Argis was not one to wallow in the past, it was the past for a reason and that was where he intended to keep it. Today seemed different somehow. His visit to the Jarl early in the morning had brought up memories, some fond, others sad and all of them ones he had believed he had come to terms with a long time ago.

Standing before a tall looking glass Argis carefully studied his reflection. It was a strange thing, to be able to see one's own face. His appearance had not changed much in those four years. His left, marred side was a stark contrast to his right, undamaged one. The Nord of the Reach hated to admit it, but somewhere along the thousand years of war with the Forsworn, their bloodlines had mixed. Lots of people bore features of the Reachmen that were evident to all those who looked closely. With Argis it was his eyes. His right one was a bright, intense amber in colour. It looked back at him, guardedly, from above his tattooed cheek. His tattoo. Hákan had talked Argis into getting the marking, a sign of his prowess for everybody to see. There had been times when the deep red patterns had mocked him, but overall he was fond of it. It was a part of him now.

Turning away, Argis mustered his house. Vlindrel Hall had not changed, either. Nobody had come to claim the abundant furniture and decorations and so Argis was left living in a splendid manor.

Not that he had sat back, put his feet up and enjoyed it. After Bjorn's death Argis had taken on any and every mission there was. For a year he laboured close to breaking down, mentally and physically worn out beyond words. But the hard work had felt cleansing and after a while he let off, allowing himself to enjoy the occasional break, though he remained a driving force behind the campaigns against the Forsworn in the never ending struggle for the Reach.

He had renounced leadership however, leaving it to Brigge, a young and very talented commander. They argued sometimes and Argis, who was the more experienced warrior, had to pull ranks now and then, but more often than not they got along very well, forming a strong team. Brigge got his orders from the Jarl and his main duty was to tend to the army and to take care of the logistics; in other words he organized and coordinated everything.

Argis was left to oversee the training of the recruits, the preparations of his soldiers and he usually did the actual field work. He was content.

Argis had had ambitions, once. He no longer did.

Dreams had brought him little joy and too much sorrow when they were shattered.

oooo

Argis looked up when the first rays of sunlight began to stream in through the glass panels in the hall and dining room, casting jittering patters on the plush carpets. Argis had discovered many things about his house over the years. The constant drafts that had made the manor a chilly and uninviting place had stopped when Argis had pulled a lever out of curiosity. As it turned out there were a couple of ventilation grilles that could be opened or closed; a useful mechanism in a place that had only one door and no windows.

Another time, after a very powerful storm Argis saw that there was light shining through the ceiling. Vlindrel Hall was hewn into the mountainside. Its roof was on a rocky outcrop and it was flat and covered in earth and weeds. There, under a thick layer of dirt Argis discovered glass plates. Clear glass of a quality and craftsmanship that was not known to humanity. It was probably a relic of the Dwemer who had built Markarth and had mysteriously disappeared from the surface of Nirn many centuries ago. Argis had gone to great lengths to clean the glass and remove the soil. The flat space that few would call a 'rooftop' he converted into a small herbal garden.

After so much time, Vlindrel Hall had finally become home.

And now a stranger was to come and live here. 'Not just any stranger', Argis thought. His Thane. His second Thane. It was an almost unheard of incident as a housecarl lived and died with the one he was sworn to protect with his own life. It was the only honourable thing to do, the only way for húskarla to ascend to Sovngarde and the Hall of Valor: defend their charges or die trying. They were more than mere warriors; a glorious death on the field of battle was not enough to strive for.

Argis had left his first Thane, Bjorn of Solitude, to die. He had been ordered by the very man not to aid him in his fighting and Argis had abided by these orders. Not out of respect for the man, but out of spite. It made all the difference in the Nord's mind.

The warriors who had accompanied him and most of the other soldiers, some of who were under Argis' command, did not hold him responsible; they understood what it meant to follow orders. Although the Jarl had cleared Argis' name there were others who would not talk to him, shopkeepers that would not sell him their wares and a couple of establishments where he would be a most undesired guest. Argis was not troubled by these circumstances, there were enough who welcomed him and the others had every right not to want to have him around. Over time he had grown indifferent to the various opinions and rumours that went with his name.

