Disclaimer: I only own a copy of Skyrim

He hurriedly opened the door and slammed it shut, turning the lock. Thoryn's heart raced as he heard his pursuer rush past his home, obliviously screaming for him. He pressed his back to the front door before sliding down, his hands to his face in relief. What a blind saber cat. The idiot knew where he lived. But perhaps he should just count his blessings.

"Thoryn?" his mother's voice called for him, and he glanced up to see her peeking at him. She looked curious, but was overtaken by concern when she saw his state. Blood all over his light gray hands, sourced from a broken nose and lip, the later he could feel swelling up. "Oh honey. Was it the Honorhall boys again?"

His mom had been doing some household chores, but dropped it all to fetch a rag. She dipped it into some water before coming to his aid. She wiped his hands off briefly before he took the material from her to press to his nose.

"...No," his voice croaked out soft and quiet as he was forced to confess. "Yngling Black-Briar."

The dumner before him gave him a deep frown, and he avoided her eyes. Considering the Thieves Guild's connection with the Black-Briar family, it was very rare for such a negative counter. Even between Maven's youngest grandchild and the youngest Thieves Guild Member. Everybody knew their place and the relationship, and they rarely stepped on the other's toes. It was bad business to soil such a partnership.

"What happened?" she asked. Thoryn said nothing, patting his bloodied nose. Her voice became more stern. "Thoryn."

"He said he knew that Papa was coming," he finally spoke. "And he said all sorts of nasty things." He gave a small grin of pride. "So I...made his pockets a bit lighter." The smile disappeared. "...He noticed, so he began to hit me, and I ran." His mother stared at him, disapprovingly.

"You know we don't steal or do such things to the Black-Briars," she told him, her tone stern. Thoryn didn't meet her gaze, instead staring at the floor. "What did you take?"

"Some gold, and a key to his ma's store," he confessed, his voice muffled from the rag. She held out her hand, expectantly. Thoryn stared at it for a moment before sorrowfully reaching into his pockets. He produced a small handful of gold, and a key to the apothecary shop. His mother smiled a thank you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head as she wrapped an arm around him in a brief hug.

"I'll return this to Ingun while you're gone. Now please do some restoration and clean up. Have you packed yet?" Thoryn's face scrunched up.

"I don't want to go," he said quietly. His dark blond hair was lightly ruffled.

"I know, Snowberry," she replied affectionately, and she looked truly sympathetic. "But your pa just built a brand new home, so you won't be stuck at the Sanctuary. You'll have your own room, so no more sharing. He said in his letters that it's close to Whiterun too. You can see Olava." Not even the mention of his friend seemed to perk the teenager up. "It's just for a few weeks, honey."

"I know," Thoryn closed his eyes as he removed the cloth from his face. He put a hand to his cheek, and he began to feel the tingle of his restoration magic fixing his swollen lip. "It's just...I dunno. Being around Pa for too long is just kind of awkward. And his letters said that he has land, so going to town isn't going to be an easy excuse to leave anymore."

"Cicero will likely be there too," his mother tried to point out. While Thoryn loved Cicero, he truly did, the idea of his only immediate company being his odd father and mad stepfather-of-sorts for the next few weeks didn't really spark any excitement over the trip. His mother seemed to take note of this. "And the housecarl will be there, and the steward."

"Pa hasn't stabbed them to death yet?" Thoryn replied coldly, but winced as he instantly regretted his words. His mother was frowning deeply at him, and he remained silent.

The magic finished, and Thoryn's face looked good as new. She smiled at him, and she cupped his cheeks, lovingly kissing her son's forehead. Thoryn forced a weak smile.

"Are you certain I can't accompany you to the Imperial City?" he questioned hopefully, wondering if the millionth times the charm would result in a different answer. Her smile turned apologetic.

"Sorry, Snowberry," she apologized. "It's a long trip, and your pa's been really, really wanting to spend time with you. Especially with your birthday coming up. He hasn't been able to come see you since winter." She patted one of his cheeks. "Now go get changed and packed. Your pa said he and Cicero would be here by sun up to pick you up, and the sun's already begun to rise."

