Chapter 11 - Favours

When Riverwood finally came into sight, he almost dropped down to his knees and wept with joy. He didn't know exactly what time it was, but it was well after dark. When he'd emerged from the natural rock tunnel at the end of Bleak Falls Barrow, he'd discovered that he was hopelessly lost. His idea of simply retracing his steps and coming back out the way he'd first entered failed when he remembered that in order to get the cave-mouth he now stood at, he'd had to jump off a high ledge. One he couldn't rescale.

Even if he could read his map, he had no idea where he actually stood so he had no point of reference other than the river he could see. But which river was it? For all he knew he was on the other side of the mountain from the entrance to the ancient tomb.

The sun had already gone down, leaving him once more wishing he had thought to buy torches. Instead, he was left stumbling around in the dark, both moons concealed behind thick clouds. For a while he'd thought it would snow, or maybe rain, which would have made his situation just that much more perfect.

An old alchemist woman whose house he had happened upon took pity on him – though also seemed entirely amused – and gave him easily followed directions. He could have hugged her, but didn't. He wound up using the last of his arrows on a group of what he suspected were bandits and that was after they'd been attracted by the sounds of him battling a pack of wolves whose territory he seemed to have intruded upon.

But when his feet landed on the stone bridge that would carry him into the village, his mind shrank away from the exhaustion and the numerous wounds he'd accumulated to focus purely on the warm glows of hearths seeping out beneath the doors of homes, the torches being carried by the guards sent to protect the peaceful place by Jarl Balgruuf, the scent of wood smoke.

And most of all; the scent of food and mead drifting lazily across the river on the breeze from the inn.

Leto let himself be drawn to it like a lunar moth to flame, shambling toward Riverwood like the draugr he'd faced earlier on in the day.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he should probably tend to his wounds. Especially the one of his back, which felt like it had split him open from hip to shoulder. But it wasn't exactly something he could reach, and the fact that it was still burning told his tired brain that he would survive; his mother had served as healer as well as priestess in his home village, he knew what the beginnings of infection felt like, or when to be worried something else was wrong. He was too tired and too hungry to give a damn about patching himself up; it could wait until he had a hot meal and a few meads in him before he cleaned and did what he could to bandage the wounds. When all else failed, he did still have that emergency healing potion.

The looks he received from the patrons when he staggered through the Sleeping Giant Inn's door were something that would have made him blush, had he been in the state of mind to even notice. The barkeep seemed well-versed enough in the language of Grunt that he understood Leto's dire need for food and alcohol and quickly provided both while the hulking young Nord slumped down into a seat.

When a wooden plate piled obscenely high with freshly cooked food was dropped down in front of him, Leto groaned his heartfelt thanks and handed over a fistful of coins that he'd liberated from the bandits at Bleak Falls.

By the time he was soaking up the remnants of his meal with a crust of bread and downing the last mouthful of his third bottle of mead, he felt more like a living, breathing human again. Language skills and thought had returned enough to him that he considered going over to the Riverwood Trader to return Lucan's ornament, then muttered to himself that he could wait until morning.

Leto heaved himself out of his seat and carried the empty plate and bottles over to the bar. Orgnar, at least that's what he thought the other Nord had introduced himself as, nodded his thanks and kept wiping down the tankard in his hands.

"Can I get a room? And maybe a bucket of water to wash in?" Leto asked. The hearty meal was settling nicely and the warmth of the inn making his eyelids droop.

"You want to speak to Delphine for that."

The younger Nord nodded and glanced around. In the main room was a bard and a few other patrons, none of whom were female. "Where is she?"

"She's out," Orgnar grunted.

Leto turned back to him, resting his elbows on the bar. "Then I probably want to speak to you for a room."

"No, Delphine's the innkeeper. I just cook and serve drinks."

"When will she be back?" the young Nord asked, trying to keep his voice even and not grind his teeth.

Orgnar set down his tankard and picked up another to begin polishing it. "Don't know. Not tonight, though."

The urge to slam his face into the bar – and by 'his' Leto wasn't sure if he meant his own in exasperation or the barkeeper's – crawled up to his mind but he settled on a glare. "Look, kinsman, I've just fought my way through a horde of bandits, skeevers, a spider the size of three bears and bone-walkers that were supposed to be a myth. I'm tired, I stink worse than a rotted skeever carcass and this is an inn. Why can't you just rent me a room?"

Orgnar shrugged, and if he was at all sympathetic it didn't show on his expressionless face. "Sorry, but she makes the rules. You want a bath, the river's just out the door. And if you want to sleep, I won't complain if you set yourself down in a chair for the night."

