**Nota Bene - This chapter is dedicated to the memory of the victims of Brussels. God be with you in this trying time, and our thoughts overseas are with you, as well.

Chapter 10

The Prodigal Son Returns (To Riverwood)

"The most absurd and reckless aspirations have sometimes led to extraordinary success."

-Luc de Clapiers

Ralof and I both took a few moments to catch our breaths before we continued on. We'd escaped not a moment too soon- the cave's rumbling was becoming more frequent and I feared collapse. Ralof had his hands on his hips and looked into the cave again.

"That was fun, but we should probably get out of here. It won't be long until this whole area is swarming with Imperials. Again."

Ralof had then continued on his merry way. I meanwhile desired nothing more than to quench my great thirst. My body's wounds ached fiercely, but I felt my energy beginning to fade. The boost I received from the tonic was tapering off. I wanted to get to Whiterun. Badly.

Still, I was wounded and disoriented. And thirsty. Very thirsty. I had no idea where I was, and there was no way I was going back to Helgen. I opted to follow Ralof to wherever he was going. He seemed to know exactly what direction to head in to find civilization.

The man himself did not say much to me while he walked. Though I was badly wounded, I did my best to keep my hands off my injuries and my face from betraying pain.

The thing I aspired to be in Sparta was a soldier- specifically, a Hoplite. They were the most elite of our soldiers, and how I idolized them back home! My father was a Hoplite, my oldest brother was a Hoplite, and I desired to be one too.

Like a true Hoplite, I showed no pain as we walked, though my vision began to swim and my breathing was somewhat labored. I refused to lean on Ralof for support. This march was my battle.

I don't recall all details of my walk with Ralof after we escaped Helgen. I repeatedly wondered just how many of these recent events were real. Did I really just escape because a dragon, or something of the sort interrupted my execution? The executioner had the axe held aloft, and the dragon interrupted at the opportune moment. A second later and I would have been dead.

I recall my footfalls slowing to a stop, and uncertainty bubbled within me. I frantically looked around for constellations I may see in the day, or other fantastical clues that I had gone the way of Peyton.

"I'm not stopping for you. You can either keep walking with me or I leave you to the wolves," said Ralof, who, true to his words, had kept walking. I suppose I had made a useful ally, but that did not mean we were friends.

That was fine by me. Better to not make connections in this land. I was fortunate to not have had someone to court in Cheydinhal, much less many friends that I would be leaving behind. Besides, I disliked the man from the start, though I made sure to keep quiet. I doubt I would have survived the catacombs without him. His knowledge of the tunnels made me wonder if he'd once been in the Legion, or if he were perhaps a traitor sent by them to the rebels. Sure, I saw him kill many Imperials, but maybe it was in the confusion of the attack?

I was probably wrong, but I had something to think about for some more of the walk other than my wounds, great thirst, and bloody existence.

Ralof pointed out a group of stones before us.

"Look. Each of those stones is blessed in some way and there are thirteen in Skyrim. If you ask nicely, they may offer a blessing. If you catch one on the wrong day, however, your luck may turn terrible. I stay away from them at all times."

I suppose I ought to give him credit, as his reasoning was good. According to legend, the stones were each a spirit sent to Nirn as guardians. For decades they blessed travelers with safe passage. All one had to do to invoke the good fortune was pray before a stone.

Unbeknownst to the passersby, the guardian stones became corrupted by a priest of Molag Bal. Every prayer for safety was granted, but twisted. They strengthened Molag Bal and emboldened him in his quest to destroy our world.

Akatosh, having become aware of the plot, plead with his mortal races to pass the stones and ignore them. They soon fell into disrepair and Molag Bal's plan- whatever it had been, stalled.

The spirits, driven mad and bitter by the supposed betrayal of their former master Akatosh, were only hurt when He sent a cleansing rain to Skyrim, and it poured for a fortnight. The stones had been totally cleansed of Molag Bal's defilement, though the spirits remained bitter. Today, should one pray before a stone, legend states that if you are to pray to it shortly before, during, or after a storm, your luck will turn terrible, for you would have invoked the wrath of the spirits of the standing stones.

I personally consider the story a load of rubbish, though I don't deny that the stones seem to carry a bad omen. I do take pains to avoid them in my travels.

"Talos be praised. Riverwood!"

I was again jarred from my thoughts. Funny, until my journey in Skyrim I would never have considered myself one to get lost in thought so easily. I eyed the small town with Ralof, and, like the enormous child he was, he sprinted for the gates. I walked at my top speed only because I heard running water and was dreadfully desperate for a drink.

