Gharrok often had sleepless nights before a skirmish. This night was no exemption. As dawn began to rise, the Skaal woke Ralof and the rest of the camp. It was a group effort to prepare; some cooked breakfast, others fed and saddled the horses, others sent messenger pigeons out, notifying the nearby Stormcloak groups of the mission. Their job would be to collect the loot from the attack, and the fallen Stormcloaks, if any. Gharrok ran his weapons over the grindstone, honing the edge on his throwing knives. The sword that Hermir had gifted unto him was beautiful, and would serve him well.
"If only you were Icefang…" Gharrok sighed to himself.
"A bit early for a sigh so heavy," Astrid smiled, crouching down next to him and oiling the point on her spear. "What troubles you?"
"Nothing," Gharrok answered, stuffing the knives into his belt. "Last night I did not sleep very much." Astrid gazed at him, concern shaping the frown on her face.
"Perhaps you should sit this one out. Someone must remain here to guard the camp."
"No chance in Oblivion!" Gharrok scoffed, sheathing his sword. "The day I miss a mission with the Nightblades is the day that Oblivion takes me!" Astrid mumbled concerns under her breath, watching the Lord console and motivate his comrades.
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The convoy crossed the ancient stone bridge and left the hamlet. Gharrok quickly counted the numbers: four wagons, each manned by that number of guards. Men on horseback scouted ahead and protected the rear of the enterage. Gharrok and Jarrad stealthily moved through the scrub to where the other Nightblades lay in waiting.
"How many?" Ralof hissed.
"Twenty," Gharrok answered, as Jarrad whistled birdsong of the numbers to the Stormcloak ambushers. Gharrok heard the all too familiar four long, low note song, and slipped on his shield. As the countdown began, he observed the oblivious prey. The scouts were cautious, but the men on the wagons were tired and hung-over, they didn't stand a chance... Bowstrings twanged, arrows loosed, and the Nightblades flung themselves onto the Imperials. Astrid's spear thrusted into a cavalryman's gut, and Gharrok hacked through a stunned soldier, slicing though his chest and breaking his neck with a punch to the fact with his shield. Parry, slash, block, stab. Four actions and many more actions continued in an almost random pattern as the Nightblades cut a swathe through the Imperial line. A maniacal Redguard charged at Gharrok and Astrid, swinging two swords in frenzy. The flurry of swings and ripostes were to fast for either of them to find an opening. This man was as strung as an ox, never tiring. Astrid held the Redguard off while the Skaal conjured up bolts of lightning in his hand, zapping the man with the energised plasma until he dropped the blades. Astrid gave Gharrok an impressed look as he ended the man's suffering with a throwing knife to the throat. The Skaal returned her look with a wry grin and leapt back into combat.
.
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"It would seem that your fancy magic certainly helped us," Astrid chuckled, finishing the bindings on a soldier that had yielded. "A rare happening."
"Mock me as you do, but who is it that always tends to the wounded?" Gharrok retorted, cleaning the blood from his weapon. "Me and my fancy magic!"
"Speaking of which," Ralof wheezed, limping over to them. "I think I could use some-" Ralof crashed into the wagon, slumping to the ground.
"Ysmir's beard!" Gharrok gasped, rushing to his side. As well as several cuts and bruises on his body, an arrow protruded from his thigh, and a knife was planted in his side. "Whom was the one that wounded you?" Ralof grunted, nodding at a wiry Nord.
"You traitor, Oblivion take you!" Astrid roared, grabbing him by the lapels and shaking the life from him. Gharrok watched silently, drawing the knife and arrow from his friend and inspecting them.
"You will be relieved to know that the arrow and blade were neither poisoned or enchanted," Gharrok hummed, pushing orbs of healing light into his leader. "Both weapons were whole when retrieved. You shall be fit to fight with plenty of rest and regular healing sessions."
"Thank you, Gharrok." Ralof grasped Gharrok's arm, the chainmail digging into his arm. The Skaal helped his friend up, letting Ralof use him as a crutch. "Jarrad,
what are our takings?"
"Food and medicinal supplies," the archer answered. "The dossiers and forms we found tell us that they have taken a position in that old fort, Fort Amol."
"They have a position in Eastmarch!? Damnit!"
"When our brothers and sisters arrive to take this to Windhelm, have them show Jarl Ulfric these papers." Gharrok instructed.
"Yes m'lord! What is to be done to the survivors?"
"Kill them," Ralof barked. Jarrad drew his dagger, ready to slit the prisoner's throats.