Leto scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. He was too exhausted to argue. With a grumble of 'fine' he made his way back to the chair he had fallen into before and did so again. The whole inn would just have to put up with the stench of sweaty and gore-covered, still-wet-from-a-cave-stream Nord and armour because he just couldn't be bothered going back outside to take a dip in the river. He seriously considered being truly petty and removing his armoured boots, just to make them all really suffer for the inconvenience of the barman making him sleep in a chair, but he realised that, while the idea was extremely tempting, he couldn't actually be bothered bending down to do it. He'd probably have to remove his armour to lean forward that far, anyway, and that really was too much effort. Instead he slouched in the wooden seat and let the sounds of the bard's voice and lute wash over him.

At least he was mostly in tune.

Leto hadn't realised he'd actually fallen asleep until a gentle shaking of his shoulder roused him. Mercifully, it was his uninjured arm, but the ache that returned as consciousness seeped in made him instantly foul-tempered. He might have unleashed a string of curses that would make a civil person faint, but it must have been too garbled to understand because whoever was still jostling his shoulder only laughed.

"I thought you said I could sleep here," Leto grumbled, thinking it was the barman.

"I said nothing of the sort," a voice he vaguely recognised but couldn't for the life of him remember where from chuckled. "I was thinking you might like somewhere better than the middle of the inn for rest though."

My some miracle of strength, Leto managed to pry his bleary eyes open and force his head to lift from his chest. He blinked for a moment, staring at the grinning, moustached face of a stocky Nord before pieces slotted together in his mind and he straightened up.

"Hod, how are you?"

The miller looked him up and down, chuckling again as Leto swiped a palm across his chin to wipe away drool from sleeping with his mouth hanging open. "Better than you. Good gods, boy, you look like you've been dragged though Oblivion by your teeth!"

"Bleak Falls Barrow," he murmured. "But close enough."

"Well, what are you doing here? Why didn't you come and stay with Gerdur and I?"

Leto stared at him blankly, then felt his cheeks start to redden. He'd been so focussed on getting food and sleep when he'd dragged himself into Riverwood he'd entirely forgotten he had an open invite into their home.

"I… uh… I was so tired I couldn't think."

Hod snorted a laugh and clapped him on the back. When Leto flinched and groaned, the older Nord's eyes widened and he glanced at the gash in the armour. "Sorry, boy. Come back home and we'll see about patching you up… and maybe getting you a bath."

In the time it took him to force his body out of the chair, the miller had picked up a crate of mead bottles from Orgnar, paid for it, and returned to help steady Leto as he tried to force his legs to do their job. As he gave a spine-cracking stretch, he noticed the bard glaring at him from his position at the edge of the fire, plucking the strings of his lute with more aggression than the song he played warranted.

Leto felt his face heat up once more and cleared his throat awkwardly, sheepishly following after Hod as he made his way to the door. If his scratchy throat was anything to judge by, the poor bard's music had been accompanied by his rumbling snoring.

Not a compliment for a musician in the least.

The brisk night air woke Leto up enough to manage the short walk to Hod and Gerdur's house with some degree of coordination. He opened the door for the older man carrying the clinking crate then followed him through it.

"Love, Ralof, look who I found snoring his head off at the Sleeping Giant."

Gerdur glanced up from a book she was reading as Leto closed the door behind himself. She gave him a smile, clearly not yet noticing his condition. "What were you doing there? You know you are always welcome in our home."

Before Leto could respond to her question or thank her, he was greeted by a cheery clap on his shoulder from a grinning Ralof. The expression evaporated when he took in the sight of his new friend. Gods, he must look worse than he felt, Leto realised. And he felt plenty bad.

"I see you haven't been idle since I saw you last, my friend."

Leto chuckled. "Aye, when I delivered your sister's message to the Jarl, he asked me to help him and his wizard find something to help with their investigation into the dragons…" He gave his fellow young Nord an almost mournful look. "In Bleak Falls Barrow."

Ralof sucked in a shocked gasp, blue eyes widening and face paling. Their brief conversation about the looming mountain-top ruins had revealed exactly how he'd felt about the place. He'd probably heard all the same stories that Leto had grown up with after his sister had settled in the shadow of the nightmare-inducing crypt. The Stormcloak ushered him into a chair and passed him a bottle of mead.