Argis' reputation was that of a warrior unmatched in skill and determination, dedicated to his Jarl and the war, and of a severe and unforgiving personality. He was believed to be aloof and of a remorseless nature that bordered on grim, violent though not outright cruel; his path was not one many dared to cross.

Therefore Argis could truly not tell why the Jarl still put his trust in him. He was not worthy of this fourth chance he had been given. He avowed then and there that he would make his Jarl and his Thane proud if it was the last thing he did, as it should be.

He would start by making himself and his home presentable. After weeks of scouting and camping out in the wilds he, his armour and weapons needed some grooming. Argis had a thorough bath and carefully trimmed the beard around his mouth, as he had shaved his cheeks this morning already, because the tufts of hair between his scars looked funny.

Argis cleaned and polished his armour, oiled the leather parts and sharpened his weapons. He carried his dirty clothes – a rather large sack – to the washerwomen for them to deal with it. After all, he had his hands full cleaning Vlindrel Hall, removing the layer of dust that had settled in his absence, beating the carpets and restocking the pantry and ice cellar with victuals. He noted that the snow level was low, he would have to refill the chamber once winter arrived.

He worked quickly and efficiently, as he did everything else.

Midday came and Argis found he had nothing more to do but wait for the man who might decide the further course of his life. The thought made the Nord uneasy. Had he worried as much when he had been younger?

Instead of sitting around and driving himself to distraction Argis decided to pay the Shambling Shed a visit. The tavern was run by Halof, a Great War veteran and it had quickly become a popular establishment, one of the few not in the hands of the Silver-Blood family. The soldiers had their own mess hall, but the food there was so bland and of a seedy origin that many preferred to eat at the Shambling Shed instead. The men put their coin together and bought the groceries themselves and Halof prepared and cooked them, which allowed for cheap, tasty meals.

Argis pushed open the rickety door that hung askew once more, probably due to being unhinged during a brawl. Or maybe Halof had thrown out a drunken troublemaker without bothering to open it first. The landlord greeted Argis with a nod, beckoning for him to take a seat at the counter. The tavern was still empty, but it would fill up soon when the first of the men had their break. Argis followed the invitation and he lowered himself upon a stool, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Give me the strongest drink you've got," he said as a way of greeting.

Halof lifted his brows. Usually he did not sell alcoholic beverages during duty hours, but Argis was not officially a member of the army or the guard. And he looked like he needed it.

The veteran went into the back room and dug around until he found what he was looking for: a bottle of Colovian Brandy that he filled a tankard with. In a smooth motion that spoke of years of practice he slid the tankard across the polished counter without spilling any of the liquid inside. Argis downed the brandy in a few gulps, grimacing slightly at the burn in his throat, but he wordlessly lifted his mug for a refill. Halof complied, waiting patiently and watching his only patron with mild curiosity while and Argis nursed his second drink, quite obviously fortifying himself for something big.

"You look like you just got trampled by a hoarker," the veteran stated wryly. "Say, what's the matter?" By now he knew all that troubled his patrons. Halof had listened to so many confessions, he honestly considered charging his customers double: for the drink and the advice that went with it.

"I'm doomed," the blond Nord sighed heavily and indeed he looked to be at a loss, an expression the like of which Halof had not seen on him in...years. And that was not territory he dared to venture in, not unless he wanted to contribute an entire keg to the conversation. The landlord remained silent and let Argis work through things in his own pace.

But the housecarl obviously did not want to talk about whatever it was that had happened, changing the topic instead. "What's the word around town? Anything interesting going on while I was away?"

"Sven broke his hand in training, Dom's wife threw him out on the street again for fornicating and Brigge's in a mood because of fredas," Halof said. "But you already know that," he discarded the last piece of gossip. He was only warming himself up for the good part "And there's going to be a new Thane," the veteran added in a staged voice.