"Hold a moment," Gharrok announced, letting Astrid take care of Ralof. The Skaal approached the prisoners, looking at each of them in turn. Many of the entourage were Nords, possibly native to this land. Gharrok sat down in from of them, looking them in the eye.
"Where are you from?" he asked.
"Dawnstar," one answered.
"And you, lad?" Gharrok asked the wiry one that Astrid assaulted.
"Bruma,"
"Both beautiful places, in their own ways. Did you hear what the archer called me?" the men were silent, keen on not talking to the enemy. "He called me 'M'lord'. Do you not see what that means? Both highborn and lowborn are side-by-side, fighting together!"
"Wot's that gotta do with anything?" One of them spat.
"What that means is unity. Men and women of all classes coming together. That is what the Stormcloaks stand for. To fight for your homeland is nothing short of honourable, friends! You can be free to do what ever, worship whomever, be whoever! Jarl Ulfric is a man of honour. Should you join our cause, he will see to it that your treason is forgiven, and your service rewarded!"
"How can I be accused for treason if I am not native to this land?" the Nord from Bruma retorted. "I have no ties to this damn province."
"Nor do I," Gharrok admitted. "I am one of the few Skaal whom lives on the mainland of Tamriel. That aside, you have a chance to live a new life, a free one. Will you take it?" Gharrok drew his knife and slit their bindings, as a token of his trust. The man from Dawnstar shook Gharrok's hand with an iron grip.
"Thank you, my lord." he smiled. "I will fight for you!" Several of the other Nords, realising that the only other way out of this situation would be in a bodybag, they accepted.
"Good lads," Gharrok smiled. "When the others arrive to take this stuff to Windhelm, they go too."
"Kill the others." Ralof grumbled, hobbling towards where the horses were tied off. "Gharrok, Astrid, we shall ride ahead."
.
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"Was it wise to let them have the rest of the day to themselves?" Gharrok asked, helping his friend into a chair.
"Why not? Astrid asked, pulling a stool up so Ralof could rest his leg. "Today is a day to celebrate!"
That it is," Ralof groaned, slumping into the chair. Astrid, being the only women in the party, as per Nordic etiquette, poured the drinks for the men. "Not only was there no casualties today, we gained some valuable soldiers!"
"Not only that, yet tonight is your birthnight!" Gharrok handed each of them a tankard. "Tonight, we celebrate!" They clanked mugs, chugging back the mead. It was a little Nightblade tradition that, should someone have his or her birthnight whilst on a mission, they prepared a small celebration. A roast of their favourite animal and a keg of their favourite alcohol were present, along with song and dance. Tonight would be especially gleeful, yet a heavy weight hung in Gharrok's heart. Roland was still unaware of his weapon's absence. Telling him would be one of the hardest things the young Lord would have to do in his life. Yet for his friends, Gharrok would keep a smile on his face.
"Hey," A sultry voice purred, stroking his shoulder. "You look a little sad. Want me to cheer you up?" The voice owner, a tavern wench, came to his front, bending over so their heads were level. Gharrok's eyes couldn't but catch a glance of her obviously pushing her breasts into his face. Ralof gave the Skaal a cheeky grin, unlike Astrid, who raised her eyebrow in disapproval.
"I thank you, but I'm not interested." Gharrok smiled. The whore grunted, walking of to pleasure another.
"it is not often a man turns down a chance to fuck," Ralof nudged the Skaal. "Perhaps he has another in his thoughts?" Astrid's eyes lit up at the prospect.
"Perhaps we could discuss your affections!" Gharrok retorted. Astrid's eyes lit up even further. Whenever she was around, Ralof refused to discuss the subject.
"Who is she?" Astrid chimed.
"N-nobody!" Ralof stuttered, his cheeks flaring red. "You would not know her, anyway."
"Oh, Ral, you have less courage than a gobbo!" A gobbo was a variety of goblin found in the south of Skyrim, where they had slowly crawled up from Cyrodill. "Be a man and tell us." Ralof glanced towards his shield-brother, wishing for the same support he had given him while they were in the heat of battle. When there was banter among the Nightblades,, Gharrok was one of the ones who got the shit end of the stick, he laughed at how the tables had turned. The Skaal knew whom his friend truly had feelings for. It was none other than Astrid, the red-headed warmaiden.
"Well, her home is in Riverwood." Ralof admitted, mumbling under his voice. The pair were both born and raised in the town, so his statement held true.
"Is it… Camilla?" Astrid guessed.
"No, not her." Ralof answered.
"Delphine? Oh, Is it Sigrid!"
"Maybe it is not a woman, but rather a male?" Gharrok suggested in a teasing manner.