Gerdur, realising what state their guest was in, lit a few more candles and moved them to the table, ordering Hod to go and round up healing supplies. When he returned, she shooed him away to fetch clean water and set up what she had while Ralof helped Leto out of his armour. As his muscles shifted and his battered armour was peeled away, he tried to keep his cursing quiet and to a minimum. Frodnar, the millers' son, was asleep in his bed with their family dog snuggled up beside him. And while Gerdur could likely give most men a run for their money in an arm wrestle, she was still a woman. He'd been cuffed up the head enough times by his father for his teachings of keeping a civil tongue around women to have sunk in.

When he finally stripped off his undershirt, there was a unanimous curse from the household. Leto glanced down at himself and wrinkled his nose. He wasn't sure what was worse; how badly he was injured or how bad he smelled. Bruises were darkening in large, misshapen patches on his chest and torso and he'd earned more cuts than he'd originally realised. The worse bruise by far was the one on the centre of his ribcage, stretching from his collarbones nearly down to his stomach. He wondered again if the Nord bandit had cracked any bones when he'd slammed his axe into him.

"Sit down," Gerdur ordered gently, moving a chair to the fireplace where Hod had poured half the water into a pot to heat.

Leto obeyed and she inspected his bicep, which was trickling blood again and aching furiously.

"By Talos, Leto, you look like you were sat on by a giant!" Ralof exclaimed.

The younger Nord chuckled, then winced. "No. That almost happened a few days ago, though." He paused and frowned. "Or was that yesterday? Ysmir's balls, I can't keep track of days anymore."

Gerdur prodded his ribs, making him scowl and bite down curses. She gave him a sympathetic look, sensing how much pain he was in by his squirming and the clenching of his fist. "Nothing seems to be broken, at least."

Leto grunted. "That's nothing. You should see my back. Feels like I've been half-flayed."

A concerned frown creased the woman's brow and she nudged him forward in his seat. "By the gods! Ralof, pass me that cloth on the table. Leto, stand up and turn the chair around. Lean against the back."

The Stormcloak obeyed and let out a curse when he saw the gash up his friend's back as he spun the seat around and slumped back down. Leto tried to glance over his own shoulder but Gerdur put a hand on the top of his head and forced him to face the front.

"How bad is it?"

"You have an almost foot-long slice near your left shoulder blade." Gerdur dipped the cloth into the heated water and started dabbing around the gash. She frowned at how red and irritated the surrounding skin was. "This is looking rather angry."

Leto snorted. "Funny, so was the thing that gave it to me… well, until it magicked me half-way across the cavern into a stream and started laughing at me."

He felt a light cuff up the back of his head, but wasn't sure whose hand had dealt it.

"You haven't tended to it at all? It's full of grime."

Leto hissed as he felt her begin to clean the wound itself. He supposed it was a good sign that it hurt as much as it did; any infection that was wanting to set in hadn't taken hold yet. "I was too busy trying to kill – re-kill – the damned thing. And I couldn't reach, anyway."

Ralof appeared in front of him, face screwed up in worry. "What was it that attacked you?"

"For starters, bandits…" He me Ralof's eyes, knowing that he was going to enjoy hearing what he said next about as much as Leto was going to enjoy retelling it. "Then draugr. You know how they're supposed to be stories to scare children?"

"Aye," the Stormcloak said slowly.

"They're real. And they fight surprisingly well for dead men," he added bitterly.

"Many were once heroes or great warriors." Gerdur pointed out, still trying to be gentle as she tended his back.

"Aye, but they're meant to be dead!" Leto exclaimed. "Not to mention not real. And even though they can swing a weapon their damned shrivelled arms should've fallen off! It's just not – ow!"

Gerdur didn't know if he had been going to say it wasn't right or it wasn't fair, but either way she couldn't help but chuckle. "You're lucky this hasn't gotten completely infected. Or damaged your spine."

Leto shot her a caustic glare over his shoulder. "Aye. Lucky. That's how I think of myself after the past few days." He yelped as she dabbed at his wound with the cloth again. "All my luck has been bad."

"Not entirely," Gerdur smiled kindly, not that he could see it now he was facing forward again. "You are still alive. The gods have given you trials and you have passed through them all. Any other would be dead."

"Or have pissed themselves and run away," Hod added.

Ralof shuddered and reached for a bottle of mead. "So the stories are true? There really are bone-walkers up in that Barrow?"

"Not anymore," Leto muttered.

He and the Stormcloak traded unsettled looks while Gerdur and Hod chuckled. Ralof scowled at his sister. "How can you find this funny? What's to stop one of those things from coming down the mountain and taking off with Frodnar in the middle of the night? All the legends say they kidnap children! And if one part of the legend is true, why aren't the other parts?"

Leto grunted his vehement agreement. If the undead did come for the village, he doubted many of them would stand a chance unless they were armed and happened to be wearing heavy armour. Draugr were said to prefer naughty children, and the problem was that, at some point, all children were. No youngster was safe from the monsters.