Thoryn sighed, and he reluctantly began to stand up. His mother was already moving to get what was needed in preparation of doing laundry to wash his bloodied clothing and rag before it stained permanently. He stripped off his pants and shirt, handing them to his mother before going to his room to pack.

He stood in the doorway, staring at his bed and storage chests, feeling bitter. He could be packing to accompany his mother on an epic thieving quest in the Imperial City with Uncle Brynjolf and Auntie Vex to steal some expensive museum artifacts for some rich man in Hammerfell, who had specifically requested for the incredibly successful Guild in Skyrim to perform such a task. Thoryn could be looking forward to a long carriage ride with his Guild family, who allowed him to freely drink ale as long as he was willing to accept the consequences of a hangover. He could prepare to listen to his mother tell him stories of her early days as a thief, the legends of the Nightingales, about her childhood and of the dragons. He sighed at his misfortune.

Thoryn pulled on a fresh pair of clothing before pulling out two bags to pack. Clothing went into one. The other, his lockpicks, a few books. He put his bow and arrows in there. His father enjoyed hunting, and while Thoryn wasn't particularly a massive fan, hunting trips were always a good time. Pa's aim was incredible, and since the last trip they went on together, Thoryn had been practicing using Pa's advice. He was very certain that now he could take down game himself, instead of just simply using the time to collect alchemy ingredients.

He sighed heavily as he glanced up at his Thieves Guild armor. A hand reached out, lightly tracing the details. He wished he could go to the Imperial City.

"Thoryn! Your pa's here!" Thoryn flinched at his mother's call.

"I'll be right there!" he called back, and he hurriedly tossed a few more of his things into the bags before closing them. He peeked his head out to view his parents. His mother was washing his bloodied clothes clean in a washbin, his father standing next to her. To his surprise, the Nord wasn't in his usual armor, but in civilian wear, though a sword was still at his hip and shield on his back. He jerked back and pressed himself to the wall, silently listening to the bits and pieces of conversation.

"...please, Stybjorn. Remember to take care of yourself too."

"I understand, Karliah. I cannot guarantee his safety. Not that I mean to do anything reckless. Actually, Delphine asked for Thoryn, if he wanted to join the Blades. I was going to talk to him about it, make sure he was interested before they spoke."

"The Blades?" His mother sounded skeptical. "Thoryn? He's not much of a swordsman."

Thoryn dared to peek his head out again. His pa had moved to lean against the wall, and his mother had stopped her washing to focus on their conversation fully. Their conversations were always interesting. Unlike Yngling's parents, his ma and pa rarely argued after they broke up, and it was never like the public, angry and violent disputes that he'd see Ms. Black-Briar and her ex-husband get into, which almost always needed guard intervention.

No, his parents were always very friendly and civil towards each other, even when they were separate and alone with Thoryn. Ma always said that she and his pa still loved and respected one another, but they just weren't happy together. That his pa was just not the man for her, and she was not the kind of partner his pa needed. In turn, his pa would only speak fondly and loving of his mother, saying that she was the best thief he knew and a very loving woman. While she had stolen his heart, that sometimes people loved each other but just didn't work well together as a couple.

"If he is interested, I will train him," Stybjorn replied, and he patted something on a table. Thoryn squinted. It looked to be a package. "He should know some basic stances anyway. It always comes in handy."

"Just please be gentle," Karliah frowned. "Do not get angry with him, Styrbjorn. Or use The Voice on him." Her voice was low. Threatening. Warning as she picked up scrubbing the clothes once more. His pa frowned.

"I have been...doing my best," he said slowly. "I don't want to be like this. I want Thoryn to enjoy being at Heljarchen Hall."

"I'm sure he'll love it there," his ma nodded approvingly, and she sighed. "Thoryn! Are you ready?"

He jumped, and he took a few light steps backwards before noisily making his entrance.

"Yes, Ma!" he replied hurriedly, forcing a smile.

Thoryn looked at his father. He looked worn and exhausted, yet stoic, but the man seemed to brighten a bit when he saw him. The true surprise came when he walked up to him. Styrbjorn blinked in amazement as his son nearly met him eye to eye. The dragonborn was no small man, broad like most Nords Thoryn knew and taller than the average, taller than some high elves even. And well, apparently Thoryn stood taller than them too. Guess his mother was correct about his growth spurt.

