Chapter Three

Karsten Iron-Sides

Karsten lifted his shield to block the reckless attack from the bandit. His sword shot forward, and he drove it through the man's unarmoured stomach. Beside him, Lydia brought the Axe of Whiterun down in a vicious swing, opening a man from shoulder to hip. His sword flicked to his left instinctively, and another bandit had his throat slit. The others seemed realise that the two of them weren't an easy mark, and they began fleeing. One only made it a few steps before Karsten's axe embedded itself deep in his back. The others were scrambling to get away now, and while he was tempted to follow them, he elected not to. Instead, he wiped the blade of his sword on the pant leg of one of the bodies and retrieved his axe from the other, also giving it a cursory clean on the corpse's tunic.

"No pursuit today?" Lydia asked him, leaning on the head of her axe. A gift from Jarl Balgruuf, the axe was made of Skyforge Steel, and enchanted so that it never rusted, never dulled, and never became slick with blood. It was a large, hefty weapon, and while Karsten knew how to use it, it wasn't his preference. So, after some time together, he had gifted it to Lydia. It was easily the best decision he had ever made, and he had yet to regret it once.

"Not today, no," he answered, "I need answers from the Blades, and if I stop to track down each and every group that attacks me, I won't make it to Sky Haven Temple until the new year. We're heading back to Whiterun to sell off what we've grabbed and resupply, and then I'll head to the Reach."

"And where will I be during this time?" Lydia gave him a knowing look.

"Whiterun, of course," He grinned at her, "I need someone to manage my estate, after all. Besides, I have a new task for you, should I get the jarl's approval."

"Do I want to know?"

"If he gives me permission, I'll tell you," he shrugged, "I don't see the point of having your mind start racing if it turns out to be nothing."

"You're a very peculiar Nord, Karsten, do you know that?" She told him, before hefting the axe over her shoulder, "I don't think I've ever met one as... diverse as you are."

"Consider me diverse, do you?" He laughed, "explain that to me, at least."

"You know what I mean, you oaf," she nudged him, "I've met Nords who were great warriors, Nords who were great scholars, but I've never met a Nord who was both. You wield words as well as you wield blades, and that says something, since, you know," she gestured to the bodies all around them, "I've seen you pick up a weapon from a body, adjust to its heft in a heartbeat, and use it nearly perfectly. In fact, I've never seen you not know how to use a weapon. So yes, I consider you to be diverse."

Karsten glanced at Lydia. Her face was completely blank, his indicator that she believed everything she had just said. He gave her a broad smile.

"You're right, of course," he said, "my mother wanted me to be as prepared for the world as I could be. I was tutored by mages and scholars, even after I left Solitude. My father let it happen because of the love he bore for my mother. But with him, I was also taught by a plethora of warriors. Nords who fought in the ancient Atmoran style and the current style, retired legionaries, scouts and horsemen. He wanted me ready for the world in a different way. He knew that the Thalmor weren't done with us, and so he prepared me for a life of war. I've no idea where most of them went, actually. My tutors, that is."

"Truly?" Lydia looked at him, "they weren't at your home when…"

"No, no, they had been gone long before that," he answered, "when I reached my twentieth year, my father decided that I should see the world. I boarded a ship that took me to High Rock, where I served as a mercenary guard for a lord for about a year. Then I went down to Hammerfell, where I joined another mercenary company. That led me to Cyrodiil for a few years before I wound up further east in Morrowind. I returned about a year before Ulfric killed Torryg. I spent that time teaching my younger brother what I had learned about the world. Part of me wishes I had done what I had wanted to and returned to Solitude. Perhaps I could have stopped Ulfric. Perhaps not. But I would have been there."