"Oh, come on, brother," Gerdur scoffed. "The draugr have never done such a thing before and they are hardly likely to decide to do so now. And besides," she ruffled Leto's hair playfully, "Our new friend has killed them all."

Leto cocked an eyebrow at her. "They were already supposed to be dead. It didn't stop them from getting up and trying to kill me."

"How did it get you so good, anyway?" Ralof asked, cringing in sympathy as he watched his sister wiping the cloth over the wound, causing it to bleed profusely.

For a moment, the young Nord said nothing. How could he explain about the strange wall that had passed some kind of spell onto him and that he didn't even know what it did? Should he even try? Some kind of ancient, long forgotten magic – something all Nords feared – was inside his head, whispering the same word in an unknown language over and over. He couldn't feel it doing anything to him, and aside from the roaring wind-like sound it had made as it drove itself into his mind distracting him from a draugr rising from its sarcophagus, it hadn't caused him any harm.

Still, until he could find out exactly what he had absorbed, he didn't want to tell anyone about it.

"It…" He felt his face flush hot with embarrassment. "Uh, it snuck up on me"

"A dusty, creaking, shambling undead warrior snuck up on you? Are you deaf, boy?" Hod asked, though he was amused since Leto was clearly alright.

"I am after the magic roar it used to throw me into the water," he grumbled.

The other three struggled to keep their faces straight. Ralof took pity on his friend as his face kept twitching in discomfort as his sister moved from cleaning the wound with a cloth to wringing water into it and handed over the bottle of mead he'd started before. Gerdur hummed thoughtfully, asking Hod to bring over one of the horn-candles.

After a thorough inspection, she was convinced the gash was clean. "I'm sorry, Leto, but this is going to have to be sewn shut."

Leto gave a mournful groan. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Unless you have a potion?"

The young Nord slumped and drained half of his drink in one go. "Aye, I've got one… but I was hoping to save it for an emergency. My trip to the Barrow earned me some coin, but not enough to buy many healing potions. And I was planning on trying to scrape together enough for a cure disease potion. Just in case the bandits or the draugr or the skeever or that damned massive frost-bite spider had anything."

"Spider?" Ralof almost squeaked.

Leto nodded. "Big one. Really big one. As in all of the ones from Helgen put together."

The Stormcloak shuddered violently and both his sister and brother-in-law made sounds of disgust. "I think buying a potion is a good idea, boy," Hod said.

"Aye, I was going to after the bandit shot me through the arm. When I was younger I was shot with an arrow that turned out to be rusty. Infection nearly killed me. I didn't want to do that again this time round." He scowled as Gerdur started threading a needle that, to him, looked bigger than his damned sword. "And then after the draugr slashed my back open… well, that thing's sword has been in its godsdamned sarcophagus with it while it rotted away for however many centuries. It was probably rusted and covered in gods know what."

Leto gave a pained gasp and gripped the back of the chair with white-knuckled force as the needle pierced his flesh for the first time.

"I thought you said you'd never been in combat before Helgen and the bandits," Ralof said by way of distracting him. He could see the puckered scar on his shoulder, just below his collarbone that he hadn't noticed before that he guessed was from the old wound he'd mentioned.

Leto gave a dry chuckle. "Aye, I hadn't. But when I was shot, that wasn't a fight. All one-sided in their favour. Some mercenary thugs were passing through the village and grabbed by sister. They didn't appreciate when I punched their leader in the face to get them off her."

An agonisingly long amount of time later, Gerdur put the needle down and dabbed at the wound again with something that stung almost as bad as receiving the thing in the first place. Ralof had been wincing the entire time empathy clear on his face; as a soldier fighting for Ulfric Stormcloak's cause, he'd had his fair share of injuries.

Gerdur gently tapped Leto's shoulder to get his attention and he glanced up at her with bleary eyes. During the process, he'd polished off two more bottles of mead but it had done nothing to numb the pain.

"Let me see your arm."

Leto nodded and lowered the limb that he'd had resting on the chair-back. "I tried to clean it out with snow… but after being thrown into the cave stream it was probably pretty pointless."

After cleaning it off and dabbing it with the same pungent-smelling liquid she'd used on his back she wrapped it in bandages. The arrow had gone straight through and been pulled out cleanly, meaning that it wasn't as bad as it could have beem. She then ordered him to bathe as best he could and set about tidying up the healing supplies with the help of her husband. Ralof helped his young friend clean the dungeon grime off and then took the bandages his sister passed him and bound his ribs and back to protect the stitches and his bones from any more damage.

