Chapter 3 - Back in the Saddle

Hadvar's uncle had proven reliable. Alvor had hardly asked a question before insisting that he and Hadvar get inside. His house was small and rustic, but very comfortable, a crackling hearth providing a welcome respite from the brisk air the Lone Courier had yet to grow accustomed to. Alvor and family were incredulous when Hadvar revealed the reason for their sudden appearance. Even though the villagers had seen the dragon flying off, they had not believed their eyes until he and Hadvar had arrived to impress the fact on them. Hadvar had introduced him as "a friend" followed by crediting him for saving his life, both of which served to make the Courier feel acutely awkward. He could charm and persuade with the best of them, but he had great trouble in interactions where he was attempting to be genuine, especially when that involved praise of him. It was from this that his mixed wasteland reputation came from. While many would say that Courier Six had hardly spoken a word to them, others would react to that assertion with astonishment, recalling him as a gregarious figure, keen to know about the least of their problems and always willing to help.

The truth, in this case, was in the middle. The Lone Wanderer was charismatic and knew his way with words and people. While in Vault 101, he had been popular and easygoing, what he had experienced had hardened him. It was only on rare occasions and to rare people that he spoke freely. If it was relevant to the Good Fight, he would talk. Otherwise, he forced his mission to envelop his focus. His strategy for avoiding his traumas was single-mindedness. His experience in this place threatened that. So far, he was yet to find even the simplest and most menial aspect of the Good Fight he could focus on here. The civil war that Hadvar had mentioned was something, but without a deep understanding of the culture and politics of this place he didn't have much confidence in his ability to make things better rather than worse.

The Courier kept his silence as Hadvar did the talking. For the time being, he wanted to recede into the background. After all he had been through, he couldn't find it in him to put up a front. Hadvar explained the situation succinctly and he really felt no need to chime in.

"I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened," Hadvar said to his uncle, "I thought you could help us out. Food, supplies, a place to stay."

"Of course!" Alvor turned to the Courier and smiled, "Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'm glad to help however I can."

The Courier inclined his head in appreciation. Food and supplies would be helpful. While the Courier was no slouch in terms of survival skills, his ready access to well preserved food that had been cleansed of radioactivity had made him somewhat out of practice. As well, he couldn't be sure of how his skills transferred to this place. While he was loath to take advantage of Alvor's hospitality, he was also in no position to turn down help.

He felt uncomfortably out of place as he sat and ate with Hadvar's family. A few questions had been directed his way, to which he had responded with polite non-answers that, despite being the epitome of friendliness, nevertheless invited no further questioning. Fortunately, Alvor and his daughter Dorthe badgered Hadvar with enough questions that the Courier noticed he hardly had time to eat between his answers. Dorthe's persistent peeving about the dragon was amusing. The Courier didn't see children very often, and few that had not had the brightness of youth dimmed by the harshness of the wastes. It was only with kids that he himself really remembered how young he was. Leaving Vault 101 seemed a lifetime ago, but it couldn't have been more than two years since that day. With that unpleasant line of thought looming, he forced himself to focus more on the present.

Alvor's line of questioning differed substantially from his daughter's. While there were initially some questions about the dragon and their escape from Helgen, he quickly turned to asking Hadvar about his experiences serving under General Tullius. It was clear from the way he talked about him that Hadvar idolized the man. The Courier noticed that he didn't talk about the General's prowess in battle or how he had vanquished his enemies, but rather how Hadvar had confidence in his leadership and strategy. Six found that interesting. It was a far cry from how Lanius was spoken of. A bit more similar to Caesar, but definitely less fanatical.

The meal ended, and they all headed to bed. The Lone Courier was more than ready for unconsciousness. He didn't know how long he had been awake for by that point, but he was exhausted. His usual reluctance to risk the dreams that dogged him had fallen away. With how surreal his waking life had become, what chance did dreams have? He was well aware how cavalier he was being but couldn't find it in him to care.

The Courier sat bolt upright and grasped desperately in the dark for a weapon that wasn't there. Adrenaline pumped with each rapid beat of his mechanical heart even as his rational mind strove to bring him to his senses. It was a dream. I'm safe. No hostiles here. His insistence was in vain. He knew he was safe, that the threats his instincts screamed were there were imagined.

