"So what's so great about this Vorstag guy? How do you know him?"
Falja and Lydia had been traveling for a few days now. Both were very tired and hungry, but smoke in the distance signaled a village not too far away. The prospect of food and drink added a quickness to their step and inspired speech.
Lydia rolled her eyes at Falja's inquiry, but smiled vaguely as she remembered the incident.
"It was back when I was still a guard for the Imperials. I was stationed in Markarth to take care of the Forsworn threat. Some of the savages still come down from their hills to raid the hold and it's people. My group and I were up against around thirty of the scum, Vorstag among them. There's nothing honorable about the Forsworn- no grace in battle or anything. They fight like animals, using magic I'd never seen before. If the mages up in Winterhold aren't respected for their magic, the Forsworn are something nasty. All sorts of awful rituals and dark spells about them. Some of the things I've heard about their sacraments are enough to make even my stomach turn. Only Vorstag was different. He fought like a true Nord and even turned coats when it was clear the Forsworn were losing. I've never seen anyone fight like that. Such tenacity, such strength and prowess...Some in our group wanted to kill him like the rest of what was left of them after surrendering. My superiors, however, pardoned him."
Lydia's vacant smile grew slightly as she continued.
"I thought I'd never hear from him again, but word is he's a mercenary in the city.I recently received a letter from him saying he'd be there if I ever needed him. How he found me, I'll never know."
"And exactly why would and ex-Imperial guard 'need' an ex-Forsworn? Something you're conveniently leaving out?"
"What?! No! I mean he- we-"
"Look! Adventurers!"
A look of relief came over Lydia's blushing face as the neared the small farm town. Falja's rather smug face clearly showed that she would drop the issue for now, but she would not forget.
"Rorikstead," Lydia bit out hastily as the two children who'd noticed them ran out to meet them. "One of the most successful farming communities in Skyrim, as well as one of the most endangered. Bandits and Forsworn pick over this place all the time, the filth."
"Better bandits than dragons," Falja muttered.
The two children, one boy and one girl, both around five, had now caught up to them, staring in awe of their armor.
"Wow! Are you heading up to Markarth?" The girl asked.
"We might be... It's a secret," Falja whispered, pointedly looking at Lydia to prove she'd learned her lesson.
"We're on business for the Jarl, sweetie," Lydia said, nodding her acknowledgement at Falja.
"Oooh, cool!"
"Agnes?"
A woman covered in soil wearing a worn pair of gardening gloves had just come over the hill. Her eyes locked suddenly with Lydia's, and she broke into a wide grin.
"Agnes, honey, please don't bother Ms. Lydia. You and your friend go play by the Inn."
"Aww!"
Agnes and her companion both left as woman embraced Lydia.
"Lydia! It's been so long! I'll let the Inn keeper know you're here. Help yourself to anything you find to be of use!"
"Thank you, Sonia, I may just have to take you up on that offer."
Falja stared curiously at Lydia as the woman named Sonia rushed away.
"I told you," Lydia said, answering Falja's unasked question, "I was stationed here in the hold to fight against raids. Most of the time I was just outside Rorikstead. The attack I met Vorstag at was actually a supply raid against the village. Without us being there, they'd have burned the town down."
"I thought Rorikstead was part of Whiterun hold?"
"Yeah, if you listen to the politicians. Trust me, these people do business with Markarth- they are part of Markarth hold."
Falja nodded as they slowly continued down the path to the Inn before-
"Hey! Are you adventurers? Wow, how lucky are you, eh?"
Chopping a rather overlarge piece of wood was a dirty-faced, red headed boy only a few years older than Falja herself. He glanced at their bloodstained armor with a look of longing as he swung his axe down with notable ease against the hard wood.
"Name's Erik. Wish I could go out and fight bandits and whatnot like you. My father says I'm too weak and young to go, though."
"I'd say he's quite right," Lydia grumbled, grabbing Falja's arm and dragging her along, "c'mon."
"Well that's not fair!"
"C'mon Falja!"
"Yeah. Some people aren't cut out for the farm life. I think I'm one of them. I'd do anything to get out there and roam the wilds, fighting off bandits and thieves like in the books..."
"Falja!"
"Well, what if I talked to your dad for you?"
"Really?"
Lydia threw her hands up in exasperation. She been trying to get Falja to keep moving, but she stood there talking to Erik, unmoving, wide-eyed, and grinning.
"Well...That'd be great! He won't listen to me, but if two adventurers like you put in a good word... Maybe he'd listen!"
"I hardly think he could refuse the Dovahkiin of legend, now could he?"
Lydia face palmed herself as Erik's eyes widened, staring in shock of the smiling Falja.
"Oh...oh wow! So you're the one the Greybeards were calling for?!"
"Yup! So let's see about your dad, eh? Where is he?"
"He works at the bar at the Inn! Oh wow... Oh man... This could really be it!"
"We'll be back soon. You just let the Dragonborn take care of business!"
Lydia rolled her eyes at the wink Falja shot him as the finally resumed walking.
