Rolf Shoal

The fields of Windhelm shone in all the colors of yellow and red as autumn had spread across Skyrim. The sky was crystal blue with large fluffy clouds slowly flowing across the sky.

We were collecting pelts for the winter, both for ourselves and to sell. We usually got a good price for them at the Whiterun market this time of the year, so we wanted to collect as many as we could before that elf Anoriath, a Bosmer living in Whiterun and our only competition in the area, got all the good ones.

"Shame father couldn't come along this year," I said as I strung up a deer pelt to dry.

"Well. Maybe he was afraid you'd confuse his other ass cheek for a deer," my brother smilingly said as he placed the cooking pot over the fire.

"That was an accident! And you know it!" I said as I threw a fist of gravel towards my brother.

"Oh come on!" he said, covering himself with his left arm. "It was funny! Now that I think of it. I haven't seen him sit down for over two weeks." My brother said, now smiling even wider towards me. "Think he takes a shit, standing up?" My brother asked with a look in his eyes and a grin on his lips. That comment was enough to send bot of us into laughter.

My brother was a handful of years older than me. Being born just as the Great War ended, about 20 years ago, shortly after our parents had bought land to farm from Rorik, he was the firstborn child. For a man who had just entered his twenties, he was large and more broad-shouldered than most men his age. Yet he had a kind face, with a strong jaw and happy clear brown eyes. Like me, he had our father's black hair, which he mostly wore loosely in his face. He had taken care of me for as long as I could remember. He always had a talent for hunting and so my father had taught him everything he knew, and my brother, in turn, taught me. Farming as well was one of his strengths, and our parents had often spoken by the dinner table how he one day would marry and take over the farm. Those had been happier times.

"Strange…" My brother said as he ran his fingers over some tracks, kneeling in the grass.

"What is?" I asked as I threw my bow over my shoulder and kneeled down beside him.

"See that? Those are wolf tracks. Four of them" He pointed at the tracks in the dirt. "But see here?... They all turned in their tracks. Wolfs usually don't do that, unless…"

My brother stood up, indicating for me to remain crouched in the grass by keeping one palm aimed toward me. His eyes were serious as he scanned along the grass line. Slowly his head turned left and right, making hush-sounds at me as he scanned the grass line in all directions. Suddenly a sharpness in his eyes. He slowly reached for his bow.

"Run…" He whispered to me, eyes still on what he had seen. "RUN!" He shouted as he lifted his bow, arrow on the string, and let it loose.

And I ran. As fast and long as I could, I ran. Straight home. Not daring to look back.

We had an old tree on our farm, it had been there as long as I can remember. Father used to say; ¨that tree was here before the farm, it will remain after.¨ And so it was a fitting spot for the family graves.

The sabercat hadn't left much for us to burry, and what was left of my brother had been placed in a larger urn, together with jewelry and personal items of his belonging.

Fittingly, it was raining as my father and I lowered the urn in the ground. My mother stood watching by the side. She was crying of course. Her hand was placed softly on an older grave. This wasn't the first child they had lost. My baby sister, Rinn, had died in decease at the age of two. I was too young at the time to remember much of her.

"In darkness, your light shines through,
Warrior Goddess, for you we strike true.
When hope is lost and war rages on,
Warrior Goddess, hear our blessed song.
With a Nord's death, fallen in battle,
Warrior Goddess, guide us through shadow.
Grant us courage to fight and sharpen or swords,
Warrior Goddess, mother of Nords…"

My father sang the ¨Hymn of Kyne¨ as we buried the urn, one spade at a time. It was an old burial song, the only burial song he knew. In retrospective, I think he had sung that song far too many times during his time in the war. The rain covered it well, but I knew he was crying. He kept on singing as he kneeled down and carved his firstborns name into the gravestone.

- HERE LIES ROLF SHOAL -
- BELOVED SON AND BROTHER -

Nord parents rarely showed much affection towards their children. That didn't mean they didn't love them. It simply wasn't Nordic custom. However, after my parents lost a second child they seemed to flush their love for three onto the remaining one. My father and I spent a lot of time together after that. We grew closer than ever. He taught me much, even things he hadn't taught my brother. It was he who first taught me how to hold a sword, as it seemed he had reconsidered his policy on teaching us… me, to fight.