Lydia didn't respond, instead letting them settle into a comfortable silence. They trudged along the road, letting the sounds of nature fill the silence between them. Karsten enjoyed walking throughout Skyrim. The Fatherland was full of beautiful places that could easily be missed if you rode. It was also harder to walk into an ambush, especially since Karsten knew that bandits loved riders. They were the richer folk, and the usually only travelled with a guard or two. That meant that most traps were designed to be missed were by a mounted rider. That wasn't the case for two travellers on foot.

"Did you ever go in Dominion controlled land?" Lydia asked him after an hour of near-silence.

"Hmm? Oh, no," he replied, "that was the one thing that was stressed to me that I should never do. My father earned most of his fame killing elves in the war, and he didn't want me to wind up near the relative or friend of someone he had killed. So I stayed in the lands of the empire or neutral territory, like Hammerfell. It was better that way, I think. Both my parents opposed the concordat. I don't think I could've restrained myself in their territory. I would have started a fight myself."

"What's Cyrodiil like?" She asked next.

"Depends on where you are," he answered, "further north, near Bruma, it's much like Skyrim. Towards the south, however? It's green, and flat. There are large forests, and open plains. There are farms the size of Riverwood, and entire towns dedicated to agriculture. It's remarkable, actually. Most of the land was ravaged during the war, but they're recovering. There's hope."

"Would you live there?"

"I wouldn't trade Skyrim for anywhere else in the world," he told her. "There are nicer places, yes, but hard life breeds hard people, and the only place that breeds people like Skyrim is Hammerfell, which is far too hot for my liking. Why do you ask? Plan to move south?"

The derisive laugh that he got in response was all he needed to hear.

XXX

"Thank you for receiving me on such short notice, my jarl," Karsten said as he approached the large throne. He didn't kneel, but neither would Balgruuf demand it of him. It was one of the reasons they got along so well.

"I am always willing to receive you, Karsten," the Jarl of Whiterun laughed, "what can I do for you, friend?"

"The civil war is threatening to spill into Whiterun," he noted, "and despite having a well-trained guard, parts of Whiterun are in disrepair."

"I'm aware," Balgruuf sighed, "but my coffers are strained enough as it is, Iron-Sides."

"Mine aren't," he replied, "you'd be amazed how many people make deals with me when the word 'dragonborn' is dropped. I've cultivated many favours over the past year, and my adventures have given me much reward and riches. With your permission, I'd call in some of those favours, and fund the rebuilding of Whiterun's defences. It will be done in your name, of course, but I would request that Lydia be allowed to act as overseer to the process, should you permit it to happen."

"Proventus?" the Jarl called. The Imperial Steward stepped forward. Karsten wasn't sure how he felt about the Nibenean. Proventus Avenicci was loyal to Balgruuf, loyalty earned in war, but he wasn't Nordic, and he had trouble understanding their ways. He tried, but Karsten knew he also saw most Nords as a backwards people. Shortly after being made thegn, he had been forced to intervene before an argument between Proventus and Hrongar turned violent.

"The plan has merit, my Jarl," Proventus said, "but it would place you in the debt of Thane Iron-Sides, and all of Whiterun would know that it was he, and not you who funded the walls. I would suggest—"

"It is a good plan, brother," Hrongar cut in, "as a thegn," he used the term purposefully, "Iron-Sides has an obligation to Whiterun, something he understands and respects. If he wishes to fund the rebuilding of the walls, then let him. Raise a plaque, or a statue if you feel the need to commemorate him for it."

"Please don't," Karsten said immediately, raising a hand, "I understand how to some, my actions could be seen as ambitious, my Jarl, but my intent is pure. I was not raised here, but it is now my home. I would rather see it stand another hundred years then fall to the pride of Ulfric or Tullius."

Balgruuf was silent for a moment.

"Frothar!" He called out, and his eldest son whirled at being summoned.

Frothar was nearly thirteen winters now, and that meant that he would have to start learning to lead Whiterun, though privately, Karsten thought he wouldn't be especially suited to it. Perhaps as a huscarl, or a guard commander, but leading a city? He didn't have the patience for it.