That certainly got Argis' attention who immediately asked "Who's it?" He was hard to read at the best of times, but Halof thought he could detect a tightness in the warrior's voice.

Something was nagging at the back of Halof's mind. He narrowed his eyes and mustered the man in front of him, but his train of thought escaped him. Ah, well, if it was important, it would come back. He only shrugged his shoulders in answer to the housecarl's question and resumed "And there was a man in here, asking about you."

Argis lifted his head at the news that did not sound good at all. As far as he knew there was nobody looking for him. "Who?" he asked, dreading the answer, because the only solution he could think of involved the Thalmor. His only consolation was that none of the soldiers would ever talk to the elves, as it would most likely doom them as well.

But Halof only shrugged, answering "Some stranger I haven't seen 'round before." The veteran's brows furrowed. "Come to think of it, he was quite subtle about it so that I didn't think anything was strange until after he left." He shrugged and lifted his hands when he saw Argis' look of disbelief "I didn't tell him nothing' he couldn't have found out anywhere else," he said, lifting his hands in exasperation. "At least he got the truth here, not the filthy hogwash Kleppr spreads!"

That much was true and Argis knew that Halof meant him no harm. He swirled the last dregs of his drink around in his mug, considering whether he wanted to confide in the landlord, whom he considered to be a friend, when the doors burst open, banging loudly against the wall and a throng of soldiers entered.

First and foremost in the line that formed to the bar was Lars, who cheerfully greeted the housecarl who sat to his right and turned to the landlord, calling out "Ho, Halof, why don't ya get me somethin' to wet me throat?"

"Aren't you sick of drinking your wits away every night?" Halof asked with no small amount of disgust.

"I get sick sometimes," Lars confirmed and with a big smile he continued "But then I drink some more to make it go away!"

Halof shook his head, grabbed a mug from under the counter and filled it up, shouting for his assistant to begin dishing out today's meal. He couldn't exactly refuse a Nord his drink or he'd be out of business before he could say 'mead'.

In the meantime Lars grinned up at Argis, blinked and did a double take, his customary smile disappearing slowly to be replaced with a worried frown. His friend looked miserable not at all like the composed, stalwart warrior he usually was as he dejectedly stared into his mug, like he was expecting to find an answer to his problems inside.

"Hey, Argis," Lars began cautiously "What's wrong? "Ya look like ya got fucked with the wrong end of a sword."

The blunt statement made Argis laugh out loud, but it was not an amused sound. Though crude, it described pretty well how he was feeling right now. He was saved from answering when Halof's assistant appeared from the kitchens and put the first plate in front of Argis, who immediately began to eat, though the normally good meal tasted like ashes to him today.

Lars obviously got the message and let him be, striking up a conversation with Halof instead. Getting Argis to do something when he did not want to was like working with a particularly intractable mule. You had to dangle a carrot in front of him, not kick as that would only make him dig his heels in all the harder. It wasn't the best comparison maybe, but it fit.

With a start the housecarl suddenly realized what it was that his friend and the landlord were talking about as a snippet reached his ears.

"...the Jarl's just declared it," Lars said, waving around a piece of parchment in evident excitement.

Argis leaned over and snatched it from his hands, wincing as a twinge of pain shot through his damaged arm when he twisted it the wrong way. He stared at the placard and the face that was depicted upon it. There were similar ones for wanted criminals, but this one was to notify the citizenry of a new Thane so that all could recognize him; in the streets the couriers probably cried the news so that all would know. 'Wulfryk, Thane of Markarth and the Reach', the big bold letters said. Argis felt lightheaded as all blood drained from his face. Up until now he had hoped that the Jarl had played just a cruel trick on him, but there was no more room for such fantasies now. "Where did you get this?" he asked hoarsely.

"They're all 'round the city," Lars answered and turned back to Halof again to pick up where they had left off. "Nobody's ever seen him before...I'm wondering..."