The experience was familiar. It happened every time he had one of these "stress dreams" as he considered them. Sometimes they were made of memories, places he had been, things he had seen and done. Some were utter nonsense. Some were like this one, where he awoke with every sense screaming danger though he had no memory of what he had dreamed. He felt acutely every part of his body's reaction. It was a strange feeling and one he deeply despised. His mind said one thing and his body did another. He knew this was the result of a dream, and yet his body did not obey. His eyes darted to any slight movement of the deep shadows of the room with a frantic intensity. He felt deep gulping breaths being taken and his right hand clenching several times. His left remained balled in a fist. He hated it viciously. The lack of control over himself struck at his core. It took all of his effort to remain where he was. All his strength, his knowledge, his ability, all were useless. What did they even matter if he couldn't fucking control himself?

It ended as suddenly as it had begun. A sharp, deep, deliberate, exhale was the start of it. His breathing slowed. His body began to respond to his brain's direction. The sense of impotent rage remained. Six had to stop himself from punching the wall. Instead, he breathed deeply and choked down the rage and frustration. The lack of control he had experienced galled him. He felt weak. A slave to animal instincts. He resented not just the loss of control but also the visceral emotional reaction it had provoked. His anger was also a loss of control. He stared ahead into the darkness as his breathing normalized and forced those thoughts from his mind. He put them in a neat little box and filed them away. They were a problem for another time. He needed a clear head. He couldn't afford to be preoccupied. Realizing he couldn't tell the time owing to his lack of Pip-Boy he wasn't going to open that box he rolled over and did his best to return to sleep. He fell asleep feeling the beat of his mechanical heart slow and its vibrations travel through his chest.

It was strange not being awakened by his Pip-Boy. It's chemical alarm usually ensured that he awoke precisely when he intended too. Since he had been ten years old, he had always awakened that way. Well, unless he lost consciousness by less than voluntary means. As he awoke bleary eyed, he found himself rubbing his arm where the device had once been. The absence of his Pip-Boy bothered him. While it would have been distressing on its own, its fate was now a constant source of anxiety. It was the proverbial sword of Damocles that hung over his ventures in this bright country. As much as he tried to put the manner in which he arrived here out of his mind, its sinister nature cast an inescapable shadow.

The strength of the sunlight streaming into the room told him he had slept in. That bothered him. Now he no longer had the ability to choose how long he slept for. It was a small thing, but it was yet another that had slipped from his control.

He found the house empty except for Sigrid. She told him that Hadvar had left before he had awoken. Apparently he had felt pressed to report back to the Legion. Sigrid also told him that Alvor wanted to speak to him before he left. Six thanked her for everything and promptly stepped into the daylight. It took a moment before his eyes adjusted. Exhaustion and darkness had kept him from seeing much of Riverwood when he and Hadvar had arrived. With the sun beaming down over the mountains into the valley it was nestled in the Courier could clearly see the sleepy hamlet. It was barely a town, more a village that had sprung up around the sawmill. He turned to his right and walked towards the sound of hammer on anvil, finding Alvor bent over his forge, unaware of his approach. It was at times like these the Courier felt his tendency to move silently was not always beneficial.

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

"Hello," said Alvor, "Did Sigrid send you?"

He nodded. He was grateful Alvor had not commented on his silent approach.

"Hadvar told me what you did for him, and you have my thanks. Like I said before, I'm glad to help in any way I can. But I need your help," he met the Courier's eyes with a grave look, "We need your help. The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless... We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt."

The Lone Wanderer nodded solemnly. Someone needed something done. The more things changed. Despite his grave visage, he was inwardly relieved. Clear goal, good reasoning. Something had to be done about the appearance of a murderous flying reptile and he supposed he might as well be the one to do it. He was back in the saddle, fighting the Good Fight.

"Good man," said Alvor, "Here, take this," Alvor bent down and handed him a pack that had been leaning against the forge. The Courier hefted it, and slung it over his back. It didn't feel particularly heavy, but then again, it wasn't a super-sledge, so his views might be a bit slanted. He thanked Alvor, who waved off the thanks. He was about to take his leave before he thought better of it. While having a clear objective energized him, he needed information before he went into the thick of it.

"What do you know about Jarl Balgruuf?" he asked, as neutrally as possible, doing his best to conceal how foreign the words sounded in his mouth.

Alvor considered for a moment before he answered.

"He rules Whiterun Hold. A good man, perhaps a bit over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he's managed to stay out of the war. I'm afraid it can't last, though."

Courier Six nodded pensively. He gleaned that Whiterun was both the name of the city and the "hold" it was in. From Alvor's testimony, he wasn't entirely sure what to make Jarl Balgruuf. "Overly cautious" immediately reminded him of General Oliver, though he resisted judging prematurely. Neutrality was generally not good policy; the victor in a conflict would often revenge themselves on those who had chosen to remain neutral. Still, he resisted drawing any conclusions. Without specific intelligence of the military and political situation, he could not make any judgements. He would have liked to have asked Alvor about those factors, but not only was he unlikely to know, probing for information of military value was not exactly friendly behavior.