As such, he wasn't entirely surprised when the young boy shrugged.

"Improving the defences makes it harder for any attacking army to breach the walls," he said, "but it also means that our warriors wouldn't be able to fight sooner. I'd leave them as they are. The more fighting, the better."

Balgruuf stared at his son for a moment before sighing. Karsten caught some movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Nelkir!" He said, and the Jarl's bastard son froze on the spot, "what's your opinion?"

"That's not neces—" Proventus began, but Balgruuf raised a hand, cutting him off.

"I—father?" The young man tried. Karsten knew that Nelkir had been fathered on a serving maid, only a year before Frothar was born and that his mother hadn't survived the birth, and it was that guilt that led to Balgruuf taking him in. He also knew that Mephala had been talking to him for quite some time before he intervened, nearly half a year prior. He had spent most of that time convincing the Jarl to reassure his son that he was valued. It seemed to be working.

"Answer the question," Balgruuf rumbled, "I too wish to hear your thoughts."

Nelkir was silent for a moment, and Karsten could see Frothar making faces at him.

"Strengthening our walls strengthens our city," Nelkir said slowly, "bringing workers in means that our taverns and inns will have more patrons—but that also means that drunken brawls will be more likely. More guards will need to be hired, but that will give Eorlund Grey-Mane and Adrianne Avenicci more business. It's a cycle, but in the end, Whiterun will come out on top. Some workers will want to stay or take up land outside the city. With better defences, more caravans will come to our hold. More money flows in, and that means that the land can be patrolled, making the roads safer, bringing in even more caravans. I don't see how we wouldn't benefit from this."

"Well said, Nelkir," Karsten praised, because he knew Balgruuf would not be able to, "with your father's permission, perhaps you would like to come to Breezehome later? I'd enjoy talking with you further."

Balgruuf watched him closely for a moment before nodding.

"I grant it," he said, "but we should speak in private before then, Iron-Sides. I have something to discuss with you."

"By your command, my Jarl," Karsten tipped his head.

"Come, Iron-Sides," Balgruuf barked, "with me. The rest of you, return to your duties."

Balgruuf led him upstairs, past the war room and into his private wing. They passed several empty rooms before reaching a large study. The Jarl closed the door behind them before turning on Karsten.

"Why are you placing this offer now?" He asked immediately. "You return from Solitude and a discussion with General Tullius, and now petition to rebuild the walls of my city? I am not a man prone to paranoia, but you must understand…"

"I have heard nothing that indicates the Imperials will besiege Whiterun," Karsten assured him, "but if you received word of my meeting with Tullius, then Ulfric will too. He may decide that I've strayed too far towards the Imperial's cause, especially with several of his camps about to be destroyed or forced to move. It would still take him time to rally an army large enough to besiege the city, time enough for proper repairs and improvements to be made."

"You've struck a deal with the Imperials?"

"It's mutually beneficial," Karsten explained with a shrug, "I don't care for Ulfric, even if I understand his motives. The Empire may not be what it used to, but it is the only thing that will stop the Dominion from dominating all of Tamriel."

"Are you suggesting I declare for Tullius?"

"I wasn't aware that Tullius was a contender for the throne," Karsten told him, "but no, I am not suggesting you do anything. As I said, I may not have been born in Whiterun, but you took me in when I was at my lowest, my Jarl. While my focus is on Alduin, Whiterun will always be important to me. If you choose to remain neutral, I will support you. If you choose to support the Imperials, I will support you. If you choose to support Ulfric… well, I suppose I would have to find another city to live in. But I would not fight against you."

"I value your loyalty, Karsten," Balgruuf told him. "Now, let's discuss Nelkir. You clearly have a plan for him."