Mercifully his gear had survived the adventure intact and Leto had clean, dry clothes to put on. His hosts got him to recount the whole tale over more mead, until they were all slurring and laughing at the ridiculousness of what had happened and the young man's flailing arms as he acted out the battles.

"But, Gerder, Hod, in all seriousness, how can you look at thing every day?" Leto finally asked. "The place is creepy enough, and everyone knows the stories about them old ruins."

Ralof gestured wildly, his head nodding in agreement. "Aye, no wonder Frodnar has nightmares!"

Hod and Gurder both exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes. "The boy has nightmares when he eats too many sweets before bed, not because of the foolish stories his uncle tries to fill his head with," the man said with a chuckle.

Leto leaned forward in his seat as far as his injuries allowed and tried to focus his eyes on the stocky miller. "But they're not just stories are they? They're real. I saw the draugr get up and start swinging their swords around. Their eyes glowed with dark magic."

Ralof rubbed his upper arms as though he were cold and took a swig of his mead. Both he and Leto wore matching expressions of unease as their drunken minds recalled every horror story they'd ever heard about the walking dead and their tombs.

"What kind of magic makes those creatures anyway? Necromancy? I bet its mages. It has to be mages," Ralof murmured.

Leto nodded. "Only bloody mages could do something like, desecrating the ancient tombs of heroes. I bet that godsdamned Farengar knew what he was sending me into too."

"Oh for Talos' sake, the pair of you!" Gerdur gave an exasperated laugh. "It isn't necromancers. Ralof, have you forgotten our grandmother's stories?"

The Stormcloak folded his arms across his chest in a decidedly sulky gesture. "Grandpa always said she was making it up."

Leto looked from one to the other, curious. "My ma was a priestess and she never mentioned about the draugr getting up and walking around. Actually, she told me the opposite; that the stories the older kids told me were made up." Though she also didn't mention giant spiders or rock-dust showers, he added in his own head. Or magical walls.

"Why do you think they're called 'bone-walkers'?" Hod asked.

The young Nord opened and closed his mouth a few times. He'd never really thought of that. He'd just assumed they'd gotten the name from the myths about them. Not because they actually could walk around. His mother had told both he and his sister that the dead did nothing but rest in their tombs, despite what every other child tried to tell them in order to make them do their chores for them.

"So what did your grandma say about them?"

Gerdur smiled and sipped her mead, building the tension while her brother's friend looked to her with wide-eyed curiosity. "Well, the legends say that the draugr were once mighty heroes, helping to free mankind from slavery to dragons."

Leto shifted uncomfortably at that little piece of information. Given what was suddenly happening in the land, the first dragon being seen in possibly thousands of years – another creature that was supposed to be real only in children's stories – discovering that the draugr fought against the beasts and were also real was a little too unsettling for mere coincidence.

If Gerdur noticed his movement, she didn't react. Instead, she kept speaking. "When these warriors and heroes died, their souls never moved on to Sovngarde. Instead, they remained behind in their rotting bodies, trapped for eternity. It is said that for their betrayal against their masters, the dragons cursed them to never truly die."

The group fell into silence, the two younger Nords staring at her with their jaws hanging slack. Leto shook himself and downed the rest of his bottle. Well, there was another thing that never made it into his mother's stories.

"Thank you for that, Gerdur. Now I'll never be able to sleep again."

Despite those words, when Hod and his wife finally called it a night an hour or so later and Leto laid down on the furs they'd placed near the fireplace for him, he was asleep quickly. The pain of his injuries was pleasantly dulled by his skinful of alcohol. He barely managed to thank the millers for letting him stay with them again, his tongue was so weighed down with mead. As he started to drift off, he was aware of a warm, furry body pressing into his side and sluggishly reached out to scratch Stump behind the ears.

Morning came far too quickly for Leto's liking. He felt as though he'd no sooner closed his eyes than he was being awoken by the excited chattering of Frodnar. Apparently the boy was pleased to see 'his' new friend back with them, but was disappointed that no one had woken him when he'd arrived the night before. Someone must have told the boy that he was injured, because the second he saw him awake, Frodnar bombarded him with questions about what 'epic battles' he'd faced since they'd seen him last.

Gerdur grabbed her son by the upper arm and pushed him back into his seat at the dining table. "Divines' sake child, let the poor man wake up first."

Leto gave a tired smile, quickly followed by a yawn, and dragged himself to his feet. "It's alright Gerdur. And Frodnar, in terms of my battles, all I have to say is stay away from ancient burial sites. Seriously. Don't go into one."