"'How could he say no to the Dovahkiin?' 'Just let the Dragonborn handle it!' Really Falja? Have you learned nothing? And why are you so adamantly trying to help this kid? The boy still has his mother's teat on his breath, and you expect him to go out on his own? Are you trying to get him killed?"
"I know what it's like to have a life thrust upon you and not be able to choose for yourself. If I can stop that from happening to someone else, I will."
Lydia opened her mouth, but, upon realizing she had nothing to say, quickly shut it again.
Both entered to cozy Inn, greeted by smiles and free food and mead. As they finished their meal, Falja approached the bar counter, addressing the man standing behind it.
"Hello there! What can I do for you?"
"Hi! I was just wondering- would you happen to be Erik's father?"
"Why yes I would! Fine boy Erik! Good head on his shoulders when it's not up in the clouds, dreaming of adventuring and what not!"
The man let out a rugged laugh which soon turned into a violent cough.
"Are you alright?" Lydia asked, eyebrow quirked.
"Yes...I..."
He turned away from the counter, coughing fit continuing. The patrons of the Inn looked on with concerned gazes, only returning to their mead when he meekly called out that he was fine.
"Well," he said in a low voice, leaning over the bar, "No... I'm not. I've weathered quite a few Skyrim winters, and I know this one will be my last."
He sighed, grabbing a grubby rag and wiping down the counter.
"Look, I know why you're here. Erik hates working the fields. He wants to be out, making himself into the next lore-worthy character. Damn it, I can't blame him for it. He's a strong lad, smart as a whip, too. But it would give me some peace of mind if, in my last days, I knew where the boy was, and that he was safe."
Falja and Lydia exchanged solemn looks before Falja spoke.
"Wouldn't you have more peace of mind knowing your son was out there fulfilling his dream rather that staying in a place that makes him miserable?"
"Well...I..."
"If you keep holding him back, your son is going to resent you," Lydia interjected. "Soon your death will be something to celebrate rather than mourn."
"Well...when you put it that way, I suppose you're right... Still, I'd feel better if he wanted to join the Legion or, hell," his voice dropped so only the two of them could hear, "even the Stormcloaks. But he wants to be off alone! That's what scares me. Unless I know he has a chance, I cant let him go. I'm sorry. That's my final word on it."
Falja frowned, feeling defeated. Both she and Lydia turned to the door before-
"Wait! I think I have an idea that would make everyone happy!"
(/)
"You said this plan would make everyone happy. I'm not smiling."
Falja ignored the scowling Lydia as they rejoined Erik, who was now grinding wheat.
"Well?! Did he say I could go?"
"Better."
Falja tossed a brand new, sheathed steel sword to Erik.
"He said you could come with us. Up for a little dragon hunting?"
Erik was absolutely beside himself as he threw his arms around Falja.
(/)
"A Wood Elf, eh? No... Can't say I've seen one of those. Maybe some coin would remind me?"
"Or perhaps a sword to the tail would remind you, Khajiit?"
"Oh! A Wood Elf! Yes, yes, Khajiit remembers now! She was traveling with a dark haired woman. Mentioned something about meeting a man in Markarth. Left this place around two days 's all this one knows! I swear it!"
Ralof released the Khajiit's throat, roughly tossing him to the ground.
"You never saw me, got it?"
"But of course. Khajiit tells no one."
As Ralof remounted his horse, he rode on faster than before. He was already surprised to learn from a member of the Companions that the Elf had left Whiterun nearly a week before. It had been easy enough to extract the information from the Dark Elf. A little mead and his tongue was as loose as a maiden in Riften. Now, from what the Khajiit just outside of Ivarstead told him, he was still following an old trail. She was headed to Markarth.
Ralof's stomach turned as he thought of the implications of the news. She was going to meet a man in the Silver Blood city. Markarth was by far the most dangerous hold in Skyrim. The Forsworn coupled with the bloodthirsty nature of the city was a dangerous mix. Not to mention the corruption. If Riften was bad, Markarth was worse. The dirty deals in the city were enough to make even the slimiest Solitude politician blush.
Ralof found himself again thinking of the haste with which Ulfric sent him out. Indeed, if Ulfric wanted this much secrecy, and the Elf was headed toward the city of blood and silver, something had to be seriously wrong, especially given Ulfric's history with the place.
"C'mon girl, let's find this Elf. And fast."
The sun was beginning to make its journey toward the horizon. The girl would undoubtedly get there before him.
There was no time to waste.
(/)
"So, where exactly are we headed?"
"To Markarth! Lydia has a friend there she thinks can help us. But with you around as well, I think we'll be well off!"
"Why don't you have him prove himself by atleast keeping pace with us?"
Falja, Lydia, and Erik had been walking for at least another two hours in the direction of the city. Erik, realizing he'd been consistently four paces behind the two, sped up.
"You're headed to the city? On foot? That'll take a day and a half from here!"
"You think we don't know that?" Lydia snapped.