"I do not, in fact," Karsten replied, "but the boy is lost and confused, and up until six moons ago, he was being manipulated by a Daedric Prince. Naturally, I am concerned. But he is much like I was at his age. He has the same anger that I had, the same drive. I used it for good, but under the right pressure… well, all have seen the dedication Nelkir has to Whiterun, and the lack of it that Frothar has. Lydia has been approached on several occasions by those who are concerned about your heir. They have wanted to meet with me, but she has turned them away. The fact that it has happened more than once alarms me. I think some time away from the city would be good for one of them."

"I can't send my heir away," Balgruuf sighed, "it would be seen as refusing his position. Where would you take Nelkir, if I allowed it?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "perhaps High Hrothgar. Perhaps the Reach. Perhaps even Solitude, to my old family home. It needs someone to take care of it, and I think the responsibility could be good for him."

"You would take him to the Greybeards?" Balgruuf's eyebrows rose in surprise. Karsten withheld a snort. Of course that was what he heard from it.

"Not to study—that is not my place, but to watch, and to meditate with the Greybeards is an enlightening experience that not many can claim. But forgive me, my jarl, I must confirm, do I have your permission to contract workers to begin reconstruction of the defences?" Karsten asked, a bit more firmly than was perhaps appropriate.

"Yes, yes," Balgruuf waved his hand, "I will have Proventus write up a contract making it so that I authorise it, but you are in charge of overseeing the work."

"Have Hrongar check it, if it pleases you," Karsten requested, "Proventus seems to think the worst of me. Perhaps he sees me as another Ulfric in the making—I am not certain, but I'd feel better knowing that Hrongar is protecting my rights."

Balgruuf snorted loudly but nodded.

"Hrongar, Defender of the Dragonborn," he laughed, "I'm sure he would enjoy that title. I will do as you ask, only because I have noticed it too. Very well, Karsten. I will send Nelkir to you by the end of tomorrow. You have him for two years, until he reaches his majority, at which point, he is free to do as he pleases."

"Thank you, my Jarl," Karsten bowed his head, before walking to the door, "if I may, my Jarl—Frothar needs to understand the weight of leading beyond fighting, and he needs to understand it soon. War makes men out of boys far sooner than we like, and if he doesn't mature quickly, he could easily destroy your hold in the future."

Balgruuf slanted him a look that clearly said get out, so he did. No one approached him as he made his way to Breezehome, which he assumed had to do with the frown on his face. He walked through the door of his house only to find Aela and Vilkas seated in front of his hearth, an annoyed Lydia standing at the foot of the stairs, arms folded over her chest.

"How can I help you?" He asked without preamble.

"We've found another nest of Silver Hand," Aela stated, "those who escaped your assault on their headquarters."

"Send a companion to deal with it then," Karsten shrugged, "I have more important things to deal with than a broken bandit clan."

"They are your responsibility, Karsten," Vilkas tried. He shot him a look that conveyed what he felt about that statement.

"They are not," he countered, "I am not a companion any longer, Harbinger—you made that abundantly clear after we cleansed Kodlak's spirit."

"My blood flows through your veins, whelp," Aela barked, clearly intending to beat his wolf into submission. It had the opposite effect. His beast-blood boiled at the insult, but his dragon's blood kept it at bay.

"And I can shatter you with a whisper, Huntress," Karsten replied, "so kindly leave my house before I show you what a dragon can do to a wolf."

Aela opened her mouth to speak again, but Vilkas placed a hand on her arm.

"I beg you to reconsider, brother," Vilkas said, "and if you do, know that they are hiding in Haafinger, near Dragon Bridge."

With that, the two Companions left.

"Apologies, my Thane," Lydia said as soon as they were alone, "I could not stop them."

"No, I imagine you couldn't," he sighed. "It is no issue, Lydia, you would not have been able to if you wanted. Werewolves are dangerous by nature, and always willing to fight."

"Are you not one?"

"I am," he confirmed, "but I have Dragon's blood in me, and that is far more potent than the curse of Hircine. That is why the Companions are frightened of me. I am something… different."