The boy's eyes widened in wonder. "Did you meet real-live draugr? How many were there? Are they just like the stories say?"

The still-exhausted – and, he realised with a small degree of shame, slightly hung-over – Nord slumped into a seat beside Ralof. "Aside from the 'live' part, aye, I came across draugr. And they are exactly like the stories." He traded a glance with the Stormcloak. "Though a lot of them miss out a few details."

The excited boy's barrage of questions continued all though breakfast, leaving his parents exasperated and the child himself almost hoarse. After everyone had finished eating, he bolted for the door, saying that he had to tell his friend everything that he had learned. He barely even remembered to call the dog out with him before he disappeared.

Hod and Gerdur offered their hospitality for a few more days, and while Leto appreciated it, he said he needed to get back to Whiterun. He had a mage to throttle, or maybe bash over the head with the tablet he'd been sent for, for failing to warn him enough of what he'd be facing in the Barrow. Ralof looked disappointed. Only a few days into hiding and recuperating and he was already feeling trapped inside the walls of his sister's house. Having some company that could keep him from the mind-numbing boredom of staring at the same four walls would have been appreciated. He was itching to return to Windhelm, but apparently soldiers had come through the day prior and he was too worried he'd be intercepted again on his way. After narrowly escaping the headsman's axe, he didn't fancy being sent straight back for them to do the job without interruption.

Gerdur redressed his wounds, not needing to give him further instructions as his mother's strict teachings had drilled the knowledge into Leto long ago. He thanked them all for their hospitality, saying he hoped he could return to visit soon and do something to repay the kindness they'd shown him.

Much as he'd expected, Ralof tried to suggest he join the rebellion again. He was a little more subtle this time, saying that if he couldn't visit Riverwood in time, then he could be found in Windhelm… possibly in the Palace of Kings where Ulfric Stormcloak and his general were.

Trying to ignore all his aches and pains, Leto made his way to the Riverwood Trader. As soon as Camilla saw him, she beamed and rushed over, leaving the same Nordic bard Leto had insulted by snoring through his performance scowling at him once more as she abandoned him, mid-sentence.

"Leto! You're back! Do you have the claw?"

Trying to ignore the twin holes boring into his skull and likely trying to will him to die in agony, Leto looked away from the musician to smile at Camilla. Her hand touched the fur trimming of his armour as it had the day he'd first met her and he suddenly remembered that the woman made him uncomfortable. Incredibly so.

"Aye, I do."

The Imperial woman gave a relieved sigh. "Oh, thank you so much! Now maybe my brother will finally stop being a walking thunder-cloud."

She ushered him into the shop and before the young Nord got the chance to even open his mouth, Camilla was reporting his success to her brother, grinning from ear to ear. Leto reached into his knapsack and pulled out the golden trinket, handing it over to the wide-eyed and happy Lucan who looked as though he'd been reunited with an old friend.

"You found it?" he laughed, running his fingers over the decorative planes of the ornament. "There it is. Strange… it seems smaller than I remember. Funny thing, huh?"

Leto simply cocked an eyebrow. The object that turned out to actually be an ancient key to a puzzle door wasn't something he'd describe as small. And it was made of solid gold, which, if anything, made the size of the claw even more impressive. After everything he went through to recover the damned thing for Lucan, he'd been hoping for something a little more… well, he'd been hoping for a better reaction than thinking his prized ornament had shrunk. It was easily the length of the Imperial's torso, for Stendarr's sake!

The shopkeeper must have seen the scepticism on the young Nord's face, because his expression quickly brightened again and he gently – almost reverently – placed the claw on the end of the bench he stood behind. "I'm going to put this back where it belongs." After giving it a few swipes with a cloth to wipe away imaginary marks, Lucan turned back to him. "I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me and my sister."

The Imperial handed over a bag of coins – the promised payment that he'd gotten from his last shipment – thanking Leto again and saying that he hoped retrieving the claw hadn't been too much trouble. Leto just snorted and told Lucan that he wouldn't have to worry about those particular thieves again and left it at that.

He was turning to leave when he felt warm hands against his biceps, fingers running into the fur shoulders of his armour again. He stiffened and wondered if it would be impolite to make a break for the door and run all the way to Whiterun without looking back.

"It means so much to us to have the claw back where it belongs. Thank you!" Camilla's voice was little more than a purr.

Leto gulped and glanced almost desperately at her brother for help as his face burned hot. Lucan's expression had darkened and he was alternating between glaring at the young Nord and his sister. For the first time, Leto took notice of the sword across the counter right in front of the shopkeeper and he wondered if the smaller man knew how to use it.