"Boy," his father spoke softly. His hand was grasping the package tightly in his hand, wrapped in cloth, which he handed to Thoryn. "Here."

Thoryn hesitantly took it, and he knew immediately after he held it that it was a sword based on the size and shape. He still pretended to have some degree of surprise when he pulled back the cloth that hid it from view, but legitimate curiosity came to him when he noticed that the material was unfamiliar. He turned it over in his hands, trying to identify the dull tan material that was sharp, incredibly sharp, that was held together by expertly forged steel. Thoryn already knew that his pa had made this himself. Pa always refused to buy a weapon from a vendor.

"It's dragonbone," came the answer to the unspoken question. Thoryn glanced up, and he saw his father looked uncharacteristically desperate, staring at him intently. "I enchanted it too, so it can paralyze. Do...you like it?"

"Yes," Thoryn confessed. He gripped the handle tightly. It fit his hand perfectly. "Thank you, Papa." Styrbjorn looked relieved.

"I'm glad," he replied. There was an unnaturally long pause before he spoke again. "I made it for you. Part of an early birthday present." Thoryn simply nodded at the confirmation of what he already knew. Styrbjorn studied him. "You've grown a lot since winter."

Something in his tone sounded off, but Thoryn couldn't place it. Sorrow perhaps? He could never read the man's emotions. His voice was always so flat and his face blank. His mom clasped her hands together, smiling happily.

"Indeed. Our baby boy is turning into such a handsome young man," she cooed, and Thoryn immediately flushed red.

"Maaaa," he whined. Karliah giggled, and she lightly tugged his arm, making him slouch a bit so that she could peck his cheek. "Ma, I'm gonna be sixteen soon, I'm not a baby."

"Oh, I know, you're gonna be a man soon," his ma coo. She gave a sly smile. "My sweet, sweet baby man."

"Maaaa!"

"Ah, Karliah, he's right," his pa chuckled. "After all, when I was barely seventeen…" He stopped himself, and Thoryn mentally filled in the rest. When I was barely seventeen, I fought Alduin himself.

Stybjorn seemed to completely space out. He was staring at Thoryn, though the teenager knew that his pa wasn't actually looking at him. He could just tell by looking at his eyes that his father's mind had wandered once more.

"Are you packed?" Karliah questioned, changing the subject, and her voice seemed to snap Stybjorn back into reality. Thoryn nodded. "Go fetch your bags then. You have a long trek ahead of you."

He hesitated, but nodded again, and he slipped towards his room. Thoryn reappeared moments later, a backpack along with another bag on his shoulders. His new sword was carefully sticking out from his backpack, still wrapped in cloth.

"Have you got everything?" Styrbjorn questioned.

"Yes, sir," Thoryn replied, shifting the weight on his shoulders as he came closer.

"I won't be turning back or allow you to return lest you forget something."

Thoryn made a face.

"I have all that I need."

Styrbjorn gave a nod of approval.

"Let's be off then."

He reached out to pat Thoryn on the shoulder affectionately, and the boy forced a smile as he paused to give his mom one last hug. Part of him wanted to ask again, if he could pretty pretty please go to the Imperial City with her, but he didn't speak his wish aloud. He didn't want to hurt his father's feelings. Instead he wished her a safe trip and expressed his love for her, which she did in return. The father son pair walked in silence through the city.

Styrbjorn opened the gate for them, and Thoryn gave a quiet thanks as he slipped through. The fresh air of Riften, despite the smell of the nearby fishing docks, was homely, and his heart ached at knowing that he wouldn't have that smell for the next few weeks. Nor were the familiar woods that he spent so many days playing in with the fellow town's children. His mother had mentioned that his pa's new home was near new woods that he could explore and get to know. Spring had recently turned to summer, and the sun would be up for a while. Exploring sounded like a great idea.

"Ho ho ho and hee hee hee! How tall a boy now you be!" a shrill voice laughed from a wagon. A man in a jester attire was happily bouncing in the driver's seat. The horse, a beautiful brown and white painted horse that his pa had let him name Raindrop, gave a neigh and shook her mane. Thoryn gave a nod to Cicero. "Thoryn, you've grown so much since I last saw you! You were barely to sweet Listener's shoulder! Now you may soon be stealing his armor, aye little nightingale?" It was said in jest, but Thoryn still felt himself flush.