"What are your thoughts on the war?"

Alvor seemed surprised that he had asked for his opinion on the subject.

"Well.. ah... " He hesitated and the Courier took note, "It's a complicated affair. On the one hand, people are rightly stirred up by the damn Thalmor being allowed to roam around arresting people, just for worshipping Talos," he paused, a dark expression crossed his face, "But was it worth tearing Skyrim apart, and maybe destroying the Empire? No. Ulfric will have a lot to answer for in the end. Nords have always supported the Empire, and the Empire has always been good for Skyrim."

Two things stood out. First was that Alvor, despite his staunch support for the Empire, acknowledged that their enemies had a point. The second was the Thalmor. He rolled the word in his mind. Hadvar had mentioned them earlier. They had been able to force this "Empire" to prohibit the worship of one of their gods. Talos, one that seemed quite important based on how he was discussed. That was peculiar to say the least.

"Who are the Thalmor?"

Alvor fixed him with a somewhat incredulous look before he nevertheless answered, for which Six was thankful. He was well aware that he was a foreigner in this place and dreaded having to answer questions about his origins.

"The Thalmor are the elves that invaded during the Great War and enforced the treaty that banned the worship of Talos. We didn't pay much attention to it when I was a boy - everyone still had their little shrine to Talos. But then Ulfric and his 'Sons of Skyrim' started agitating about it, and sure enough the Emperor had to crack down"

Elves. The Courier just sort of froze for a moment, his reaction being visible enough to prompt Alvor to ask if he was alright. He nodded in a sort of daze, waving off the concern. Alvor didn't seem convinced, he couldn't have cared less at the moment. Elves. Mythic creatures seemed to be commonplace here, even if dragons weren't. Frankly the Courier found dragons easier to believe. A flying lizard-even a fire breathing one-was comprehendible. Elves were something beyond nature. While so far this place seemed normal-backwards-but normal, this was a stark reminder that the strangeness that had brought him here was still present.

Being thoroughly unsettled his solution, as it always was, was action. Whether it was memories-or in this case, facts-taking action would give him something else he could focus on and allow him to deprioritize those problems and at least temporarily remove them from his mind. First, though, he needed to find out where he was going.

"How would I get to Whiterun from here?"

"Cross the river and then head north. You'll see it, just past the falls. When you get to Whiterun just keep going up. When you get to the top of the hill, you're at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace."

It took a mere moment for the Courier to internalize the directions. He was used to finding his way of far less distinct terrain with far less specific directions. Still, he resolved to find a map as soon as was practicable.

"I had better get going, someone needs to know there's a dragon on the loose."

"True enough," said Alvor, "May the gods watch over you."

He thanked him, hoisted his pack, and stepped out into the world.

As soon as he had set out on the road to Whiterun, the Lone Wanderer realized the fatal flaw in his plan: there was nothing to prevent his mind from drifting to the very subjects he sought to avoid. Ordinarily, he was preoccupied with his immediate mission. His tasks were usually suicidal enough in nature that he was able to busy his mind running through the various manners in which the ensuing combat could play out. That and watching for Legion Assassins, or Enclave assassins, or Talon Company Assassins, or unaffiliated assassins that had it out for him for other reasons also occupied his attention. Still, he had done a lot of traveling, and try as he might he couldn't fill every waking minute with combat or thinking about combat. It was for that reason he had appreciated traveling with a companion. Despite many of his epithets portraying him as alone in his journeys, in reality he preferred to have someone with him. The simple virtue of being able to engage in even banal conversation while traveling stopped his mind from wandering to places he wanted it to avoid. Here, he was without anyone to speak to and without any assassins to watch for, which left his options for diversion few and far between.

He supposed the least harmful course for his thoughts to take would be worrying about the dragon problem. As Courier Six followed the road that wound along the river he was beginning to get concerned about his end goal. So far as he had seen, this place-that is, Skyrim-didn't have many anti-dragon capabilities. The kind of ordnance needed to address the threat was very evidently lacking. His own armament of a short sword of dubious quality and a commandeered shield left him in a position to do little more than brandish at a dragon if it came to that. Really, the most good he could do if a dragon showed up-the most good anyone could do-was to help evacuate people.