"Fuck off, Gharrok," Ralof snorted. "Why would I want to be a damned polesitter?" "The lunchtime commotion at the inn was cut short, several heads turning to the trio of Stormcloaks with anger in their eyes.
"My apologies," Gharrok stood up, bowing slightly to the crowd. "My friend is not from these parts, and the alcohol has taken his mind!" after moments of hostile stares, the bard's drum restarted, and people went back to their business.
"Ralof!" Astrid hissed. "You cannot say such things! People get offended!" Since the end of the Thirty Year War, the Aldmeri dominion demanded that all holds in Tamriel abolish their laws on marriage between species and same sex. With all change, there were people that welcomed it, as well as people who resented it. In Gharrok's mind, he was glad. All men and women should be equal. Though he'd only bedded women, there was the occasional time where in the right light, a man could be attractive…
"Astrid is right," Gharrok sighed. "You must hold your tongue in future, less you anger someone that they strike you."
"But-"
"But nothing." Gharrok growled, drawing close to him. "You never know whom you may be offending." Ralof grunted, realising that arguing was futile. During the awkward silence that followed, a young Bosmer caught the Skaal's eye. He looked to be not older than seventeen, and the badge and sash he wore signified that he was a courier. After looking to each of the groups seated at various tables, and asking the innkeeper, the young man approached them.
"Excuse me, might any of you be acquainted with Lord Gharrok, of House Broken Blade?"
"That would be me," Gharrok answered. "What business do you have?"
"I have been looking for you," the Elf answered. "I was sent to deliver this to your hands." From the Bosmer's satchel he produced a package and a letter. Though he had already been paid for his services, politeness dictated that Gharrok give him a small sum, as to compensate for any troubles that he had. Gharrok handed him a few Septims, and looked to what now lay in his lap.
"Were you expecting something?" Ralof asked.
"Nay," Gharrok answered, untying the string that held the cloth in place. As the cloth fell away, Gharrok gasped.
"No way…" The weight of the object slipped into his palm, its grip of dried bristleback hide finding home in the Skaal's grip. "Icefang."
.
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"By Talos," Astrid gasped, watching her beloved's face flow with emotions, as his treasured weapon was held close. "The Nine favour you this day!"
"I will drink to that," Ralof burped, chugging back another mouthful of ale. "Thought you said that it was lost!"
"I did," Gharrok mumbled, reading the yellow parchment.
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Lord Gharrok, of House Broken-Blade.
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A month has passed since I had the honour of meeting you. The circumstances were less than conventional, though I am still glad for the opportunity. I cannot apologise enough for forgetting to return your family heirloom, Icefang, on the day we parted. I would have turned back and handed it to you, but my pride and embarrassment forbade such actions. You needn't worry, I kept it, I mean HER, in pristine condition. The smith was impressed with the axe's craftsmanship, and wanted the opportunity to sharpen and polish her again. I must also enquire about the enchantment that Icefang has upon her. The other Justiciars examined it, having searched my packs upon return to the Embassy. Not one of them had seen such a strange, or powerful spell placed across the weapon.
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Gharrok's thumb traced the edge of the blade habitually. Though he kept it sharp, it almost never cut his flesh when gliding across the surface. The enchantment in question was something that he knew very little about. Roland, Gharrok's father had told him that the Skaal used very ancient and powerful techniques, drawing power from the All Maker and the earth itself.
.
Upon my return to the Embassy, I have found that Ancano, the Justiciar that so horribly mistreated your comrades, had reported my defiance and 'acts to usurp leadership' to Lady Elenwen. For punishment, I have been restricted to guard duty in Solitude. I was disheartened at the news, but found that Eladän, the Bosmeri prince, was also sentenced to a similar fate for getting into a fight with about how to treat some Talos worshippers. This time will be long, and wearisome, but at least we are away from the field of battle. A positive in this overall negative time ahead is that I will be able to master the Restoration spell that you taught me!"
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Aüriel's handwriting was immaculate, neat and having all the flourishes that a lady should write with. Gharrok could hear her soft voice in his head, whispering the words to him. It soothed his weary soul, setting his heart aflutter. Astrid and Ralof noticed this, seeing the obvious blushing on his face.
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You do not need to worry about the Dominion knowing your whereabouts. Eladän has connections to the Thieves' Guild in Valenwood, and they contacted their branch in Skyrim to track you down. I swear by the Eight that this will be kept secret. His majesty has grown rather fond of you, as have I. This land is cold, and hard. I had grown to loathe it. Yet, here you are, a paragon among the rabble. Your mercy and kindness has shown us the true nature of not only the Nords, but the land of Skyrim itself. This land IS cold and hard, but it is very beautiful. The seas may be haunted, but along the coast you find the most beautiful shells. The sky may be cloudy, but at night, the spirits dance in the sky. The people are tough, stubborn, and brutish. But they have honour. There is an unspoken code of chivalry and comradery. You have shown us this, despite being, by all rights, your enemy. Even in the midst of battle, you act with compassion. I would hope to learn of this more.
