Ulysses
It was early afternoon when they arrived at Followstone Cave. They had been walking for hours, with the chief scowling angrily for most of it. Ulysses paid little mind to the chief. There were too many sights to take in.
It felt real, more real than any place he had been, and yet at the same time not real. There was life in this place. He could hear it from birds, singing in their trees. He could see it in the many four legged animals, that grazed wild and free.
The air was cool and slightly humid. He could taste the lake along the road, which he judged to be at least twice as wide as Lake Mead.
At it's end, was a town called Riften. A place of the dissolute by the words of the Chief who led them around the city. Given to the ways of profligacy. Out of sight of its farms and the walls they clung to.
Strong words from one who lived without conviction.
An old trail met the road that ran east of Riften. It took them up winding hills to this cave.
Ancient markings decorated the entrance, making it difficult to miss. White paint covered the rocks in bold, clumsy strokes.
"This is it," spoke the chief. "Follow me, I'll lead the way if you back me up."
The air was colder and wetter in here. Shafts of light from above pierced the darkness of the cavern. A creek ran down the rocks and spilled into a pool below, creating a pair of waterfalls and leaving a fine mist above it where they stood. Faint rainbows shimmered where the light struck the misty air. They made their way down a natural walkway, that wrapped around the cavern until it found a hole in the rocks and a den of dust and bones that it led to.
"Almost there," the Orc chief mumbled.
The den led to an opening only a few steps away to the grove, where the shrine was. Outside of the caves, the grove looked like a clay bowl cut into the very mountains itself. More trees and symbols of the giants dotted the land decorated with many bones. At the center of the grove where the land was the lowest. A lone giant just as large as the one that attacked Largashbur stood guard by a statue of what Ulysses assumed to be of Malacath.
"I'll go kill this giant now," The Chief Yamarz declared with hollow courage. "Unless you'd like to earn some coin."
"Tell me chief of Orcs," Ulysses crossed his arms. "What happened to me covering you, while you did your sworn duty?" He scowled out the last word.
"I'm tired Redguard, haven't slept in weeks. If you kill that giant and say I did, I will see you paid well."
"Puts you in a difficult place, sounds like." He growled without effort or emotion. "Tribe values strength. Strength you do not have."
"I will have strength enough if I make it back outsider."
"Strength your own god will take from you in front of your own tribe." Ulysses knew little of Malacath, who they worshiped. Such a god would never approve of what was suggested. "My words would never save you."
"They would believe you, if you only said that I did it without help from an outsider. Few others would be the wiser." Yamarz pleaded, but his words fell on unbelieving ears. "Why would you walk this far, only to tell me that this is not your job?"
The last of the Twisted Hairs snorted. "Before the days of the Legion in my world, traders from the land they called New Canaan, went out into the world to spread their faith. They revered martyrdom. Called it a good death to be killed for their words at the hand of those who fear them, despised them, also believed that first their Lord and Savior would protect them on the road to their destiny."
"I don't care about what your stupid god believes, my destiny is to return to Largashbur alive."
"Not my God, Chief of Largashbur. Our God was the god of the bull, a mortal god. " Ulysses dryly replied and shrugged. "Your tribe could learn a thing or two from their word. Perhaps, the giant has become the symbol of your fate. You can meet it, you can fight it, you can always run. But this is your test, say your own elders. This is your time. Your chance to meet it on your terms."
Yamarz looked in the direction of the Giant then back at him as if to determine the greater threat. He was quick to make his choice.
"Fine, I'll go." He adjusted his shield and drew his blade. He slowly walked down the slope, but began to pick up speed as he continued. Yamarz closed in on the Giant who lifted its club.
It swung it's club to meet him. With a loud crack, Yamarz was thrown into the air and sailed above Ulysses. Somewhere behind, the crunch of bones trapped in armor filled the grove.
The giant stared at Ulysses for a moment, then decided he had already been challenged. He Reached for Old Glory and ran to meet the Giant. The club came down when they met, but Ulysses was not in its path.
Just as he had fought the last giant, He went to work on the knees once he was behind. A strike to both knees were made and drew blood before the giant could turn and face him. The club swung towards him and he evaded with ease.
The giant was big and strong, but clumsy. Every time Ulysses dodged the club, he would find an opening somewhere. A slash to be made. A soft place to penetrate. By the time he was at the bottom of the hill, blood was spilled from five different places. It was only beginning to slow down, and it would not have long.
