Chapter Five

Nelkir of Whiterun

"May I ask who Paarthurnax is?" Nelkir asked him after a few hours on the road. Karsten twisted in the saddle to look at him. The boy shrugged at his glance. "I have a general idea of who he is, you were rather honest with the Dragonguard, but I'd like to know more, if you don't mind."

"Fair enough," Karsten said, "Paarthurnax is the second oldest Dragon alive. Alduin was the first, and most powerful. He's quite literally a god. After Alduin came Paarthurnax, and for many years, it was just the two of them. For all intents and purposes, the two are brothers, more so than any other dragon. It could have been a decade or it could have been a thousand years, but eventually, Akatosh seeded the world with more dragons, and soon the Dragons found themselves ruling over all of Mundus, including the Men and Mer who lived here."

"After thousands of years, Mankind decided that Dragons had oppressed them for long enough," Karsten continued, his gaze locked on the Throat of the World, "we fought a long and bitter war, primarily in Skyrim itself, but also in other places. For many years, Paarthurnax fought against us, breathing hellfire upon mankind, burning us alive by the thousands. But then, something miraculous happened. Kyne bestowed the gift of the thu'um, the Storm-Voice, upon man, and it was Paarthurnax she chose to teach us. Why?"

The question startled Nelkir, but Karsten was staring right at him, waiting for an answer.

"I-I do not know," he admitted quietly.

"It's alright not to know something, Nelkir," Karsten told him, "so long as you do not forget it once it has been learned. Kyne chose Paarthurnax because despite all his cruelty, his killing, and his tyranny, in his soul, he was good. Remember, for many years, Alduin was the only one Paarthurnax knew, so he followed the lead of his brother—his lord. But deep down, he knew what they were doing was wrong. Dragons are an inordinately powerful species, and by dominating all 'lesser' species, they revert to their most basic and cruel form. So when Kyne asked him to teach the mortals, he did. He taught them how to harness the thu'um, turning it from a uncontrollable force within them into a honed weapon. And when Paarthurnax publicly switched sides to the rebels, the war was over. The Nordic Tongues stormed the Throat of the World and banished Alduin from this realm. I'm trying to figure out how he came back."

"Is that why you went to the Blades?" He asked. Karsten nodded.

"Foolishly, I thought they might help, but somehow, they learned that Paarthurnax is the grand-master of the Greybeards," he sighed, "they thought to issue me an ultimatum—kill Paarthurnax, or they would revoke all support," Karsten scoffed, before spitting over the side of his horse. His head slowly scanned around them as he came back up, and their horses slowed to a walk. "Honestly, I gave them everything they had. I opened that temple, I gave them supplies, I recruited all their trainees. Everything they had was mine to start with."

"And that was what the argument was about? You refusing to kill Paarthurnax?" Nelkir knew this already, of course, but it was good to have confirmation.

"Exactly," Karsten nodded, "now, I need you not to panic, because we're about to ride into an ambush." Nelkir jerked suddenly, but Karsten reached over and clamped an arm on his shoulder.

"Calm," he repeated, "don't worry, they won't attack straight away. The Forsworn know who I am, and only if they're incredibly stupid will they attack. If it does happen, smack your horse in the neck, here," he showed Nelkir what to do, "she'll drop to the ground, and you find the nearest boulder to hide beside. I'll deal with any attackers, understood?"

"I—yes, I understand," he confirmed with a shaky nod.

"It's alright to be afraid," Karsten said, "I've been afraid many times. Bravery comes and goes, but the fear is always present. Harness it, use it, but never try to avoid it."

They kept riding, Nelkir keeping his gaze locked forward, though his eyes were trying to spot any Forsworn. He didn't know what they looked like, but he figured one of them would make a mistake and be spotted. Karsten, on the other hand, was completely at ease, sitting relaxed in his saddle, whistling an old tune.

