Chapter 2: To Watch One's Fate Unfold

The next morning was uncomfortably hot and humid. The day started, as usual, when Breela cried. The sun was just about to rise and so the men got up and began preparing for the day while Alcedonia fed the baby. Ashled always made breakfast. He was, and always had been a morning person, and the walk next door to pick up eggs was a good time for him to stretch and appreciate the dawn. While he did this, Alexander milked the old cow, fed the goats, and shoveled the manure ,produced by said cow and goats, onto the garden. When he was done with his morning chores, and while Ashled cooked breakfast, Alexander ran to the guild hall to wake up Hephaestion, who had by now earned himself a bed in the guildhouse, and then to the Servilius house to invite Brutus and his father. Hephaestion would sleep through a dragon attack if the dragon attacked between the hours of ten and seven, so he relied on Alex to wake him and pull him out of bed. Brutus was always waiting outside to receive Alex's invitation without fail and his father was always off to work already.

The boys enjoyed the mornings as this is when Ashled was most playful. The four of them would jabber back and forth like buffoons while Arla rolled her eyes. As the warriors finished their heaping piles of breakfast, Ashled looked through all the contracts the island had and assigned a priority value, between one and ten, to each based on the criteria of, how big a threat it was, how urgent it was, and how much the client was paying. Based on the value Ashled assigned, the contract would be offered to a guild member with a corresponding rank. For example: Breela was a rank ten mercenary so she would receive jobs with high scores in threat, urgency, and pay. Lower ranked mercenaries would receive lower threat, less urgent, and lower paying jobs.

"Sorry about how heated things got last night, father." said Alex while Ashled read the contracts.

"Right! I had almost forgotten about your brazen behavior! I'm so glad you said something. You don't get to call your father a coward in front of his own wife without earning yourself a good 60 push ups per arm." replied Ashled merrily.

"You can't just let things be peaceful can you?" retorted Alex. "Not this time old man, I'll take that knee this time."

"Oh-ho?" Ashled grinned a grin that was rarely on his face since the passing of his brother. The same sickly grin he donned at the battle of Red Ring. The table was cleared and pushed against the wall to make space. Ashled and Alexander both got down into a wrestling stance with their arms out in front of them and their legs safely guarded underneath themselves. All of the guests stood against the wall except Breela who, as usual, would act as the judge.

"You both know the rules, the first tag wins it." she looked over at Arla, Brutus, and Hephaestion. "You three, if there's a tag in dispute you will act as judges as well. Now, BEGIN!" As soon as the signal was given Alex launched at his father's legs. Ashled jumped, planted his left hand on the back of Alex, then used his right to make an attempt at the back of Alex's left knee. Anticipating the counter, Alex planted his right foot and left hand before kicking his left leg underneath his own body, pivoting on the axis created by his opposite limbs, and launching his own left arm back at his father's knee that was helpless in the air, or so he thought. Ashled was far too battle-wise to let this be the end of his undefeated streak. Although Alex's body had been pulled out from underneath him, he was not without an anchor. He grabbed the neck ridge of Breela's chest plate and twisted his body in a way that kicked his left leg underneath him, saving him from being tagged. Breela, however, was not spared, as she was sent head first into Alexander knocking both of them to the ground. Before Alex had even pieced together what his father had done, he felt the dishearteningly familiar feeling of a meaty hand grasping his leg.

"No judge needed," Ashled chuckled "a clear victory." He walked into his bedroom to grab a journal that, when opened, revealed pages of tally marks. He turned to the ninth page and added another dash to the ongoing list before shouting out to his son

"That's 239 to zero now, boy. Want me to give you a rematch so I can make this an even two forty?" He laughed a proud Nord belly laugh as Alex rolled his eyes and began his push-ups. As he wrapped up, he took his seat at the table, which was now returned to its proper spot in the center of the room.

"Todays the day right Alex?" asked Hephaestion "the duel with Torson?"

"How did you? Never mind. Yes, and to be quite frank, I'll not show any sort of mercy this time. This will be the last. I'll not spare that fool again, he's earned his death." replied Alexander. The boys chuckled and joked. None of them saw the staple morning smile fall from Ashled's face.

"When has a man earned death, son?" the room fell silent. Ashled was not mad or loud, rather, a bone chilling calm. Alexander simply froze and looked his father in the eyes.

"Isn't the whole goal of this conflict to kill the Jurgikssens? Why let it drag on. If the man wants to put his life on the line let him." he said back to his father, regaining his composure as he spoke. Ashled stood and walked back into Alexander's room and gestured for him to follow. The other guests left and waited outside the home, wondering what in creation could be happening in Ashled's mind to make him act the way he was.

