V. Good Deeds
"Bandits, damned bandits on the road!"
People hurried around the two men who had just entered the tavern, clearing space for the injured guard to sit. Two feet of arrow-shaft protruded from the man's chest. Arkath had seen his share of arrow-wounds in the Legion, and the nerves he had felt under questioning from a crowd of strangers dissipated now; he was in his element. "Stop. Leave the shaft alone. If you pull, the head will detach and we won't be able to get it out." He knelt next to the guard and, taking a knife from the table, started to open a hole in his hauberk around the shaft.
"Easy, friend," Arkath spoke softly, "Let me see what we're working with." The arrow had gouged a deep wound in the right side of the man's chest. While his breathing was ragged, there wasn't much blood coming from the cut, and Arkath figured his major vessels were intact. Lucky. He could not see any sign of the arrowhead in the wound, though. He was going to need to dig around a little to get it out.
"Freja," Arkath called. "I'm going to need to open the wound to extract the head. Can you brew something that will help his pain?"
Freja's brow furrowed with thought. "A... a poultice of mountain flowers and dartwing carapaces would have some effect... But I've brought nothing with me from..." Her voice trailed off with the thought of the creature she had thought to be her Auntie.
The old woman who had raved about the dragon's arrival placed her hand on Freja's shoulder. "I have my herbalists' supplies at home, dearie. Come, I'm sure we can find what you need. Hod!" Her son stood and, taking a torch from the wall of the inn, left quickly with Freja and his mother.
The guard's breathing was slowing. The arrow may have pierced his lung, Arkath thought, and he was tiring. "What's your name friend? Tell me what happened." The Orc tried to distract him.
"Torbjen, they call me. Argh!" Torbjen coughed, and flecks of blood spattered across Arkath's armour. "I was... coming back from patrol on the western road. There were two bandits, rummaging through a handcart. There... there was a body at their feet on the road, and blood on their hands..." Torbjen coughed again. His eyelids sagged, and his companion had to hold his head to keep it from dropping.
"I chased them off, damned dogs. But one of the bastards was hiding in the trees and got me when I was checking the body."
"Arkath, here."
Freja and the old woman returned with a mortar containing a lumpy green paste. It smelled sweet, and to Arkath's eyes it glowed, softly. Freja applied the paste to the guard's cleaned skin and placed her hands over it. Torbjen's body tensed for a moment, then relaxed. When Freja removed her hands, the mixture was all but gone, and the guard's skin was tinted with a faintly pulsing green.
Arkath set to work. He used a knife cleaned with spirit to enlarge and explore the wound. He saw the arrowhead, lodged between two of Torbjen's ribs. He took heated tongs and grasped the iron tip of the arrow. He heaved and Torbjen screamed – Freja's poultice was obviously only so strong. Still, Arkath's tongs grasped the iron tip and held it for Torbjen to see. He laughed, "Gods bless ye, Orc."
Freja and the old woman busied around Torbjen, applying bandages and a new concoction of herbs to help the wound heal. Arkath received hearty slaps on the shoulder from everyone he saw, and whenever he emptied his flagon it was refilled within the minute all evening.
Hod, Gerdur's husband and the herbalist's son, sat down opposite the Orc. "The girl called you Arkath, your name?" he enquired. Arkath nodded.
"We're thankful for your help. Now, I won't ask you about your past or how you got here, but from your gear and what you did for Torbjen, you seem to have experience."
Arkath took a pull from his mug. "Mm. What are you getting at?"
"I told you, we are struggling for guards, and most of them won't act without direct orders from the Jarl. The bandits are getting bolder. We need to do something. Whatever you are, adventurer, soldier of fortune, I don't care, but... we need your help."
Despite Hadvar's mockery – Gods, it seemed a lifetime ago that they fought on the cliffside – Arkath had seen battle and bloodshed. His unit toured the Colovian Highlands when he was fresh out of the Academy. Bandits were raiding the merchant caravans, and the Emperor deployed the Legion to buy the loyalty of the Burghers of Chorrol. He had flushed outlaws out of mines, ruins, and fortified farmhouses. But not without some of his men paying the price.
"What do you know about them?" Arkath asked. From what they could tell, Hod explained, the bandits were operating out of the abandoned Embershard Mine. Usually, they satisfied themselves with stealing cattle and extorting merchants along the road. But now blood was being spilt. There were able bodies from the town who would surely help, Hod assured. Faendal, a Bosmer, was the keenest archer this side of Whiterun.
While he saw risk, Arkath also saw opportunity. "Okay. But I'll need some things in return."
He made his demands. New armour, at least a hauberk and greaves, so he could have something that fit and didn't draw so much attention, as well as sword and shield. He was willing to sacrifice some quality in his equipment to gain a bit of anonymity.