I suppose I should tell you a bit about the town, and I will, but not now. In the interest of telling the story as I recall it, I will inform you of what I noted about the town as I noted it. By the time I'd reached it from my execution attempt, I was exhausted, dehydrated, wounded, weakened, hungry, and by Apollo, THIRSTY. The only thing I'd at then noted about the town was there was a gate, people, and a waterwheel.

The first thing I wandered towards was the waterwheel, which meant a well was nearby. I was not disappointed, either. I found one, and next to it I found Ralof drinking madly, too. How I wished I could knock him aside and nourish myself.

Instead, I waited for him to finish, and when he stepped aside, I nearly collapsed in relief. He held out the bucket he'd been drinking from to me. It was empty and he'd removed it from the rope to have ease of access, but I know how to tie knots.

"By the nine. Ralof? Is that you?"

Before I could even grip the bucket, he'd turned to the source of the voice. I growled lowly.

"I'd recognize that voice anywhere. Gerdur, how are you?"

I only glanced at the woman that engaged the conversation. I wanted that bucket more than Alduin wanted world domination, and so I lunged for it, and Ralof had taken a step towards her. I gripped nothing but air.

I am not making any of this up.

"It is so good to see you again! How is Ulfric? How are you?"

"Gerdur..."

"We were growing worried about you, you know. It's been ages since you last sent for us."

"Gerdur..."

"Hod desires another bare knuckles match, dear. He fears he's getting rusty! Will you take part? You sockdologizing oaf, you... of course you will!"

"Gerdur!"

Until now, I'd been quietly sneaking up on Ralof, balancing upon my feet exactly as mother taught me. When I got within opportune distance, I went for it.

And of course, it was then that he tossed the bucket over his shoulder and consequently, over my head.

Ralof embraced Gerdur and whispered something to her. I did not hear anything but the thump of my body with the frozen dirt. My ribs were not pleased. I was laying on my stomach with barely the strength to lift a finger. I'd only wanted water.

"Gerdur, you know I wouldn't do this without a good reason, but do you think my friend and I can stay at your house for a bit?"

"Friend? What friend? What for?"

Ralof had pointed with one thumb over his shoulder at me, and I suppose I could have been a more becoming target, as Gerdur's first glance of me was upon my rear with a bucket in my lap, working with numb fingers on knotting a rope so I could have a drink.

Still, she smiled mournfully at me, and stepped towards me.

"Hi, I'm Gerdur. So sorry about all that, I did not see you!"

I said nothing. She held her hands out for the bucket and I would have growled if my throat had an ounce of liquid in it.

"There's no need to drink from the well."

I beg to differ.

Before I could protest, she took the bucket from me and held out a small bladder of water. I suddenly loved this woman.

I do not mean to sound cynical. I actually did like Gerdur a lot at that point. She was the kindest person I'd met in Riverwood, though I stopped liking her so much once I found out why she was so nice to me. She thought I was special.

I probably looked it in hindsight. I'd poured the water from the bladder into my mouth and ended up spilling all over myself.

Gerdur actually chuckled and helped me to stand, then turned to Ralof.

"He's adorable."

I was numb. Never had I been called adorable. Handsome, yes. Adorable? Did I look like a woman?

Still, she'd offered me water and so I did not show my offense. Under most cases, however, that's one of the two things that I can not stand- being called adorable. I'm a Spartan. I'm a warrior. I kill and I maime and I bite my injuries back. I'm not adorable.

The other thing I can't stand is being laughed at. It shames me to say it, but I've caused more than a few scenes due to it. Some even ended without bloodshed.

Krosis. I digress.

"What's his name, Ralof?" she asked. I recall raising my brow at him, and he was silent. I could actually see his throat quivering as he tried to come up with an idea, and quick.

He cleared his throat, and steeled himself to respond. I willed him on with my eyes and Gerdur waited expectantly.

He threw a finger in my direction. Isn't it rude to point?

"Buckaroo! You heard the lady. Tell her your name!"

"Huh? But I was asking you, Ralof..."

He cleared his throat again. "Yes, and I think it would be more appropriate for such a fine sword to introduce himself."

An impeccable save. Gerdur accepted his explanation and turned to me.

"I am Mia Tuk," I uttered lowly. Still, I was forced a step back at Ralof's bellow of, "Aah!" I saw him nod as in understanding.

Gerdur took my hand and shook it forcefully.

"Well met, Mia Tuk. But you look like the walking dead! What in Oblivion happened to you?"

She eyed Ralof for a few moments.

"Come to think of it, what happened to you, Ralof?"

"Hopscotch accident. Come, Gerdur. Would you mind extending hospitality for just a bit?"

She didn't say anything at first. It seemed as if she was sizing us up. Well, me. Ralof is very large.

My wounds were throbbing and my head was beginning to get dizzy. I would to my utmost keep myself from showing injury, but I'm not so stupid as to ignore my wounds. I aimed to get them treated as soon as I got to Whiterun.