"Oh... I didn't mean for it to sound like a complaint. I'm just saying this would be a whole lot faster on horseback!"
"Well we don't have any horses. So unless you just happen to to know-"
"I do, actually, if you think you've got what it takes."
Lydia rounded on Erik, staring at him incredulously.
"If I think I what?!"
"Well, c'mon then!"
Erik bolted off the path, running for something past a hill Falja and Lydia could not see over. Falja joined him in his sprint, grinning in excitement, and Lydia grudgingly followed.
"There," he whispered once they'd caught up, "bandits. Stole those horses from Hofgrir some weeks ago. There's only two, but I figure two of us can share."
"Alright. Good, call," Lydia mumbled, looking down from their perch on the hill at the small bandit camp. "Looks like there's six of them. What's the plan?"
"The plan is this!"
"Falja! No!"
"Hey! Milk drinkers!"
Falja had flung herself down the hill into the fray. The bandits closed on her, weapons drawn. She looked like easy picking...
"FUS!"
With a breath, the bandit's were blown backwards, heads slamming into the ground knocking them unconscious. Falja waved a hand behind her head, beckoning the other two forward.
"I was going to wait until we got into the city to get you fitted for armor, Erik, but now it seems we won't have to!"
Falja kicked open a chest revealing steel armor as Erik worked to free the horses.
"Falja that was immensely stupid! You could've been killed!"
"Oh lighten up, Lydia! We took on a frost troll and lived! We'll be fine!"
"'Lived'?! Just barely! If it weren't for the Greybeards, you'd-"
Lydia stopped at the sound of Erik containing his laughter.
"And just WHAT is so funny?!"
"It's just... You mean to tell me the Dovahkiin and a former Imperial soldier couldn't figure out how to take down a troll?!"
Erik could no longer contain himself as he burst out laughing.
"Oh?! And just tell me, farm boy, how ARE you supposed to take down a troll, since you know so much?"
"You mean you really don't know?" Erik, said, getting the second horse undone.
"Clearly not!"
"You use fire... After that they're pretty much helpless."
"Well... I've never heard that!" Lydia snapped, mounting one of the horses.
"Neither have I... Where'd you learn that?"
Erik turned red as he pulled on his new armor.
"A field journal I read... Even gave it a try. I snuck out one day with a staff my father told me never to touch- belonged to an ancestor. I went out and found a troll and... Well I'm standing here, so clearly it worked..."
Lydia looked surprised and even a bit impressed.
"What else was in that journal?"
"A lot of useful information. Vampire's weakpoint's, quick cures, the best hunting grounds. Why?"
"Do you remember much of it?" Falja asked.
"Oh yeah! Almost all of it!"
Falja smirked as Lydia rolled her eyes.
"Okay, so he's useful after all. Come on. You two mount up."
Erik and Falja mounted the second horse. Falja turned bright red as she wrapped her arms around Erik. Lydia took notice, smiling to herself as she remembered her first time riding with a boy her age.
"Alright, kid, you tell us. How long till we hit the golden doors on horseback?"
"If we ride fast and hard? We can make it by sun down."
"Now that's more like it."
The three took off, gunning for the mountains in the distance.
(/)
Markarth was a beautiful city bedecked in white marble and Dwemer gold. Falja had seen Dwarven artifacts many times as a child, even owning some in her home. The people, however, did not reflect the beauty of the city. Everywhere people sneered, glared and spat at the trio, making sure they knew they were not welcome.
"Lydia... Don't you know anybody here in the city?" Falja muttered.
"Anyone I knew is long gone now. Best lay low and find Vorstag."
The three entered the Silver-Blood Inn and were met immediately by plates being flung and screaming.
"You worthless sack of shit! All I ever do is keep this place clean and our customers happy! What do you do?!"
"I run this place you bitch! You're only worth the time you spend laying on your back!"
The insults continued as the group made their way to the back of the room. Some of the patrons seemed annoyed by the exchange, while others seemed to be thoroughly entertained. Either way, it was clear this was an ordinary occurrence.
"Let's hurry up and get out of here!" Erik hissed.
"Agreed. Lydia, do you see him? Lydia? LYDIA!"
Lydia had more than found Vorstag, she was wrapped in his arms, the two embracing passionately.
"Ha! I knew something was up!"
Lydia pushed him off, turning bright red.
"Falja, Erik, this is Vorstag. The man I was telling you about.
It was clear Vorstag was a formidable warrior. His scars, war paint, unkempt dark hair, and rippling muscles gave that away. But the lost puppy look in his eyes said otherwise.
"Lydia... I thought... You..."
"I'll explain in a moment. Right now, I'd like to avoid being killed by kitchen ware."
The arguing husband and wife had switched from plates to knives. Falja, Lydia, Vorstag, and Erik slipped out of the bar, lucky to still have their heads.
"Alright, Lydia, what's going on? Why talk to me now after all this time?"
Lydia took in a big breath, bracing herself for the next sentence.
"Okay. This is is Falja Everglen of Valenwood. She's the Dovahkiin, and we desperately need your help."