"I haven't grown that much," he protested, approaching Raindrop. He lightly scratched the horse's neck, earning a soft nickering and pleased snort. His hand patted down the horse's side as he went to put his stuff in the back, tossing it over the side.

"You have grown much since I last saw you," Styrbjorn's voice remained neutral. "But you are still lean, like a dunmer." Thoryn glanced back at his father. He wasn't looking at him, instead was checking Raindrop's hooves to assure she would make the trip fine. "Being lean and light on your feet helps make pockets lighter."

"Yeah, it does. But does make me built more for lightening pockets than confronting drauger," Thoryn confessed, and he stepped to the back to hop on up. He saw that his father and Cicero's bags were shoved together, closest to the driver's area.

"You just need some training. When we get home, I will show you some proper sword techniques."

"To put my new blade to use?" Thoryn decided to sit on the floorboard of the carriage. He felt the carriage shake lightly as his father stepped up to sit next to Cicero on the driver's seat. The man settled in, giving a deep sigh before glancing back at Thoryn.

"Indeed," was all he said in response. He focused his attention to the front of him. Styrbjorn gave Cicero a light peck before he encouraged Raindrop to begin walking.

Using his bag of clothing as a pillow, Thoryn got comfortable on the floor. Knowing his father, it would be a long and mostly silent journey on his end, although he could hear Cicero begin to happily hum and quietly sing as they made their way home.

Thoryn watched the sky, the bright orange turning into blue as the day began to come. He closed his eyes, somewhat lulled into a long nap by Cicero's voice.

To his relief. Whiterun was not nearly as far as he had expected it to be. Thoryn felt silent relief upon noticing that it was within an easy walking distance, and it would be an even quicker ride on Raindrop. Heljarchen Hall was nestled into a private spot, quiet and peaceful. And much larger than he had expected it to be.

He had paused, staring at the massive size. By Gods, it looked bigger than Mistveil Keep. Thoryn grabbed his bags, swinging them onto his shoulders before eagerly jumping down from the carriage. Paying his pa no mind, he ran for the front doors and swung them open. And he gasped.

The entryway was beautifully decorated, complete with filled display cases and weapon racks. None of the weapons or items in the cases were distinct, but Thoryn could tell by an immediate glance that they were weapons his father had made. His pa found a lot of joy in the art of blacksmithing, and he could only guess that they were just pieces that he took extra pride in for display. One of the few things he knew about his pa was that he originally came to Skyrim to take up a blacksmithing apprenticeship, but that it fell through when he learned that he was dragonborn.

Thoryn went deeper into the two-story main building. Two staircases, and he immediately began to climb the left set. As he went up, he could better see the impressive decor of the area. Pa was absolutely not behind any of this. It had to be the steward's doing.

He came into a bedroom with two beds, and he stared curiously. Was this his room? No, it couldn't be. He could see evidence that half of the room was occupied by another person. The wardrobe was open, clothing and armor inside. A sword on the bed.

A disappointed sigh. Thoryn did not get his own room, it seemed. He was sharing with the housecarl.

"Thoryn?" his pa's voice called out. "Where are you, boy?"

"In my room," he called back. He dumped his bags on the other bed, rolling his shoulders and moving back out the door. His pa was staring up at him curiously as Cicero walked past him, carrying their bags into the east wing.

"That's not your room," his pa told him. Thoryn raised an eyebrow at him. "That's for Gregor, the housecarl. He's also the steward."

"Why is there another bed in here?" Thoryn questioned.

"For guests, like in case your mother ever needed a place to stay," his pa explained. He motioned for Thoryn to come here. "Come on, let me show you to your room."

Thoryn nodded, and he regathered his things. He came down the stairs to his waiting father. The dragonborn gestured to the west wing's doors. Thoryn hesitantly opened the door.

It was yet another beautifully decorated room. A large, comfortable looking bed with a nightstand, a safe next to it. Plenty of shelving for his books, his own alchemy and enchanting table. A desk that already had paper and ink ready for him to begin writing anything his heart desired. A wardrobe, a place to hang his bow and new sword, as well as other weaponry. No shortage of space to store his things. There was even a special case for his lockpicks. For now, he set his bags down on a chest at the foot of his bed.