"That boy knows only the glory of killing trolls and bandits. As old as he looks, his true age shines through in an instant when he speaks like that." said Breela to her daughter and the young men standing outside. They looked at her the same way a puppy looks up at its owner. Full of wonder, respect, and questioning. Inside, Ashled sat down on Alex's bed and picked up the sleeping baby Breela II. Alexander sat on a chair across from him.

"Boy- er… Alex… my son, I could not expect you to have the same appreciation as those who have seen true hell, nor would I ever want you to. To take a life from a man is not to prove him wrong, nor is it to strip him of his pride, but to rob him of something much more valuable."

"Father, I know the value of life." replied Alex

"You know life has value, but you have not lived enough to know the value of life. To fight and earn glory is one side of the coin. It fills one with pride, it is, in a sad kind of way, incredibly satisfying, but the other side of that coin… You have dreams Alex, you have dreams and you have the means to attain them and time to do it. To kill Torson is to rob him of his dreams, his opportunity, his time. My son, there is nothing in this world that is equal in worth to time." Ashled's eyes looked down at the sleeping baby and for the first time in his life, Alexander saw his father's eyes glazed in tears. His heart felt as if it sunk into his stomach and a vacuum was caving his chest into the hole where his heart once was. "The other side of that coin, my son, is the infinite possibility that is lost with every young man's death. It's finding a collection of dead flesh and bones that should have been an adventurer; who was supposed to be the one who set out to sea and return home with stories of distant lands that would leave you in awe. Nothing has ever once been worth a man's life. A man's fate is never, at any point during one's life, set in place. You can be whoever you want whenever you want but to steal someone's time on Nirn, is to rob them of their freedom, and their choice. That is the one thing that is unforgivable." Not one tear fell from Ashled's face as he looked down at Breela, but a rivers-worth waited just behind his kind eyes.

Alexander looked at his father, stood up and in his confusion spoke angrily to him.

"What kind of hypocritical war hero tells his son there is no reason to kill?"

"There's no such thing as a war hero, boy. Only survivors" replied Ashled

"You're wrong. If what you say is true, and there is no good reason to die, then that means uncle Aslan was a fool for dying to protect the legion."

"We were all fools, son, and without him I would have never realized it." Alexander was made uneasy seeing his father in this vulnerable state. He didn't know what to feel and so he decided to feel anger.

"There is glory in battle and you've just grown too sour to admit it. You're afraid and you're trying to make me afraid too. You don't need to be. I'm not gonna end up like uncle Aslan. I'm strong so that I don't have to worry about dying and so I can earn glory like a true warrior… like you used to be." Ashled didn't look angry, he didn't even look affected. He only murmured to his son

"Everybody is someone's Aslan. Don't be the man who takes a mother's child." This only Frustrated Alexander more. He knew how to deal with his father when he was angry, but this was something he had never seen. Throughout his life his father had always been loud and stubborn but now he sat calm as if every word Alex said made him more and more sad.

"I'm going to that duel," said Alexander " and I'm going to kill Torson because it will bring me glory and it will be the first step to ending this damnable conflict once and for all, and when I return, I will do so with his head, and there will be a feast in my honor because that's how men handle problems!" he stormed out and slammed the door on his way out, prompting baby Breela to cry. As he shot past his aunt and friends, he told them to follow him to the duel. The three did so without a second word. A moment after Ashled emerged from the home wearing a low set of brows and a sad frown.

"What's with his look? Not sure I've ever seen a morning without a smile on your face. What's the matter?" commented Breela.

"My bones ache." he replied.

The group made their way to the usual spot. It was clearing in the woods just far enough from town so they could not be seen. Though it was a morning in early spring, the heat was like that of a summer day. Alexander was still frustrated with his father and his own confusion. He always knew what to do and, more often than not, was good at doing it, but this was far outside of what he had experience with and his intuition let him down as he couldn't figure out a way to "win" this morning's discussion. There wasn't much conversation between the four of them as they made their way there. The entire walk through the city was silent. The silence was only broken by Arla when they were just outside the city's tall palisade. She asked Alexander what he and Ashled were talking about in the house, but before she could finish, she was interrupted by Hephaestion who said simply

"It's none of our business."