He frowned. That was hardly a strategy. He needed better weapons, better armor, and most importantly, more information. He hoped Whiterun could help him out in at least the last of those matters. He needed information not just on the dragons, but on the culture, history, society, politics, religion, everything of this place. While a vicious dragon gave him some immediate purpose he was still woefully ignorant of the bigger picture. The Courier liked to know what he was doing and who was asking him to do it. He was wary of his helpful intentions being exploited by some faction. If he had learned anything in New Vegas, it was that everyone had an angle. From what he had seen, the people of Skyrim seemed a straightforward sort, something he could appreciate. Still, even the most blunt and honorbound of cultures would still have its share of crafty individuals.

He realized that if Hadvar and his family were anything to go off of it wasn't deceit he had to worry about, but bias. Without any evidence for him to divine the truth, he only had what others told him, filtered through their experiences and prejudices. While Hadvar was nothing but helpful and seemed an upright man, the Courier has not forgotten the torture chamber at Helgen. That fact was not helped by his enduring suspicion towards an organization called "The Legion." He knew it was irrational, but extreme depravity of Caesar's Legion had left its mark on him.

As the verdant northern plains of Whiterun stretched out before him from the step on which both he and Riverwood stood, he idly reflected on how frequently this place's sights were able to take his breath away. He saw a city built on the only real hill he saw on the plains and a high arched wooden structure at its summit. He assumed that that was Dragonsreach and the city Whiterun. There were a number of farms surrounding the city, suggesting an agrarian economy. The city itself was walled, suggesting that it was in a position of insecurity. That the city did not sprawl beyond the walls showed that they were still served a real defensive purpose and were not a mere relic.

It was as he began his descent along the road that weaved down into the valley that Six realized his line of thinking relating to the dragon and his mission had run dry. Great. While the view had managed to briefly keep his mind occupied, it had now begun to wander. Well, if he was going to have to think about something he'd rather ignore, it might as well be something relevant. So, instead of allowing his mind to wander back to Project Purity or the Sierra Madre, he directed his attention to the manner of his arrival.

While he had compartmentalized the incident, he knew that it would need to be looked at. He grudgingly admitted that at least the second encounter could stand more examination, he couldn't bring himself to go over his meeting with the first entity. Besides, the second meeting had immediately preceded his arrival here. It must have had more relevance. He remembered that the second had called itself "Mehrunes Dagon." Fortunate that the Courier was good with names. Its mannerisms were odd. It had loomed over him and seemed to gloat with every word it spoke. Moreover, it seemed to knowhim or at least know of him. How that was possible, he didn't know.

Having thought the incident through, he had boiled it down to two big questions: who and what this was and how it knew who he was. The Courier felt both worse and better after concluding that. Better in that he had begun to order his thoughts, worse in that he could see clearly just how much he didn't know. The bigger and more impactful question was what did it want with him? He remembered asking it that very question, but the answer it gave him was not very clear.

So far as he could tell, it had simply wanted him here. That was not exactly an encouraging thought. It seemed convinced that they had common interests. Or it was convinced that the circumstances by which he had arrived would manipulate him into acting in the entity's interests. He briefly entertained that its intentions were benign, it had delivered him from the other one and it had placed him here without asking for anything, but he knew that was not the case. The way it had spoken, the way it had felt told him that it was not benevolence that led him here.

The fact that he arrived here just before the first dragon in an age appeared was something he could not chalk up to coincidence. That he arrived almost exactly at the same place the dragon did told him it deliberate. When dealing with what he could only describe as supernatural beings, he didn't think coincidence applied. There was some kind of agenda behind his arrival and until he knew what it was, he needed to be careful.

With that, he had reached the plains of Whiterun. On level ground he closed the distance to his destination at a good pace. The city became larger and larger within his field of vision. Soon he was passing fertile, well maintained farms. He saw only the occasional worker in the fields. He didn't know enough about agriculture to say whether that was peculiar or not. Still, so far as he could tell, he was walking through the image of pastoral bliss.

The sound of steel on steel reached his ears, shattering the illusion of peace. A battle? No, too quiet. A small combat at most. He started to jog. It was only when rounding a corner at his increased speed that he managed to get eyes on the situation. He saw someone in the distance-wait that wasn't right. His brain seized for a moment before he could comprehend what he was seeing. As was revealed by the three smaller figures standing beside the first he had seen it was not as far away as it seemed, but was instead... a giant. Well, that was new. However, the Courier had no time to spare marveling at the novelty. The three were the source of the sounds he had heard, though the steel on steel came not from a clash as the giant seemed to be armed with a cudgel of some kind, but from the beating of sword on shield.