It was beyond what he was expecting when he was told that he would have his own room there. Thoryn wasn't sure why, as his father never specified to begin with in any letters, but he had assumed he would simply have a bed and proper place to store some clothing. Nothing like this.

"This is my room?" Thoryn was in absolute awe.

"Of course. The entire west wing is yours. I designed it just for you. Everything here is new too." The undertones of hurt in his pa's voice made Thoryn flinch. He looked over at him. His father even looked a little upset at his son's surprised tone. "I want you here, Thoryn. I know...I know Sanctuary can be...a bit much. But I want you to enjoy being here, with me." Guilt began to sweep over Thoryn over his earlier reluctance to come. He was now glad that he didn't openly ask his mother about not going in front of him. "You do not have to just come when I ask. This is your home too. You may come and go as you please, as often as you'd like."

"Thank you." Thoryn wasn't sure what else to say, and he simply put his bags on the desk for now. "I...Thank you very much. I love the room."

His father visibly relaxed at the statement, and he nodded.

"I will let you settle in. The east wing is mine and Cicero's room. North wing is the kitchen. Upstairs is where Gregor sleeps. I will be around the property, if you need me." Thoryn just nodded, and his father left, shutting the door behind him.

Thoryn laid down in his new bed. It truly was new, incredibly comfortable, and the pillows were made from fine materials. He shifted to sniff the covers. They smelled good, freshly washed, and he inhaled deeply the soft, flowery scent. The steward must have washed them. His pa nor Cicero were known for reliably doing laundry.

He was far from tired. He ended up sleeping most of the journey, and the teen stood.

Thoryn entertained himself by organizing his books on the shelves, as well as carefully putting his new sword up on the weapon's rack. His bow went up as well, and he put his lockpicks and clothing away. His now empty bags went into the chest at the foot of the bed. Well, minus one bag. A small day bag that he slung onto his back as he made sure that he still had his small steel dagger.

The sun was still up and it was warm. It was time to go outside and look around the property.

After a quick stop to the impressive kitchen to grab a snowberry crostata, Thoryn went for the main front doors. He took a step outside, and he had to admire the view with slow steps away from the house.

The Throat of the World stood before him, right outside that front door. And it was so breathtaking. The sky was clear enough that he could see the mountain standing strong, the home of the Greybeards. It hit him how beautiful this view must be when it became night and the stars came out, how the moon and northern lights probably made this the best place to be.

"You finally took notice of the view?" he heard his pa's voice tease him. Thoryn glanced to see that he had come to stand next to him.

"I can see the Throat of the World from here!" he excitedly replied, staring at him.

His pa had a mixed look to him. One of sadness, but also admiration. Thoryn wished he knew more as to why. Everybody knew the dragonborn's legacy and deeds. It always struck him so oddly whenever he really thought about how Pa was that legendary dragonborn that the bards sung of in the tavern or whom he read about in books. But his pa never talked about it. Thoryn only really even knew of it all because of his mother's stories, but his pa supposedly never told her much of his adventures either. All he knew was vague common knowledge.

"Pa?" Thoryn spoke up. His father gave a hum of acknowledgement. "What was it like hiking up the 7,000 steps?"

"Cold, and my knees were killing me at the end of it," the reply was short. His son frowned.

"What was the top like?" he inquired. "Were the Greybeards nice? What's their home like?"

"It was cold. The Greybeards were nice. Their home was warm inside."

Thoryn gave a dramatic sigh. He could already tell that he wasn't going to get anything really useful out of his pa. No cool stories from him. What a disappointment.

"Can't you tell me anything about your adventures?" he practically begged. His pa said nothing. The entire exchange, his expression never changed from a fixed stare at the Throat of the World. A silence fell. Thoryn felt obligated to try and fill it. "...Please? Ma tells me about her early days as a thief and stuff."

"...Perhaps one day." That was likely the best answer he was going to get out of him. Thoryn stared down at the snack in his hand.

"...Do you want half of my snowberry crostata?" he asked. His pa glanced down as Thoryn split the treat in half. With a small smile, his pa held his hand out, and Thoryn put one half on his hand.

They ate it together in silence as they stared up at the legendary mountain.