The force was strong enough to knock the staff to the ground and from his hands. Without the staff, he drew his SMG, and fired a quick burst into the head of the giant.
It stumbled, then faltered landing backwards into the mud.
Ulysses found Old Glory and picked it up grimacing. The old world eagle with razor sharp wings that was the pommel was cracked in three places. It would need to be fixed.
"Yamarz was a fool!" The great and terrible voice of Malacath was everywhere at once. "Always trying to scheme his way out of his duties. But the giant took care of Yamarz, and you took care of the giant. Two problems solved at once. Now take its club back to Largashbur, and we can see about the rest of them."
He left the grove with both the club and the flagpole on his back.
The way back was easily traced with Riften as a reference. By taking the old roads and the paths less traveled, he arrived back in Largashbur as the light of day faded. And without incident. For longer journeys, he still had the stencil in his pack. The paint and propellant though, he would need to mix.
In the distance, to the west. The sky tore open and spoke three words, Ulysses did not understand.
A Cookfire was fading. Evening meal had ended when he returned. His stomach growled as the smells attacked his nose.
"You return, Redguard." The shaman approached him. "But what of Yamarz?"
Ulysses snorted. "Your chief, Yamarz. Saw his death coming. Chose an … honorable death. A more favorable ending. Malacath might call it something else." He paused for a moment. "His mission was carried out. I carry the giant's club on my back."
A breathe of air left the shaman. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts.
"I suppose it's the best way this could have ended."
Yamarz was deceitful. His cowardly ways have cost your tribe greatly. The overpowering voice of Malacath filled the air. Everywhere and nowhere.
"What now?" The hooded priestess did not flinch.
"This outsider has served you well, Lord Malacath." The elderly shaman spoke of him. "What would you have of this warrior?"
The Outsider, will take my hammer and wield it as my champion. Place the club on the altar, Champion.
Ulysses did as asked. The club was laid on the slab of stone that made the altar. It began to glow, yellow then green. A flash of light came, and when it was gone, a great hammer laid in its place.
It was a heavy weapon that he picked up. One for two strong hands. It's head was the size of a smaller man's chest, and covered in spikes. Attached was a long shaft, dark and thick. He ran a hand down it's length and found it smooth to the touch. At its end, was a pommel with another spike.
"Tell me about this hammer."
They call my artifact Volendrung, the hammer of might. It has been wielded by some of the greatest warriors and chiefs for generations. Now it is your turn to carry it, and do my will.
"And what is your will?"
Follow my code, and fight for those who follow me while you roam in search of your answers.
"Answers I seek. If you would have them. The … why of things, I would listen."
I do not have your answers. You are here because of powers outside of my realm, powers that will likely reveal themselves to you in time.
"Another god, like you?" Ulysses asked the voice of Malacath.
"No, mortal Nords summoning their champion."
David
With the sound of thunder, came a call. Three words he didn't understand. Or was it just one word with three syllables?
Luckily there where other people who understood it better than him.
"By Hircine," muttered Skjor as they ascended up the road to the main gate with the procession of those who faced the dragon and lived to tell the tale. "I don't believe it."
"What just happened?" Asked David.
"Greybeards summoned the Dragonborn."
"You mean the one red eyes is sending up to Dragonsreach?"
Skjor nodded. "Six hundred years since a dragonborn was last summoned, and it's a wanted criminal in every other hold."
"So, if I understand this whole Dragonborn business correctly, he can absorb a dragon's soul and because of that people are going to make him emperor?"
"I don't like to think about that." The big man shuddered at the idea. "Legionaries could be swearing oaths in his name. There's not a dragonborn I can think of that didn't somehow end up seizing power."
"I wonder what the current emperor would think about this?"
The merc seemed to stare into space with his dead eye. "He would be terrified. It does put him in a difficult position."
"How so?" David knew little of the politics outside of Whiterun Hold to say nothing of Skyrim.
"There are dragons in Skyrim. Any attempt to prevent him from doing whatever Akatosh called him to do might actually unite Skyrim against the Emperor. At least if it were anybody else."
"What will happen to him up there?"
"Balgruuf will not be happy, but I suppose we'll have to wait and see how he reacts."
They passed through the gate with the bulk of the procession.