As Camilla was taking notice of the bandage wrapped around Leto's upper arm and looking as though she was about to start cooing sympathy, he reached up and pried her hands away. Before she could latch back on, he took a huge step back.

"Uh… thank you for the payment, but I have to go. I need to get back to Whiterun. Look after yourselves."

As he fumbled for the door handle, not willing to take his eyes off the Imperial siblings lest one pounce on him or the other try to drive the iron sword through his back, Camilla gave a disappointed pout and flicked a stray lock of hair back from her face.

"You're a strapping young man. Don't be a stranger."

If he hadn't managed to finally wrench the door open at that point, Leto would have simply crashed through it, that much he was certain of. He was out of the shop and moving toward the bridge out of the village faster than a man his size and with his injuries should have been capable.

Even half-way down the street he could hear the argument that erupted between the siblings. As Leto had suspected from his brief interactions with her, Camilla seemed to be… friendly with any man she met and Lucan was growing tired of it. But her defence was that she just wanted to find a good husband and start a family of her own, and that she wasn't going to achieve that if she didn't make it clear she was available.

The shouted words simply spurred Leto to move faster. Inside his own head, he grumbled that the woman should just wear an amulet of Mara if she wanted people to know she was available. He also made a mental note to avoid Riverwood at all costs for the rest of his life.

The walk back to Whiterun was mercifully uneventful. He slowed his pace to admire the view, filled with colours and insects that he'd never seen before his first walk down the road. Thankfully there was no giant his time to distract him. Soon the weather would be turning and the landscape would be muted with the stark white of snowfall, but for now, Leto was able to enjoy the reds and oranges of the shedding trees and the stubborn greens of those that stayed lush no matter the season. The smells of the meadery grew stronger as he approached and he considered stopping in to investigate the discovery of the place he hadn't noticed before, thanks to the giant in the crops of the farm next door.

Later, he decided. It was still early in the day and not only did he have a heavy slab of rock to deliver to the court wizard, but he had armour to repair and a blacksmith to keep proving his skills to. He realised he also had the bits and pieces he'd looted off the bandit corpses to sell, since he'd entirely forgotten thanks to Camilla's flirtatious petting.

Leto gave a sigh as he walked past the stables outside the city. As soon as he delivered this tablet, he'd be free to focus on restoring some kind of normalcy to his life. But the fast pace of the past few days had also been helping distract him from the reason he needed to start anew. How would he cope when he only had the instructions of a blacksmith to focus on, rather than filling his head with worrying about delving into tombs? He'd vowed to himself before leaving Riverwood that he'd live on in a way that made his family proud, not letting himself fall into the darkness of despair at their loss… but that was easier vowed than upheld.

He shook his head and forced his mind away from the memory of seeing his father laying dead in blood-stained snow, reminding himself that he had plenty yet to keep his focus away from the pain. For starters, he had his own injuries to think about. Blacksmithing with a sewn-up back was going to be interesting.

The guards at the gate opened it for him, this time without the warning that they were keeping an eye on him. He gave a wave to Adrianne who seemed glad of his return, but shook her head when she saw the condition of his armour and the way he walked with obvious signs of pain. He told her he'd be back as soon as he was finished at Dragonsreach and she told him to take his time.

When Leto reached the merchant circle, he glanced up toward the Jarl's palace and was reminded of the massive staircase he was going to have to traverse. He scowled, then decided to procrastinate by selling his trinkets and seeing if he had enough to buy a disease curing potion. He didn't feel like he was sick, aside from the almost constant and maddening itching of the skin of his back, but it was better safe than sorry.

He pulled a face at the sourness of the potion as he drank it right there in the alchemist's shop. He handed back the empty vial so she could reuse it, then began trudging up toward Dragonsreach. Once at the top, he paused to catch his breath. As had happened the first time, the guards milling around chuckled as he swiped the sweat off his face and grumbled about there being far too many damned steps. Every bruise and cut was aching fiercely and he found himself limping as he made it to the massive doors.

Inside he didn't allow himself to be distracted by the view. He wanted to just give the Dragonstone to Farengar and find a chair to collapse into until he felt like he could handle the journey back down the ridiculous amount of stairs. Maybe he should have bought a stamina potion while he was in Arcadia's. He had enough coin.

The heavy accent of the wizard told Leto he was in his laboratory, and that he also wasn't alone. A woman was bent over his desk, examining a book that seemed to have the mage excited. Leto tried to get a good look at her, but she had a leather hood pulled low over her face, and even when she glanced up at the young Nord she seemed determined to keep her identity hidden.