By the time the four Southern warriors arrived, they had worked up a sweat. They entered the clearing to the obnoxious greeting of Torson. The tall blonde young man was the model for a Nord. He was thick in the neck, arms, and legs, pale as the light of the moons, and had sported a thick blonde beard since he was only sixteen. He kept his hair short and swept to his right. For the fight, he was wearing a well made, white, knee length gambeson with short sleeves. Under it he wore a long sleeved heavy wool shirt that was dyed a forest green, with a brown set of much lighter wool pants. His pants were tucked into his boots, which were a fine thick leather with cuffed tops.

Next to Torson was Tarbjorn holding some weapons and armor. Tarbjorn was a decent enough warrior but was no match for Alexander, nor did he ever feel like he had to be, as Torson was always with him. When he saw Alex, Torson had Tarbjorn mount his armor on him. While Torson put on a set of expensive steel plate gauntlets, Tarbjorn latched and tied onto Torson, a very expensive steel plate chest and back piece that fit so well it was obviously made for him specifically. On the South side of the island, armor wasn't typically used as it was expensive and as a result, the people had developed a culture that looked down on wearing armor and valued toughness over practicality. Plate armor especially was out of the question as each piece could cost as much as a horse, with Breela being the only warrior in the entirety of the South with a piece of steel plate armor, being worn on the chest in her case.

In stark contrast to the luxurious decorated armor of Torson, was the minimalist, cobbled together armor of Alexander. He was wearing a fur lined battle skirt with a single wide leather strap going across his chest diagonally and over his right shoulder. He kept boiled leather bracers for added protection along with plain leather boots. A worn leather belt held his weapons of choice, twin Stirk Steel bearded battle axes covered with nordic carvings. The axes were classic Stirk Axes; long cutting edges, long handles, and far too heavy for a one handed axe. A mainlander may think they were merely short hilted two-handed axes. Despite their heft, Alexander wielded them with the dexterity expected of the future Gryphon's guild master. His slashes were powerful and his edge alignment was flawless, meaning each strike, no matter how quick and light, could be a kill. His incredible strength combined with the speed of an experienced dual wielder made it so that the only way to survive a fight with Alexander was to hide behind a sturdy shield and back up as the storm of axe strikes battered your defenses.

"Well if it isn't Alex the small." jeered Torson. Alex smirked. The second language of the Bjornsons was insults, expletives, and vilification.

"They've taken to calling me Alex the shield breaker as of late. Although, with how sultry Dorne is looking even in her old age, I may have to get used to being called Alex the home wrecker." he smiled confidently.

"Not likely Alex, I hear old Tors a cuckold. Doesn't even mind how much she sleeps around." added Hephaestion. Torson's eyes narrowed and his head whipped over to shoot a deathly gaze at Hephaestion.

"Piss off troll bait!" he shouted angrily

"Woah woah there Torson, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" said Alexander, trying to keep Torson's anger directed at himself in an attempt to fluster the warrior. The attempt was in vain however as Torson took a breath and calmed down. Then he looked at Alexander

"No," he responded with a smirk, "my mouth is far too busy sucking the lips off your mother." he leaned back, pleased with himself, and fed off of the snickers of Tarbjorn. Completely unimpressed, Alexander mumbled to his friends.

"He's busy sucking something." said the young warrior, just loud enough so that Torson could hear it and be irritated by it.

"Tarbjorn, my sword." he held out his right hand palm up at his side as if asking his father for money. As he did this, his younger brother removed the sword that had been strapped to his back and pulled it from its leather sheath. It was a one of a kind, two handed falchion; A long, broad sword with a single cutting edge. The blade was wide from spine to edge, about a hand's width, and polished to a mirror shine with a razor sharp finish. In full swing, it could easily cleave through bone. Torson held up the blade, examining how clean and polished it was, before laying it, blade edge up, on his right shoulder.

"What do you think of this fella?" asked Torson "The gods gave me two hands, and I decided a real weapon deserves to be wielded by both of them." Alex smirked.

"Let me get this straight, after getting your ass kicked up and down Stirk, you thought it would be a good idea to get rid of your shield? Less protection was the solution you came to?" he belted out a loud chuckle from his barrel chest and his companions joined him. Torson looked down at the scars on his arms left by Alexander. One long scar across his chest in particular burned when he thought of Alex. His face contorted into an expression of disgust as he pulled his sword down from his shoulder and gripped it tightly in both hands.

"Shall we do this then? I've never cared much for inconsequential banter." he barked

"Well you were never much good at it either." chuckled Alexander. Then, almost as if he had flipped a switch, all the joy and amusement melted from Alexander's face leaving only a frozen, focused glare.