Within the city, townsfolk stared at them with wide eyes. The column began to lose cohesion as the crowds grew thicker. Guards broke from the line and threw off their helmets in a free for all search for their loved ones.
One man in bloodstained leathers and a shirt of metal links passed him by and flung his arms at a very stunning blonde woman with a young boy by her side. He recognized the soldier as Ragnar who had escorted him to Dragonsreach only yesterday.
David stopped to watch the scene, and caught a quiet pang of jealousy within. It was times like this that made him wish he had someone to come home to. Not that he was like to do well in the love department.
Sure, there had been his lawfully wedded wife after the Divide. The only relationship he knew that lasted more than a month. Problem was, Jane was never truly his.
If Jane belonged to anything, it was money. She might have divorced him when she met that Brahmin Baron, had they been less well off. It would have been a much simpler way to end the sham that his life was built on after he crawled out of the hell they made him carry to Ashton.
But the Divide was a gift that kept giving (or least that made the most sense of all places). Just as it had given him new life once, it came to collect its due. His doctor back in the Hub had given him a "year and some change" to live when he started coughing blood.
The funniest thing was that had she known at the time, he may never have visited by that idiot gun hand from Lazy S. Not that it would have mattered in the end. David had things to do before he went out. There were many debts to be paid, graves to be dug, and a dad from another life to confront one last time.
Next thing he knew, he was back to living as a courier on his way east, running from everything he had become.
He could see old red eyes trying to get the soldiers back in column and continuing up the winding path to Dragonsreach. With some semblance to the formation, the lead elements began to move forward.
"Save it Ragnar, will you please. We can all celebrate in a few hours or so." It was Irileth.
Ragnar broke the embrace with his son, and reluctantly returned to the column.
It picked up movement and slowly snaked its way up the second level of the city. More increasingly familiar faces lined the road as they neared the temples. Here the upper classes dwelt among the priests and the warriors.
By the statue of Talos, the officially banned deity, that one priest he'd heard before was delivering a fiery impromptu sermon on the good news of Talos. To him, Jesus may well have just been born this night.
If Jesus had come down from heaven and displaced the soul of a no account scoundrel maybe. The thought was a sour taste on his tongue.
Behind him, Sjkor was lagging, speaking to another man in companion's armor.
A few others had participated in the battle. One of them, a blonde in leathers named Torvar was advised to get healing in Kynareth's Temple for his burns, but he refused to miss the ceremonies and would not stand to be anywhere but the Cloud District.
It was only a quick march up the narrow causeway, to the Castle of Dragonsreach.
Within, those who had fought in the battle for the watchtower stood in formation lining the edges of the upper half of the hall. They formed a rough hollow square on three sides, all of them facing the direction of the dais where the Jarl sat waiting for the bulk of them to file in. Beside him, he could see the steward.
Out in the open by the fire pit, David saw the one they had brought here. Flokir as they called him, was flanked by several guards. By the way he looked around, it was clear this man wasn't too happy with his status as guest of honor.
"So tell me thief, what happened at the watchtower?" Jarl Balgruuf asked from his wooden throne.
The guards took a step away from him, before he spoke nervously. "The dragon attacked and died. Then it gave me something"
True to Sjkor's prediction, Balgruuf looked like a knife had sprouted from his gut. "So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you."
"Why them?" Flokir seemed only a little less uncomfortable by comparison.
"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice." He recognized the voice and the almost hidden figure of Farengar. "The ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."
A rough looking brave with a rough voice that sounded like that old Conan the Barbarian radio show picked up from there.
"Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora."
"Hrongar, calm yourself." The steward spoke up for the first time. "What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with this common thief? I don't see any signs of him being this, Dragonborn."
"Nord nonsense?! Why you puffed-up ignorant," the rough looking brave suddenly stopped himself before taking a breath. "These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"
"Hrongar!" Some of the color in Balgruuf's face had returned. "Don't be so hard on Avenicci."
Proventus Avenicci raised his hands in a calming gesture. "I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that, what do these Greybeards want with him?"
The Jarl shook his head. "Does it matter? That's the Greybeards' business, not ours."
He moved his gaze to meet the Dragonborn. "Whatever happened when that dragon died, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?" Balgruuf paused and took a deep breath, for what had to be the deathclaw in the room (at least one of them anyway). When he spoke, his face may well have been carved out of granite.