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I do hope we meet again, and that you receive Icefang.
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.Akatosh keep you,
.
Aüriel Dawnstone
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"So," Ralof announced, nudging the Skaal back into the present. "Are you going to tell us her name?"
"I-it is nothing of the sorts!" Gharrok stumbled, flustered at being discovered. The Skaal quickly stuffed the letter into his breeches, away from prying eyes. Gharrok spied the courier slurping on a bowl of soup, happy to be at rest. Gharrok fished around in his pack for his coin purse and ran out the door. Tharrok was taken aback by the cold, stinking afternoon. With his arm he covered his face to shield his eyes from the glaring sun, and the noisome swamp gasses. Just down the mud path lay Thaumaturgist's Hut.
"Spell tomes of healing," Gharrok announced, barging the door open. "You have them?" The bored looking woman standing behind the counter nodded and slumped the heavy book on the bench. Gharrok slammed a few too many Septims down and hastened back to the warmth of the inn. There he found a desk in the corner, picked up a quill and paper, and began.
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Lady Aüriel,
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I am elated that you wrote me. To have my beloved Icefang at my side once again means more than you will ever know. The Broken-Blade name was built on the gold that axe brought in. I can say with all honesty that the enchantment placed upon her is a mystery to me. Never have I delved deep into such things. All that I do know is that Icefang, and her sister, a sword named Wraithbane, were forged using an ancient and secret Skaalish technique. There is no written records of the methods but I know only this: The enchantments are said to draw power from the All-Maker itself. Though in reality, such a thing is impossible, for how can you draw power from an entity that exists in all things?
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I must admit that my feelings upon hearing the news of your demotion are mixed. I feel sorry for you, but at the same time I am glad. I am glad that you and Eladän are safe from any imminent danger. Solitude is possibly the safest place to be in Skyrim, and I wish you the best possible stay. When I am in Haarfingar I shall sit you down for a meal.
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In all honesty, I am surprised that a Justiciar does not know any spells from the School of Restoration. This tome has all the information that you will ever need to know about healing spells. Be that as it may, I can only sympathise. The arcane arts take years to truly master. I was blessed to have Magicka flowing through my veins. If I had a Septim for every time a spell saved mine, or a friend's life, I would be a very rich man!
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My travels across the Province had led me far and wide, and I have encountered many of your kind. The Thalmor, and even Altmer that were not apart of the Dominion, were hostile and uptight towards all Nords, even when we did not bear the Bear of Eastmarch on our breast, as I would in my war armour. They were cantankerous and knavish, truly dishonourable and unpleasant behaviours. I try my hardest not to profile people based on the pigment, the texture of their skin, or colour of their blood, but years of witnessing the same behaviours in a wide variety of subjects makes the stereotype sink in. I thank Talos and the All-Maker that you have shown me how untrue my thoughts were.
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"Gharrok!" Ralof said from across the inn, turning to his friend. "What in Talos' name are you writing? Your memoirs?"
"It is your turn to pay for drinks," Astrid cooed, approaching him silently and resting her hand on his shoulder. Gharrok gasped, snatching up the papers and hiding them from prying eyes.
"I shall join you soon," Gharrok nodded, waving her away. "This matter is urgent, I am afraid."
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This contact of yours, I shall have to find them the next time I am in the Reach. Should I need to write you again, I will have use of him. I am trusting you to not have my secrets or location revealed. Not a word of military intelligence shall come from these letters, only friendly words between a Lord and Lady.
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I pray to the Nine that you and Prince Eladän are kept safe. Should fate have it, I may see you again.
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All-Maker keep you,
.
Lord Gharrok, House Broken-Blade
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The Skaal smiled contently to himself as he wrapped the tome and letter in the cloth that once protected Icefang. Gharrok placed several Septims on the top and pushed the package in front of the young Bosmer courier.
"Send this to the person whom sent you to me," Gharrok mumbled. The Elf nodded and, after finishing his meal, left the establishment.
"So, what is her name?" Ralof asked as his friend sat down, a wry grin growing on his face.
"Gerdur!" Gharrok retorted, knowing full well how protective Ralof was of his sister. Ralof would have been up and in the Skaal's face, if he weren't injured. Asrtid took this as a sign for the three of them to return to the encampment.