The Lone Courier immediately rushed towards the fight. What he was planning to do he wasn't sure yet. He knew little about this place and wouldn't be surprised to find that humans persecuted giants. If they did it to super mutants and ghouls, he wouldn't be surprised if they had done it to giants. Equally though, a giant this close to human settlement was likely encroaching in some way. He didn't even know if giants could be reasoned with. They might very well be as unhinged as most super mutants. There was only one way to find out.

He stopped short just in front of the combatants. The three humans looked at him warily. The giant followed their gaze.

"Howdy," said the Courier with a shit-eating grin.

He just barely dodged to the left to avoid a swipe of the giant's club. His flippancy had served its purpose. Besides amusing himself, it had told him who he should be fighting. Unfortunately, he was now fighting a giant. Right, a giant. Tall, dangerous, he observed its movements as it turned back towards the trio and lumbered towards them. Not particularly fast.

Inspiration struck. One of Courier Six's trademark improvised battlefield remedies. He dashed forward and plunged his blade into the calf of the giant; he would hamstring it in order to get its head in reach for the coup de grace. That was his intention anyway. Instead, the force of his thrust barely broke the skin of the creature. But Six was unrelenting. Before it even had the chance to bellow in pain, the Courier used all the power his muscles and cybernetics could muster to ram the blade deeper. A groan of pain was followed by a swipe from the arm of the giant that barely missed him as he rolled forward.

He had escaped unscathed and was beyond the reach of his enemy's weapon. That was the bright side. On the not-so-bright side, his only weapon remained lodged in the creature's leg. Worse still, by its gait, it hardly noticed the wound. An arrow impacted the giant, but didn't even seem to annoy it. Two of the armored combatants prepared to charge it once again. The Courier couldn't be sure if they had a plan or if they just had no regard for their lives. He couldn't assume anything so he assumed the worst. While he wouldn't yet call this desperate times, he was already prepared to use some methods he would have otherwise avoided.

Sprinting headlong at a giant as it prepared to charge was one of them. The club it used, while deadly, was unwieldy. He was proved right in his assessment as the swing of the weapon proved too slow to stop him from getting inside the giant's guard whereupon he dodged the legs of the beast before finding his target: his sword. The Courier grasped the hilt of the weapon with both hands, now standing behind the giant. He dug his heels in and pulled. The agonized roar of the giant was deafening but he remained unrelenting. Snap. The release of the tension sent the Courier flying back gracelessly. He pushed himself to his feet with his sword more slowly than he usually would, the somewhat distant sound of the fight giving him some respite. The tactic had paid off. The hamstrung giant had been brought to its knees, and the two armored people had begun to lay into it with vicious fervor as the third pinioned it with arrows. Attempts of the giant to ward them off with a sweep of one of its arms were beaten back with savage blows. Within a few moments, the creature moved no more.

The Lone Courier sheathed his weapon and watched warily as the three fighters approached him. He noticed that one was wearing dark steel armor embellished with wolf motifs whereas the other two were more lightly armored. All three had some variety of warpaint on their faces. Were they tribals? Or was warpaint considered normal here? The woman with the bow spoke to him.

"You handle yourself well. You could make for a decent Shield-Brother."

"I'm sorry?" The Courier felt he was coming down with a severe case of fish-out-of-water syndrome.

"An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough."

He wasn't sure if the woman was this group's designated spokesman or if she was in charge, or if she was just more inclined to talk than the other two. It seemed this was some group of mercenaries, though he knew better than to call them that. Mercenaries, both in his experience and in general had a middling reputation. As a result, the term was somewhat pejorative. Still, he had done his own share of mercenary work. He wasn't in any position to judge.

So he just nodded.

Just as the woman turned to leave, the man in the wolf armor addressed him.

"You look strong. Come to Jorrvaskr and be a Companion."

He spoke very plainly. Six respected his forthrightness.

"I'll consider it," he promised.

The woman turned back and spoke.

"You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck."

The Courier nodded and cleaned the blood from his blade as he waited for them to leave. While his promise to consider joining the order of warriors had been more polite than anything, depending on the circumstances he found himself in, it might be a useful avenue for mercenary work. At the very least, it was something to keep in mind. For now though, he still needed to get Riverwood a garrison and see what he could find out about where exactly he had ended up. While he had emerged from the encounter with the giant unscathed, he decided he would prefer to know a creature exists before he had to kill one.

AN: The story continues! The next chapter won't take as long. I spent a lot of time actually planning this story out so there should be steady progress. I've more or less figured out how I want to interact with all the main questlines. If you have any thoughts on the story or sidequests you hope are included drop a review or head over to the forum.