That was when the first arrows began flying. Despite his mind screaming at him to gallop away, Nelkir did as Karsten had instructed, and whacked his horse on the spot on her neck that he had indicated. She buckled immediately, dropping to the ground, and he slid off, diving between two large boulders.

Karsten's horse was gone, having taken off the moment he dismounted, but he had more pressing concerns. Nelkir watched as five men wearing goat-hide armour and wielding swords and axes made of wood and bones charged down at him. Karsten's shield was still slung on his back, but his sword and axe were in his left and right hands, respectively.

The first man ran right into Karsten's sword, which he twisted as he yanked it out, his axe embedding in the skull of another ma—woman, screaming just as loudly in the strange, guttural tongue of the natives. The third lasted a moment longer, spinning away from Karsten's dual swing, only for the beard of his axe to catch on the man's bow, which was still strapped across his back. Karsten practically threw the man backwards, before stomping on his throat with his boot.

The last two were more careful. Nelkir nearly gasped when he saw that both of them had large cavities where their hearts should have been, twine stitching revealing a plant of all things that was located where the natural organ should be. Karsten grunted as one of them beat his sword out of his hand, but he ducked under the next swing, before ramming his head into the thing's chest, before reaching in and tearing the plant out of the cavity with his spare hand. The man—undead? —thing collapsed in a heap as the Dragonborn turned his focus on the other one, who was staring at the sight with slight disbelief.

Despite the moment of hesitation, the man attacked, his two bone-reinforced axes cutting through the air in front of Karsten, he leapt back before taking a deep breath.

"Yol!" He shouted, a jet of flames emerging from his mouth, engulfing the man and setting him alight. Still he pressed forward, but he only made it a few steps before collapsing on his knees in front of Karsten, who had used the opportunity to retrieve his sword. He walked back to the man, before pressing his blade straight in the cavity, and then kicking the man off the blade. Nelkir stared at the aftermath. Four dead within the span of two hundred heart-beats. But only one of them had bows, and he had seen at least two arrows fly…

"Drop!" Karsten roared as he flung his axe. Nelkir obeyed out of sheer terror, dropping to the ground. He heard the sound of the axe impacting flesh, and then a body dropped right in front of him. It was another woman—no, it was a girl, barely his age. Nelkir felt sick and scrambled as he heaved over on the rocky grass.

The Dragonborn examined the body before sighing, pulling his axe out of her chest and closing her eyes. He patted Nelkir's horse on the side, and the mare rose, standing perfectly still as Karsten's own horse trotted back.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, rubbing Nelkir's back gently as the last bits of bile forced its way out, "the Forsworn start at a young age, but seeing children killed—killing children is abysmal."

"Why—why would they do this? Sending children to fight? What does it accomplish?" He asked, wiping the remnants of the bile from his mouth.

"It accomplishes very little," Karsten told him with a sigh. "As for why they do it? It's my fault, truthfully. My huscarl, Lydia, was injured by some Forsworn when we last came through the Reach. I took her to Markarth to recover, and then stormed five of their camps, killing all their warriors. It took me about a fortnight, and they haven't recovered from it, so they've brought out their reserves, so to speak."

"But why?"

"They want a free Reach, with no Nordic interference. It's stupid, but it's their goal, and they'll kill as many as they want to see it accomplished. I make a habit of hunting them whenever I'm in the area, but they've gotten better at hiding their camps. Maybe one day I'll finish the job."

The casualness that Karsten talked about wiping out entire war parties would have made Nelkir laugh, but after watching him fight, he was certain it wasn't boasting. There was a simplistic beauty in the way he fought. There were no excess movements, no unnecessary risks. It was all designed to kill, or at the very least severely cripple.

"Come," Karsten said, holding his hand out, "Karthwasten isn't too far from here. We can rest for the night there before continuing on our journey."