My thirst sated, now all that really remained was hunger. Gerdur never vocally expressed her answer. She just started walking and we followed. Though the walk was no more than up the road, it felt like we'd been walking endlessly.

Her cottage was fair, I suppose. Larger than ours had been and it was minus the water wheel...

Gods, but the inside of the cottage was awe-inspiring. The lack of attention to cleanliness appalled me. Warrior though I liken myself, I am not a pig.

Apparently Gerdur was not, either, because she sighed heavily when she laid eyes upon the disaster area and uttered, "Lod..."

Her furniture was impressive, though, specifically her chairs, but to the weary traveller, so is any seat.

Once I'd been seated in a comfortable chair, I felt as though my legs were useless. I knew I'd been injured, but I underestimated just how tired the rest of my body was.

Ralof sat beside me.

"Now, what's going on, Ralof? You look absolutely horrible."

I was quiet while Ralof filled her in on the details of the morning. Memories of the scores of dead in that town were still fresh in my mind. I recalled Hadvar's quick death, and the unknown soldier who was killed not a meter ahead of me. Though there were many Imperials killed in the chaos and dozens of elves, I still had to fight to suppress a shiver.

How many people would be declared dead in abstentia? How many families would be left wondering, praying to the Gods for their loved ones to return to them by the slim hope that they were not among the deceased? What if mother had been among them? What if I had been?

I do know that there are plans now to turn the grounds of Helgen into a Tomb of Unknowns. The remains of all found after the attack will be exhumed and interred there until they are identified. Anyone killed and rendered unknown in a dragon attack is to be held there, too. I consider it an honorable idea. Even the remaining dragons do not attack it- they don't even fly over it.

For creatures of death and domination, they show surprising respect for the dead. I'll be getting further into the dragons and their culture a bit later, though.

Actually, a lot later. It's a really long story.

I recall nodding off while Ralof spoke, but not for long. I desperately wanted to get on the road to Whiterun as soon as I dismissed myself here- I felt I owed my presence to Ralof now. Though I disliked the man, I had to admit that he helped me as much as I helped him, and the least I could do now was corroborate his tale.

Gerdur did not buy the tale at first. At least, not until her husband came home- Lod, the pig.

Though I did not know the man and admittedly still do not know him much, he was as pale as a wisp. Apparently he'd been on the road too and caught the retreat of the black beast. So, when he was brought up to speed, it was three who saw, and knew, against one who wished to be blind.

"I was unable to believe my eyes, Gerdur. It could be none other. It was the infamous."

"Lod, you don't mean-"

He stared at Gerdur. None other.

"It was Alduin, the Bane of Kings."

"No."

For a moment I thought Gerdur was still in denial, but then I saw the look on her face.

"He would not stop at Kings."

Gerdur suddenly looked like an old woman.

"If you three are telling the truth, and now I hesitate to dismiss your claims, then we're in big trouble."

There was a pregnant pause, and I felt eyes land on me.

"I hate to ask this of you, Mia Tuk."

By all the Gods, ask. Ask.

"You see, we are defenseless if a dragon attacks us here, yet we are part of Whiterun's hold. Having said that, the Jarl must see to our protection. Will you go to Whiterun for us and meet the Jarl? Inform him of our plight. If he is worth his salt, he will at the very least send us reinforcements. Please, Mia Tuk!"

I was raised by mother to be kind to others as I would have them be to me. This would normally be the part where I agree without hesitating, perhaps even with a smile on my face.

But I'm me, and as anyone who knows me would tell you, I have this nasty habit of not caring much about people I don't know.

Still, I was going to be heading to Whiterun regardless, and so I nodded wordlessly after a long sigh, and I stood up.

Immediately, she protested.

"You're grossly injured! Sit down this instant, it's okay!"

I desperately wanted to get to Whiterun and meet with mother again, though. I did my best to ignore my body's protest, but the floor was swaying and my knees buckled.

It wasn't exactly sitting, but it would do quite nicely.

Consciousness finally left me.

End of Chapter

2,942 words.

If you know anyone in Brussels or knew anyone there, I am very sorry. Those lost will not be forgotten.

I actually spent the longest time trying to come up with a legend to go with the standing stones, but I was drawing a blank. Eventually I gave up and just sort of threw something lame together.

Sockdologizing is a term made famous by the play, Our American Cousin. It was among the lines that Lincoln was reportedly laughing on when he was shot by John Wilkes Booth on April 14, 1865.

The full quote is, "Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal — you sockdologizing old man-trap!" Booth apparently timed his attack with the line, using the loud laughter of the crowd to mask the gunshot and assist his escape.

Okay, history lesson's over. Next chapter covers Mia Tuk in Whiterun.