I too started working the farm more, even without my father having to tell me to do so. And rarely did I complain about the work. As I had done so many times before. I even pushed myself to work with things he never before had asked of me.

My mother had grown more affectionate as well, kissing my forehead at every moment she got. I found it a bit annoying, but I didn't mind. She often asked me how I was, how my day had been, and what I worked on with father. She would even ask me of my evenings at the Inn with Erik, and of course, she'd tease me about girls.

My brother and sister before him were never forgotten. But life in Skyrim was hard, and we buried our grief quickly to get on with our lives. It was simply the Nord way of life. And so time went on.

"What's this nonsense I hear about you joining the Companions?!" My father said with a stern tone the dinner table.

"I want to get strong. And protect those I care for, Father."

"Then train here!" He shouted. "I didn't teach you to hold a sword so you could run off in search of danger!"

"They can teach me more. And I'll earn money that I'l send here."

"We earn enough for a decent life without you putting your life on the line!"

"I just... I don't want to see what happened to my brother, again… I was there, I could have saved him. Had I only been stronger..."

"That was many years ago." He interrupted me. "You were a child. You can't blame yourself for what happened to your brother."

"I know that! I know I can't change the past! But if I have the power to change the future… The Companions can help me get that power."

My father clearly disapproved. Burrowed brows, clenched jaw, and arms crossed over his chest.

"If I have the choice to save someone, and the power to do so…" I continued. "I'll never have to see someone I care for die again."

"You can't save everyone, son." My father said. Eyebrows burrowing deeper down his forehead. "And my last remaining child is not running off to die with some lowlife ruffians!"

"I've made my decision, father!" I said as I rose from my chair, my voice was loud enough to surprise even me.

"And I forbid it!" My father shouted as he, too, rose from his chair. "And that's the END of it!"

The water flowed across the floor as I emptied the bucket. We rarely used the basement nowadays but that didn't mean it didn't need cleaning every now and then.

My knees got wet as I kneeled down and grabbed the brush from the other bucket with both my hands and began scrubbing the dirty floor. The basement was as dusty as ever and the water quickly took on a muddy brown color as I scrubbed away.

Footsteps interrupted me as my father came walking down the stairs. He was carrying a large sack with something heavy inside. It gave off a heavy metallic sound as he set it down on the wooden floor. He gave me a look as he pulled the sack down, revealing a steel chest plate with attached shoulder plates. It was clearly second hand as it had a couple of dents and overall looked old and used.

I felt a bit confused as I stood up and brushed off my knees. But before I could ask about it my father sighed and stepped back, leaning comfortably against the staircase.

"I know you've made up your mind about the Companions. And that you're leaving soon… your mother told me." He started. "Took us six months to save up enough gold for this thing." He softly kicked the chest plate in front of him. "It's a bit wide in the shoulders, but I have a feeling you'll grow into it."

I looked at my father, and at the chest plate. I didn't know what to say. But at least this meant I had his blessing. "Father… I…" I said with a thick feeling of gratitude in my stomach.

"Listen, son…" He interrupted. "I don't agree with your decision. But you're not a child anymore, and I can't stop you if you wish to leave. So I thought I could either support you or disown you. I want to make the right decision…" He stared down at the chest plate for a moment before he returned his look back to me. "At least with this, I can make an attempt at protecting you. You can come along on my next trip to Whiterun, and I'll drop you off."

I didn't even finish cleaning the floors before I ran off to pack my stuff. Not that I owned a lot, or knew what to bring really. I started getting nervous as I packed. What if they didn't take me in? no, I'd just go back home. What if I wasn't cut out to be a Companion? What if I was? What if I'd really die? Enough with the thinking! I'll know when I get there. Yes, I'll know when I get there.

At that moment little did I know I'd had my first duel with Vilkas one week later.