Hod scratched his chin. "Aye, that sounds doable. I'll have to speak to our smith to see about the gear. And Lucan at the Riverwood Trader for supplies. I'm sure Delphine will put you up here for the night, I'll meet you here in the morning." He stood and left Arkath sitting alone.
Freja came and took Hod's seat. "Arkath, that was amazing," she said softly, "Gods know what would've happened if you weren't here."
He felt himself flush. "Well, without you it wouldn't have been possible. Not to mention the fact that I wouldn't be here to start with."
She looked up at him, head cocked slightly to one side, and smiled. Her dark blonde hair was still tied back, but a golden strand hung loosely in front of her face. Their eyes held each other for a moment, before she looked away and tucked her hair behind her ear.
"Well, what will you do now?" Freja asked.
"Riverwood's got a bandit problem. They need someone who can fight, I've agreed to stay and help."
"What about your uncle? Won't he be expecting you in Solitude?"
Arkath had almost forgotten his fake travel plans.
"Ah... but I suppose a few days won't make much difference. That's so good of you, it will be dangerous, though, no?"
"Aye, I suppose so. But Hod thinks the town's in danger. Don't think I'd feel right walking away." His father had taken his oath to protect the people of the Empire seriously, and so did he. Despite the Council finding Reuven guilty, Arkath knew his father would never compromise his beliefs.
He caught Freja's gaze. Her eyes were blue like ice and bright like sun shining on fresh snow. They were big, and kind, and curious. Arkath wondered that they might see right through him. He realised that after he left Riverwood he would never see them again, and he looked away.
He cleared his throat. "What about you, what will you do?" he asked.
"Well, I told Agete the herbalist my aunt... passed away... and she has offered to take me in and teach me what she knows. Who knows how long I'll stay. Say – if you're off to face those bandits, maybe I could prepare some salves for you?"
"I'd like that, thank you."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Delphine, the owner of the inn, offered for both of them to stay a few nights given the help they had been. The two gladly accepted, and each retired to their rooms to rest for the day ahead. Arkath paused at the doorway for a second and looked over his shoulder. Freja did the same, and she smiled.
"Well, it's all we could rustle up overnight."
Hod and Riverwood's smith, Alvor, stood with Arkath at Alvor's forge on the main road through town. People bustled up and down, carrying firewood, sacks of flour and grain, bows, saws, and other tools. A few horses were tied up outside the Riverwood Trader, the town's main store, as their owners stood and smoked pipes and talked. Dogs chased chickens, children chased the dogs, and mothers shouted at the children as they washed laundry by the river. It was a lively town of a few hundred people, but it was also vulnerable.
Arkath looked over the gear. Alvor offered him a quilted gambeson, dark red in colour, and a leather jerkin which would cover his chest. A pair of boots and some soft leather gloves completed the set. He also took a round hardwood shield. He looked over the weapons the smith had found overnight – two axes of different lengths and a long iron sword – but chose to hold onto his Imperial steel.
Hod led Arkath to the town's western gate. A short elf, hair tied back in a ponytail and bow slung across his chest. Waited for them.
"Arkath, Faendal." Hod introduced the pair. They shook hands. Hod continued, "I, uh... asked around the Giant but Faendal here is the only one who volunteered. You'd think all those boys shouting about the Stormcloaks and Sovngarde would be keen to test their mettle, but... ah, well, I'm sorry."
Truthfully, Arkath didn't mind. He didn't especially want some lumberjack of a Nord getting in his way. He wasn't sure about taking an archer through the narrow corridors of a mine, but it would be rude to refuse. Hod gave them directions – a few hours' walk along the western road, then a short hike southward – and the pair set off.
They had reached the trail leading to the mine by noon. The elf was straight-faced, bordering on haughty, though Arkath wondered if it might be nerves. High elves were more common in the Imperial City; the Thalmor kept a strong presence there. Arkath hadn't met many of their shorter, forest-loving cousins.
"Stay behind me." Arkath said. "We'll take it slow, try and hit 'em one at a time. If you got a clear shot, signal."
Faendal nodded, Arkath drew his sword, and the two made their way up the trail. They had walked for nearly ten minutes when Arkath held up his hand and they moved behind an outcrop.
"One watchman by the door." he whispered. He turned, and Faendal already had an arrow nocked. They were at least a hundred yards from the man, and Arkath looked at the elf with incredulity. The very best marksmen he had seen in the Legion could barely make a shot like that, did this elf really want to alert the whole mine before they had gone in the door?
"You want to try from here?"
"Clear line, no breeze. Sure shot, Orc."