"How so?" She asked him. He didn't blame her; she had never seen him shift. It was a unique process for him, something he chalked up to as Akatosh's interference, preventing Hircine from fully claiming him.

"I must keep some things to myself," he smiled at her, "and at the moment, I am ready for some sleep. Good night, Lydia."

"And you, my thane," she replied, ducking into her room. Karsten entered his own, stripping his armour off and placing it on the stand near the door. His axe was left resting against the dresser, while his sword went on its stand. Once he was stripped, he collapsed into his bed, breathing in the smell of the fresh sheets.

XXX

"What do you see, Karsten?" His father asked.

They were high in the Velothi Mountains, overlooking Windhelm and the Sea of Ghosts. He was eighteen, and his father's wife was in labour. His father had grabbed him and told him to dress warmly, before leading him up a narrow, winding path.

"I see the power of a Jarl," he answered, motioning to the large fleet of ships that had assembled at the mouth of the White River. Ulfric had funded an expedition to Atmora, to see what had become of the ancient home of the Nedes. He had asked his father to lead it, but Refil had refused on the account of his wife being with child. "And I see the pride of a Jarl. The two are tied together, are they not?"

His father laughed loudly, the sound dying in the strong winds.

"Perhaps you are smarter than I hoped," he said, before sighing. "In a perfect world, I would have married your mother, Karsten, and you would be my heir, not my bastard. But this world is not perfect. You have my name, but it was a fight to get you even that. Thrognar Stone-Fist was not happy when he heard about you. It was only your mother's reputation that stopped him from running me through."

"She always spoke fondly of you," Karsten said, "but she also told me that if you ever came to Solitude with your wife, she would geld you."

Refil laughed again.

"That sounds like Jonna all right," he said. "Tell me of Torryg, Istlod's son."

"He's… not a great warrior, like you or I," Karsten said, "but he can hold his own in a fight. What he is, is a good man—or he had the makings of one when I last saw him, which was nearly seven years now."

"Each year, you petition me to return to Solitude, and each year, I give you the same answer," Refil sighed. "I am a thegn, Karsten, and while you will not follow me in this role, you will be a drengr to your sibling—whether they are a male or female."

"Agni has been praying for a son," he told his father, "so that you will send me away. I wish to spare you the decision of choosing between your wife and your son. I have learned all my tutors have to teach me—let me return to Solitude and serve as the shield-brother to the future High King. Is that not a high role for a bastard?"

"I will think on it," Refil said, as he always did, "now let me tell you something about power, Karsten, because I know you, and I know one day, you will have it in droves. Power is dangerous. It draws in the worst and corrupts the best. Power is not given to you; you have to lower yourself to pick it up. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, my father told me, years ago, in this same range—at this same spot, even. But power is a tool, a weapon. You can be trained to use it, but not taught. You will understand one day, when you have it yourself."

"I'm a bastard," Karsten laughed, "what power could I ever hold, beyond that that is given to me?"

Refil's eyes were darker than Karsten ever remembered them being, as if they were filled with ancient knowledge.

"Oh, my son," he said, clasping Karsten's shoulders, "you will be the most powerful man in Tamriel, when your time comes. Do not doubt that for a moment. Think about what you will do with that power."

MMXXI

We get our first real look into Karsten's head, and the kind of man he is. Lydia actually read him perfectly, and I think having the background that he does helps explain why he makes such a good Dragonborn, though we haven't seen him doing Dragonborn stuff—yet. That actually won't happen much in this first act of the story, which is more reintroducing Karsten and Elisif to one another, along with setting up some other things. I like doing this flashbacks because it shows us the events that influenced Karsten into becoming the man he is now. Also, love Whiterun, love Balgruuf, will be doing more with both, and I'll really be leaning into the fact that they're inspired by/influenced by Rohan from Lord of the Rings. I mean, come on, Whiterun's banner is a horse, and the entire Hold is mostly plains. There's gonna be cavalry.

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Cheers, CombatTombat