the armored man, asking him if he could please spare some gold… And then the two of them started talking. Noster explained how he'd once served as a scout for the Imperial Legion, during the thick of the Great War, and how he'd lost an eye fighting at Anvil. He'd been left for dead that day. By the time he'd fought his way back north to Solitude, by himself, Noster had nothing. Those rags he'd been wearing, those were actually the remains of his old uniform.

And the next thing he knew, the Dragonborn was inviting him along. Giving him new clothes, new supplies, bringing him along out of the city. Noster had no idea why. He hadn't done anything. But this man in gold was talking to him, seemingly without end, asking him questions Noster would never have thought of. And then he'd left Noster in Whiterun.

That leg of the journey had been… Peculiar, to say the least. The Dragonborn didn't say what he was doing, but he left Noster in town and just headed off without him. It was planned, of course. Noster had been left with a hefty sum of gold to stay afloat with, more gold than he'd ever seen in one place since his days in the Legion. He did his best not to spend it all at once. Many beggars would spend any extra coin on drinking and gambling, but really, Noster was content to re-explore the town. He hadn't been here in years.

Somehow, the Imperial ended up being free to enter the hilltop keep, Dragonsreach, and speak to Jarl Balgruuf in person. Something about being a friend of the Thane. Even during his time in the Legion, no Jarl had treated him with such honest warmth. After hearing Noster's story, Balgruuf thanked him for his service, and asked him if there was anything Whiterun could offer him while he was in the city. Noster hadn't even known what to say.

And then, soon as he'd left, Iseus was back, practically dragging Noster by the hand as they left town, heading south for a little village called Riverwood. All Iseus would say was that the Empire had defeated the Stormcloak Rebellion, and that he had to consult someone named Paarthurnax for advice. Now it looked like that advice had paid off.

Now, Noster was ready to listen to the Dragonborn's instructions. "You said we both have work to do. What did you mean?"

"The Thalmor are about to go to war with us. Skyrim's people are in grave danger. They need a stronghold."

"Our cities are already fortified, aren't they?"

"Not all of us have the fortune to live safe behind stone walls. Especially not after the Civil War." The Dragonborn sounded like he'd rehearsed his lines. That, or he was just exceptionally confident. "Paarthurnax said that our people are scattered. It took me a little bit to figure out what he meant. I've seen so many homeless migrants over the past months. Villages burning, towns burning, people fleeing…"

"You really think the Thalmor will just start picking off stragglers?" Noster frowned. From what he'd heard, the Thalmor were the secretive elites of the Aldmeri Dominion. They liked to pull strings behind the scenes. They wouldn't just ride out like bandits and start slaughtering villagers at random.

"No, definitely not. They're just people for us to gather into one safe place. Once we have that one safe place… The Thalmor are going to have a much, much harder time overrunning Skyrim."

"I see." Noster nodded slowly. To think… Skyrim was going to war once again. What the Dragonborn saw in him was a mystery, but for better or for worse, he knew his days of begging in Solitude were over. "What are we going to do, then?"

"I'm going to be doing some traveling. In the meantime, I'd like you to head back to Whiterun. There's something I need you to do for me."