Arkath shrugged and motioned for Faendal to take the shot. The arrow whistled through the air with the faintest arc, striking the lookout in the throat. His body spasmed briefly as he fell to the floor.
"Gods, what an arrow." Arkath said under his breath as he crouched, open-mouthed. He had clearly underestimated his companion. The pair moved towards the entrance of the mine, but there was no-one else outside. The door creaked slightly as it opened, years of rust and neglect on its hinges. Arkath measured every footstep. The mine was dusty, but torches lining its tunnels showed it to be lived-in. Crates and barrels cluttered the path, with rusted pickaxes and shovels resting against the walls. The tunnel opened into a large cavern with water at the bottom, and Arkath could see two figures standing by a fire. A man and a woman, judging by their voices, both with Nordic accents.
Faendal had been moving so quietly Arkath almost forgot the elf was there. Again, he had an arrow nocked, ready. "Want me to take it?" he asked.
"Hold on." Arkath breathed. There might be more bandits in this cavern. He could see a drawbridge, raised, and the flicker of a torch across the cavern. Taking down one of the two by the fire would mean a fight with the other, and if the noise drew others, they could quickly find themselves outnumbered.
The bandits laughed at some shared joke and began to walk away from the fire. One sat herself at a workbench, but the other was climbing a crude staircase that would lead him them straight to the intruders.
"Shit. Can you hit the one coming our way?"
No sooner had Arkath spoke than an arrow flew through the cavern. Again, it struck the bandit right in the throat, and the force of the shot caused him to fall into the water below.
"What the fuck? Hathor? Shit!" The bandit at the bottom of the stairs drew her axe and grabbed her shield, raising it in front of her. She looked around the cavern in panic.
"What's going on out there?" Another one appeared at the end of the walkway, stepping out from where Arkath had seen the torchlight. He saw the pair of intruders across from him and raised his sword and shield.
"Never should have come here!"
As the bandit charged over the walkway, Faendal loosed a shot which hit the man in the thigh. He staggered, lowering his guard for a moment, and shouted out in pain. Arkath closed the distance between them, shield raised. He thrust at the bandit's gut with his sword, but the man swung his own to parry. Arkath kicked at the bandit's thigh, catching the arrow wound, and his leg collapsed as again he screamed in pain.
Before the Orc could deal a final blow, however, the Nord woman appeared over her ally's shoulder. She roared as she brought her axe overhead with lightning speed. The force of the blow was tremendous; Arkath raised his shield to deflect the strike, but it put him off balance. The Nord woman's momentum brought her level with him, though, and Fanedal used the opening to loose another shot. An arrow sprouted from her torso, causing her to stagger backwards. Arkath found his footing and seized the opening, driving his shortsword into her gut. As he turned, he saw the other bandit on the floor, a new arrow set in the side of his skull.
Faendal was quite the companion, Arkath decided. The pair developed an unspoken understanding, communicating using nods and gestures to take out the bandits loitering in the mines. They found them in ones and twos, mostly. Their task was made easier by the fact that, despite the early hour, at least half the company seemed drunk.
Arkath parried another clumsy axe-swing and thrust his sword into the belly of a surly Nord. The man collapsed, blood soaking the dirt at Arkath's feet. They were in another large chamber now: a rough dining room lay at the centre and wooden rope bridges spanned the cavern. A makeshift forge lay below them, coals still smouldering as the bodies of two already-dispatched bandits lay lifeless on the ground next to it. Arkath and Faedal stood still for a moment, listening.
"D'you think that's it?" said the elf.
"Aye, maybe. Let's have a look around. But keep your bow ready."
Hod was right – the bandits had been busy. There were crates of mead and wine stacked about the dining area, and rolls of silk and other fine fabrics were propped in the corners. Arkath saw a chest underneath one of the tables. He rattled the lock. With the right tools, someone could get past such a thing if they had nimble fingers. And a great deal of patience, he thought. He took the dead Nord's axe from the floor and smashed in the top of the wooden lockbox, revealing a sack of coin, a few scrolls, and a logbook containing details of the bandit company's hauls. Arkath flicked through the pages.
13th Sun's Height. Spirit merchant from Falkreath. Three crates of Nibenean red and four crates of Colovian brandy. Fifty Septims in coin and a two-hundred Septim credit note. 2nd Last Seed. Timber wagon from Riverwood. Shook down for twenty Septims. Told them they wouldn't be so lucky of they didn't have the full fee next time. Took a finger from the young lad as a reminder. 10th Last Seed...
The entries continued with dates, loot, and gruesome details. But there was one entry that stuck out to Arkath.
22nd Last Seed. Envoy from V arrived. Says the coin we've been sending isn't enough. Explained traffic on the Helgen road has dried up, but bitch didn't care. Argument got heated and Ridelma swung for her. Never seen anything move so fast in my life... bitch cut her hand clean off. Rid bled out. Said it was a warning.