XXX

Karthwasten was a small mining village for silver, funded by the Jarl of Markarth as a way to wrest some power away from the Silver-Bloods, as it was explained to Nelkir. Karsten had told him that they had sent mercenaries to harass the mine owner into selling, at least until he intervened, threatening them to stay away or he would use his 'Dragonborn Powers' on them. The way Karsten told it, the mercenaries fled within minutes, running faster than men on horseback. Nelkir didn't doubt that it was true.

There was a small, sturdy hut that had been constructed for Karsten as thanks for helping the miners, and once he had fished the keys out of his pack, he had opened the door to a cosy cottage, with a bed on one side, and an empty fireplace on the other, with two chairs and a small table in the middle. There were a few weapons hanging on the wall and a pile of firewood besides the hearth, but other than that, the room was sparse.

"There's only one bed," Nelkir pointed out.

"So there is," Karsten nodded, "I'll sleep in the miner's house, it's not a problem. We'll have dinner and break our fast here, but then we'll begin riding for Dragon Bridge. If we ride hard, we can make it in a sennight. Get your rest today, because we'll be travelling fast and light starting tomorrow—if the Forsworn attack, lock the doors, and keep your head down. You don't move unless you hear me tell you so," Karsten pulled a dagger from a drawer, "keep this. If you can't use it on someone else… perhaps it would be better to use it on yourself than letting the Forsworn get their hands on you."

"But—"

"I'm sorry, Nelkir, but it is the truth," he was interrupted by Karsten, whose face was completely blank. "The Forsworn do not ascribe to the same rules of warfare that most others do. They rape, murder, and enslave, though not necessarily in that order. To them, you are a Nord on the cusp of manhood, which makes you a threat that needs to be eliminated. They'd rather slit your throat and leave you dying on the ground than risk you coming back later and fighting them. You look tired, lad. Get some rest. I'll be back in a few hours to bring you food."

"Where are you going?" Nelkir was hesitant to ask because he thought he knew what the answer to be.

"If we were attacked on the road, that means there is a camp somewhere nearby. I'm going to go deal with it," Karsten answered, before sitting down in front of him. "It is not quite war, Nelkir. It is more like… annihilation, if we are being honest. The Forsworn are radical Reachmen, natives, but despite being radicals, they have control of several major roads. It does not matter if the Empire or the Stormcloaks held the Reach, they would suffer for it. All I am doing is making it slightly safer for the regular people, the normal people who live here. It is bloody, but necessary work."

"But why are you the one to do it?" Nelkir asked, "is it because you are Dragonborn?"

"Partly, yes," Karsten admitted, "even if I were not, I would feel obligated to help. In this case, I have the power to do so on my own. Even were I not the Dragonborn, perhaps I would have formed a private militia to cleanse the Reach, much like Ulfric did when he drove them out of Markarth."

He rose, ushering Nelkir to the bed.

"Rest, Nelkir," he said again, "I'll be back before you know it."

He didn't mean to fall asleep so quickly. While his body had kept him awake due to the fight, he now felt the fatigue of riding first to Sky Haven Temple, and now after being on the road all day. He didn't even know if Karsten left before or after he fell asleep.

MMXXI

A little exposition, a little action, a little more exposition. The Forsworn are one of those factions that I want to like but can't really get behind. Like the Stormcloaks, I understand where they're coming from, and I sympathise with their motivations, but in practice, I can't agree with their methods. The Reach is a complicated issue, because there really aren't any 'good' factions. The Nords are colonizers who oppress the natives brutally, whereas the Forsworn are practically terrorists, attacking civilian targets, slaughtering indiscriminately, and worshipping an odd pantheon that includes Daedra, which is actually the least bad part of their whole culture.

Karsten simply reaching in and pulling the Briarheart's Briar Heart out was something that was too good to pass up on. Him killing the Forsworn girl was my interpretation of what would have happened with the whole Jon Snow/Ygritte situation from Game of Thrones if the Senior Rangers in the group had any common sense. Sorry if it upsets anyone, but uh, this ain't a fairy tale, y'all.

As always, leave a review or send me a PM with any questions, comments or concerns.

Cheers, CombatTombat