Farengar was still speaking to her, oblivious or simply ignoring Leto walking toward his desk and reaching into his knapsack.

"You have a visitor," the woman interrupted.

"Hmm?" The wizard turned around and his frown turned into something like an impressed smile. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

Leto scowled and shoved the stone tablet he'd been sent to retrieve into the mage's outstretched hands. He felt a little satisfaction when the mage grunted and his arms drooped at the sudden and unexpected weight.

"No, I didn't die. You could have warned be about the gods damned draugr though."

Farengar waved his anger away dismissively. "It's an ancient burial site. Of course there were going to be draugr."

A thousand things jumped up into Leto's mind that he wanted to say – not the least of which was how he had actually asked the wizard before leaving if there was anything he should know about the Barrow – but he managed to clamp his jaw shut around them before they could come flying out. Farengar was either once more oblivious or ignoring the way the young Nord's eye was twitching in frustration as he studied the tablet in his hands.

"Ah! The Dragonstone. Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way. My…" He glanced at the leather armour-clad woman who was peering curiously at the tablet in his hands. "… associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me."

As he turned toward the woman and sat the Dragonstone gently on the table in front of her, Leto wondered why she couldn't have gone to retrieve the damned thing herself if she had been the one to discover its whereabouts. The sword at her hip was of good make and suggested she could handle herself much better than Leto could, despite her being half his size.

He was drawn out of his internal grumbling when the court wizard gave a small chuckle. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us."

For the first time, Leto got a decent glimpse of her face when she looked up at him, light-blue eyes wide with surprise and studying him. "Nice work."

Despite himself, Leto gave a small nod of his head. "Thank you, ma'am. But next time, would you mind getting it yourself?" The woman laughed and the wizard stared at him in shock for his audacity.

Before he could recover, she straightened up and clapped Farengar lightly on the shoulder. "Just send me a copy when you've deciphered it. I should be going now."

"What? Oh. Yes, of course," Farengar muttered to her as she started toward the door. "One of these days you must tell me where you get your information. Perhaps I can meet your employers?"

"Continue your work, Farengar," the mysterious woman called over her shoulder dismissively, striding toward the doors of the palace.

Leto watched her move, curious as to who she was. When the wizard had mentioned 'reliable sources' that had told him where to find the Dragonstone, he had assumed he'd been talking about ancient tomes or other mages… not a short woman who liked to keep her face hidden. By the way she walked, Leto could tell she had combat training – and a lot of it. But she also moved with near silence and grace, something that he would have thought only a thief would have. Or maybe a high elf; he'd heard they were graceful creatures. The only thing he knew for certain, however, is that she was a human, not an elf. Her skin had been too fair and her build all wrong to be any of the mer races.

By the time the strange woman was out of sight, Farengar had turned his focus onto the Dragonstone and forgotten that Leto was still standing in his laboratory. The young Nord considered interrupting him and asking if that was all that was needed of him, then realised that he didn't want to in case the wizard expected him to go into some undead-infested tomb again.

As he started to cautiously back out of the room, he heard someone running toward them. The footfalls were light but clearly hurried. Leto glanced toward the sound and saw Irileth skidding to a halt, gripping the doorframe to steady herself.

"Farengar!"

The wizard glanced up, clearly irritated at being interrupted. Before he could comment on it, however, the Dunmer housecarl raised a hand to silence him, a look on her face that said he'd better keep quite or else.

"Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby."

The grin that split the mage's face was almost enough to have Leto groan in despair. If only the man had seen first-hand what those beasts were capable of, he wouldn't be looking so thrilled.

Apparently realising that he was still present, Irileth fixed the young Nord with a no-arguments look. "You should come too."

Trailing behind the pair as they made their way upstairs to war room, Leto couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settling in his gut. Stendarr's mercy, what could the Jarl and his court want from him now? The mage and housecarl were oblivious as they hurried; Farengar babbling excitedly and the Dunmer chastising him for not taking the situation seriously enough. The guards stationed by the Jarl's throne were shifting nervously, as though they knew something strange was going on but had no idea what exactly it was.

Leto couldn't help but feel he was being led to his doom. The short walk up to where the Jarl stood, handing a drink to an exhausted guard who had removed his helmet and slumped down on a cabinet beside the wall, felt remarkably similar to his carriage ride into Helgen to meet the headsman's axe.

AN: So here's another chapter :) I hope you enjoy. Also i've noticed a few little boo-boos i've made in previous chapters and i'll be going back soon to remedy them. Please bare with me.

Thank you for reading, it means so much to me. :) Please review and let me know what you think (even if it's criticism)

Theoretically the next chapter shouldn't be too far away.