There was little else of use in the old mine. The main chamber cleared, Arkath and Faendal crossed a rope bridge to a door at the highest point of the cavern. Early evening sunlight streamed through its small windows, and on opening it they found themselves on a cliff high above the White River, watching smoke rise from the chimneys of Riverwood below.
"I don't know what they wanted, but they were very specific. An Orc, coming from Helgen. One who looked the military type."
Bad news awaited Arkath back at the Sleeping Giant. Two strangers had come to Riverwood that morning, not long after he had left for Embershard Mine. Delphine the innkeeper relayed him the story – they were suspicious-looking, with thick, dark robes covering their whole bodies and hissing, guttural voices. Mages, perhaps, or Thalmor. Either way, Delphine said, they promised they would be back. She had covered for Arkath – at no small danger to herself – because he had helped the town of Riverwood. But now it was time for him to be on his way.
Delphine had put her trust in him, and Arkath decided to risk doing the same.
"I appreciate you telling me this. But I need one more favour. I'm in Skyrim to get information, about my family. My father was... involved with the Legion. Don't want to approach them directly, but do you know anyone who might know what's happening in the ranks?"
Delphine paused in thought for a moment. "Dangerous business. But I suppose you'd know that. Only people I can think of would be Clan Battle-Born in Whiterun. They're staunch Empire-lovers, but you might be able to get something out of one of them. I know one of the young one likes a drink, heard he has a reputation for loose lips."
Arkath thanked Delphine for the information. For the first time since he arrived in Skyrim, it seemed he had a direction, and he felt a hint of optimism. Delphine said he had two options for getting to Whiterun. It was a day's walk along the main road heading north out of town – by far the easier route, but risky with hooded strangers hanging about. Or he could hike over the hills to the west of Riverwood, past the ruins of Bleak Falls Barrow. It would double his journey time, at least, but would allow him to travel more inconspicuously.
"Pardon me, but did I hear you talking about Bleak Falls Barrow?"
A short Imperial who had been drinking in the inn sidled up to Arkath and Delphine.
He held out his hand to Arkath. "Lucan Valerius. Proprietor of the Riverwood Trader." He looked Arkath up and down. "You must be the Orc everyone's been talking about."
Arkath shook Lucan's hand, silently cursing his status as the talk of Riverwood.
"Look, I have a, uh, business proposition for you. My store was recently burgled, and the thieves took something of great value to me. Strictly sentimental, of course. Anyway, I know they're holed up in Bleak Falls barrow. I heard what you did down in Embershard Mine. If you could retrieve my claw – I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment, it's yours."
Arkath pondered the proposition. While he was in Skyrim, he was going to need some coin to keep him afloat. The bandits he dealt with in Embershard posed little problem – he wondered if he might make a career as a bandit-hunter in Skyrim when this was all over. He agreed to Lucan's terms, though he made it clear he had business in Whiterun that he had to see to before he could return to Riverwood.
The sun was a long way from reaching the floor of the White River valley, but Arkath was preparing to leave. He had donned his armour, his bag was packed with provisions he had bought from Delphine, and his Legion steel was strapped at his side. He opened the door from the inn, though, and stopped.
"Freja... I didn't..."
"I heard you were leaving. I understand, what with those strangers arriving. But..."
She flung her arms around the Orc and pressed her cheek firmly into his chest. Her hair smelt sweetly of moss and pine, and Arkath closed his eyes and breathed it in, slowly. They held each other for a few moments, each more grateful for the other than they could manage to say.
"Will you come back to Riverwood, do you think? After you've seen your uncle in Solitude?"
The lies he had told Freja sat uncomfortably in Arkath's stomach. He would be back, he said, but he couldn't say exactly when. He fumbled with his words, unsure exactly how to express the bond he felt with the young Nord woman. She smiled and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and he immediately felt his green skin flush red.
"I'd like that." she said. She placed three small bottles of red liquid – healing potions – into his hands, and her fingers lingered in his palm. Despite the chill of the early morning, they were warm, and Arkath squeezed them gently.
He walked through the north gate out of Riverwood to a chorus of cockerel-calls and the steady rhythm of the day's first cartwheels on the cobbled road, and he crossed the White River in the shadow of the Throat of the World.
AN: We have dallied arounnd Riverwood for long enough, I think. We'll be advancing the plot – Dovahkiin and Dawnguard storylines, with some liberties taken – more quickly in the coming chapters. Thanks so much for reading, please consider leaving a review so I can hear your comments and suggestions! Also, please let me know what you think of the perspectives of the different characters – are you finding the Tullius story interesting? D x