"You're still wondering about what happened to your sweets," Halof rudely interrupted him.

"They're disappeared," Lars cried. "It's a mystery!"

The truth was that Argis, Ralof and Thurek had gotten drunk one evening when Lars was on patrol and they had done the unthinkable: eaten another Nord's sweetrolls. Argis very much doubted that nobody had seen them, the soldiers probably were all afraid to accuse their commander and his closest friends for being the culprits. At any rate, watching Lars fumble in the dark was outright hilarious. Argis would have to make it up to the man for providing such a splendid source of amusement.

He would visit the bakery tomorrow, he decided, putting down the piece of parchment. There was nothing he could do about it now, anyways. On the morrow the entire city would know.

Halof caught a glimpse of the drawing and gaped. "That's the man who came by, the one I told you 'bout," he exclaimed in surprise, addressing Argis.

"What's he doin' in here?" Lars muttered. A Thane in the 'Shed? Halof must've savoured too much of his own mead.

"Asking about Argis," Halof said slowly and the housecarl could almost see the wheels turning in his head like in one of those ancient Dwemer machines that were exhibited in the Understone Keep. The veteran looked up and his eyes met Argis' and the warrior saw the understanding dawn in them. So Halof had figured it out already. They both completely ignored it when the doors were slammed open once more and another group of soldiers marched in.

"Is it true?" the veteran enquired in a hushed voice, looking around to make sure that nobody listened in and leaning across the counter.

"Is what true?" Lars asked distractedly, looking around for his other friends amidst the new arrivals and waving his arm when he spotted one "Oi, Rolf, over here!"

"Yeah," Argis sighed.

"Is what true?" Lars threw in again, turning back once more. "Argis? Is what true?"

It wasn't the housecarl that answered though, but Halof who silently explained "Argis got assigned a Thane, Lars."

"Oh," the soldier's eyes grew as wide as the plate he was eating from. "Oh." He looked from one man to the other, not sure whether they were not trying to trick him like they sometimes liked to do. Their dead serious expressions convinced him that it really was true. Well, that was some material for juicy gossip. At once Lars jumped up, turned around and, standing on tiptoe so he could look over the crowd, he yelled "Rolfrik! Hey Rolf!" Lars, bellowed enough for everyone to hear. "Guess what! Argis got a new Thane!"

There went Argis' hopes at keeping things quiet. He cast his friend a filthy glare and grumbled "Thank you for keeping your yapping hole shut." In the sudden silence that followed Lars' declaration his words rang out loudly.

"Hey, if you wanted to keep it a secret, you shouldn't have told me," Lars shot back, unfazed.

"I didn't," Argis muttered, but his voice was drowned out by the clamour that ensued.

Within seconds Argis found himself surrounded by a circle of curious spectators, all of them pestering him with questions and looking at him expectantly.

"No, I don't know what he's like," the blond warrior shouted in answer to some of the enquiries "And I don't know where he came from," and "Dammit, it wasn't me cooling my heels in the city!" They wouldn't leave him be and he finally barked at them in annoyance "What are you gawking at, you bloody clods? Go away and get back to your drinking or I'll have you working double shifts!"

"On your orders," somebody shouted and another voice added "Anybody wish he'd say that more often?" and a wave of laughter followed. Slowly the crowd dispersed again, the soldiers either congratulating Argis or voicing their sympathies. Apparently they could not make up their minds whether they should be happy for the housecarl or as upset as he himself felt.

Only two remained: Lars and Rolf who had fought his way through the crowd with the help of his elbows. "When's he to arrive?" Argis' second-in-command asked the warrior.

"After court," Argis replied. That meant five at the earliest. He still had hours to kill.

"We can help you get drunk to make you less nervous," Lars offered helpfully.

"Oh, yes, that will make for a very good first impression, muttonhead," Rolf stated wryly and tangled his fingers in Lars' short, red hair, before yanking him backwards off the stool and taking the seat for himself.