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To be born and survive childhood in such a harsh land is a symbol of great strength and endurance. Each time the night of that date arrives, there is a celebration. The Nightblades were like a family, and as such, had prepared a feast for their fearless leader. Deer and yearling cows were slaughtered and roasted over a bonfire. Fresh bread vegetables were baked in the ashes. Gharrok had imported a couple of casks of Ralof's favourite mead, Black Briar. Music and dance was had. The unlucky few who were made to keep watch that night, and Gharrok, were the only ones who were afflicted with hangover the next morning.
"Ugh…" Astrid groaned, stumbling out of the treeline and slumped down next to Gharrok. "I feel like a draugr penetrated my sphincter."
"Do I even want to know what that means?" Gharrok mumbled, his eyes closed. The Skaal knelt facing the ocean, meditating. "Did I not warn you not to try and compete with Ralof and Jarrad?" The Skaal yawned, opening his blue eyes.
"It is an expression," the lass slurred, the alcohol still flowing string in her system. "Ghar, hold my hair back…" Without warning, she splashed her face into the freezing swamp waters. Gharrok only just caught the red locks before they got drenched.
"Lightweight," Gharrok teased once she came up for breath.
"Fuck you, half-breed." Astrid grunted, only to gasp and turn to him. "I am sorry, I-"
"If you spoke like that to anyone, you would receive a bloody lip. Speak to a Lord in such a way, and you would be thrown into a dungeon!"
"Lord Gharrok, I-" he didn't hear it, pushing her into the swamp and storming off. Gharrok had been bullied all his life for being a 'half-breed', the spawn of a Skaal and Nord. Most Nords considered him an outsider because of his Skaalish features, despite his mother being a Nord and that he grew up in the Reach.
Erika and Helga bid him good morning as he re-entered the camp.
"And a good morning to you, ladies. I trust your respite was peaceful?"
"It was, M'lord." Erika giggled. She had been a farmhand growing up. And now here she stood as an equal with a Lord. Working with Gharrok sent her over the moon with joy. "And yours?"
"Very well, thank you. What plans have you on this day?"
"Cleaning, cooking, washing," Helga answered. "Is there a raid today?"
"No," Gharrok answered. "But if you two are not busy, there is a supply cache hidden in a hollowed tree stump near the Apprentice Stone. Go and see if there is anything for us." With nothing else to do, Gharrok took up a brush and rubbed down his horse.
"Did anybody give you any trouble last night, Agr̃o?" Gharrok asked his steed, stroking down her muscular legs. Agr̃o whillied in reply, taking the chance to chew on his braided ponytail, like it were cud. "Do you think of me as a half-breed?" As magical of a place Skyrim was, horses could not talk. The mare nudged him with her wet nose, breathing a heavy breath. Perhaps the horse knew if his strife? Or maybe it just wanted an apple. Either way, cleaning the steed made the Skaal feel better.
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The day was spent away from camp, where Jarrad and Gharrok scouted the land for any Imperial or Thalmor encampments. When they returned, the Skaal was ushered into Ralof's tent.
"News from Ulfric?" Gharrok asked.
"Read," Ralof grunted, pushing the paper underneath Gharrok's nose. As Gharrok read, his jaw progressively hung closer and closer to the ground.
"Such a task… that is impossible, even for us!"
"My thoughts exactly. We would need an army to accomplish that."
"The letter also mentions a gift?"
"Jarl Ulfric was so kind as to remember my birthnight," Ralof explained, pointing to the bottle of spiced wine sitting by the bedside table. "Truly a wonderful man!"
"I did not get a gift on my birthnight…" Gharrok grumbled, exiting the tent. Waiting for them around the campfire was the other thirtyeight members of the Nightblades, awaiting their leaders patiently.
"Shield-Brothers," Ralof started. "Shield-Sisters! I would firstly like to thank you all for a wonderful celebration last night!" The Nightblades laughed and cheered, toasting to their Snow-Hammer. "But, with each passing day, this war escalates!"
"As we continue our work, the Empire grows more and more desperate. They know to fear the mighty Nightblades!" More cheers and toasting. Gharrok held up his hand for silence. "I will not lie to you, our new task is what many would consider an impossible task. But I believe that this group of fine and capable Nords can accomplish anything!" This time there was no cheers, only looks of confusion and murmuring. "When you look across the bay, what do you see? You see Solitude. You see the docks. You see the ships. What else is there, sitting dormant and lurking?"
"What lies across the bay will give us enough money to fund the Rebellion for years! The Empire have stoled our gold mine and kept it for themselves! That mine, is the East Empire Trading Company!"