Lars picked himself up in record time and appeared at Argis' right side. "Bit late for that, don't you think," he shot back and looking round he simply pulled the seat from under the man next to him. It was a good way to start a brawl and when the soldier climbed to his feet again and lifted his fists, cursing like an old sailor, Lars used the stool whack him upside the head and knocked him clean out. His friends dragged the unconscious man off and nobody else battered an eyelash. The Shambling Shed was not one of those fancy places where one had to show manners. It was loud, rowdy and full with fighting men out to have a good time.

"Come on, Argis," Rolf tried to cheer up the warrior "This is what you were meant to do. You'll be fine!"

Argis snorted. "Sure, I only got my last Thane killed. No problem, I'll just get another one. Lately they sprout in Markarth like mushrooms," he muttered dismally.

"Yeah," Lars threw in readily "But ya get better with practice, as they say."

"Gods," Argis choked out. He honestly no longer knew whether he felt like crying or laughing. Both, probably. His friends kept drinking and they did make a marvellous job of distracting him. Some time later they began to analyse his good and bad attributes. The amount of mead they consumed however, soon had the talk spinning into the ridiculous.

"You're the best fighter in all the Reach," Rolf counted out for the fourth time.

"Ya can be a bossy arse, though," Lars countered and tried to clap the housecarl on the shoulder in consolation, missed and hit himself instead, adding "Yar still me bestest friend though."

"And you're all scar...scary...scarry and," Rolf's finger hovered unsteadily in front of Argis' face for a moment and poked him in the chin, before the blond warrior slapped his hand away. "And you've got a t...tat...tatoo," the archer stammered out and grinned like it was all the explanation Argis would ever need.

"Well, ya ain't no virgin though and that's a minus," Lars called out, giggling like a madman.

Rolf seemed perplexed at the sudden change. "What's that got to do with anything? It's not like he's goin' to be naked.

"Ya could, Argis, ya'r kinda hot," Lars said to the housecarl and hurriedly added "for a man."

Rolf just stared at the redhead, shaking his head slowly enough that his vision did not spin. The man should be gagged.

"What?" Lars shouted when he saw the look Rolf gave him. "I'd totally do him if he were a gal. Or if I was into the other thing," he mused.

Halof listened in on Lars and Ralof debate Argis' virtues and after disappearing shortly he returned with a full tankard that he handed the blond warrior, who had buried his head in his hands, probably trying to block out the slurred voices of his friends, who still argued back and forth.

"Drink's on the house."

oooo

Argis left the tavern shortly after, but first he charged Halof with keeping a close eye on his friends to prevent them from doing something stupid, like showing up at his doorstep later. The last thing Argis needed was for Lars to vomit on the man who was to become his Thane. Halof promised he would keep the drink flowing and by the time the two of them drank their way through the tab Argis paid for, they wouldn't be going anywhere.

Arriving in Vlindrel Hall Argis first lit a fire and seated himself in a comfortable chair next to the fireplace. It was a strategic location; he would see his Thane, before the other man saw him. An advantage like this was often crucial in a fight. He was telling himself that he was preparing to meet his Thane, not going into battle. Not that it helped. He'd rather be in a battle.

Argis nibbled on a piece of bread, more because he needed something to do, than because he was hungry. And sharpening his sword might send the wrong message, if it was the first thing his Thane would see after he walked in. He kept glancing at the door every few seconds and his foot bounced up and down restlessly in a show of nerves that he would never allow himself when he was with his men.

Suddenly, there was the scrape of a key in the lock. Argis went stock-still; he put away his food and dusted his hands of the crumbs, his composure perfectly calm once more.

It was the calm that came before the storm.

'This is it', he thought. His future life hinged on the next minutes. That might be putting it a bit dramatic, but it was true nonetheless. Everything was in order. Now it was only up to Argis to make a good impression.

The massive doors to Vlindrel Hall swung open and Argis saw the silhouette of a big man block out the light.