"By the laws of Skyrim, and Whiterun Hold, you should be rotting in the dungeons for your criminal past, but there are older customs. The summons to High Hrothgar is a tremendous honor that must be answered."
"You would sentence me to visit the Greybeards?" The thief asked understandably confused.
"The Dragonborn belong to the divines." The brave on the dais replied with an ugly grin. "If they claim you while you still walk among us, then it is our still our duty to commit you to them."
Law is a human institution, a mysterious ranger had told him once at the gates of the Divide.
Suddenly David felt the urge to laugh. He'd made himself right with the almighty, or at least he'd tried good as any man could. But fuck the law, he'd never be able to make right in their eyes. Not unless he was law.
"But we haven't forgotten the great service you did for my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl," the jarl's words began to sound just a little forced." I name you Thane of Whiterun, the greatest honor within my power to grant."
He turned his face to the brave and nodded. The brave turned on his heels and walked his way down the hall behind the lines facing Balgruuf.
"As Thane, you are to receive a personal housecarl. Lydia, step forward."
A stocky woman in hold armor stepped forth.
"Yes my jarl?"
"Our new thane needs a housecarl, and there is none more fit for the job than you."
A great howling of laughter filled the hall and seemed to shake the rafters just a bit. David stole a look at Skjor. His jaw was hanging open at the sight of the proceedings. The laughter died down, and there was a different feeling in the air he couldn't quite put his finger on.
The woman looked at the jarl, and then at Flokir. She hesitated for a moment before her features hardened.
"I pledge myself to the service of Thane Flokir of Whiterun Hold."
"You honor me my Jarl," said the dragonborn with just a hint of sardonic in his voice. The dude's raven hair made a stark contrast to the ashen color of his face. "With so much danger around, I could never ask for a better protector among Whiterun's best."
An officer in the ranks, a balding man glared daggers in Flokir's direction at those words. The thief smirked back, before turning to face the woman.
"And you Lydia, I welcome you to my service."
Talk about social mobility. David chuckled watching the awkwardness continue. In the blink of an eye, the little ceremony went full on shotgun wedding.
Balgruuf continued with a fairly solid poker face. "Your badge of office, will be an ax from my personal armory."
"An axe I will humbly accept," replied Flokir who was weighing his words with care.
A grim smile came from the jarl's face. "It is bad manners to refuse another Nord's axe. Step forth and receive it then."
The Dragonborn approached the dais. The bastard's legs looked set to have a shaking fit. The man held out his hands looking ready to face the worst. A servant came forward with said axe. It was a simple but elegant weapon.
Jarl Balgruuf took the axe with his right, and unceremoniously plopped it in the Dragonborn's arms.
"We are honored to have you as Thane of our city... Dragonborn."
"And I am honored to hold such a place of honor." The Dragonborn fumbled with the ax until he was able to loop it onto the belt of his robes. A hasty bow was made and he retreated to the fire pit. Lydia followed him and stood by his right side at arms length.
A small part of him found it disgusting for some reason. The man they brought for a bounty, was now being showered in rewards that seemed far greater than what he and Skjor would take home for bringing him to justice. Or was it simply jealousy?
As far as David was concerned, law and order had never been about fairness. Whether it existed as the instrument of a dictator or an angry mob of the majority, winners and losers had to be picked.
But what right did he have to judge? He had fled California only to be House's lieutenant. Fairness felt like more of an abstract concept higher up in the animal kingdom.
The court was adjourned. The affair felt about as quick as a military tribunal. All those assembled began to mingle freely. He caught up with Skjor, who was collecting their due from the steward.
"I still don't believe what I just saw." Sjkor almost seemed to double down on his sense of doubt as he handed David his cut.
"Real shotgun wedding there if I ever saw one," said David when they were further from the crowds.
"Expression from your land?"
"Yep," he nodded. "In a lot of places, especially with the tribes, its considered common courtesy that you marry a girl if you shoot kids into her. Sometimes when the man is hesitant to do, he'll get a visit from the girl's family to make sure he takes the ride he bought. They call it a shotgun wedding, because the weapon that tends to get pressed against the man while he's saying his vows."
The big merc laughed. "That sort of thing happens a lot down south you know."
"But not here?" David raised an eyebrow.
"Oh it does, mostly in the West. For the rest of Skyrim, it's usually the family of the man that will do that. Life is hard up here, when you have none to turn to. That's why we Nords value community, and part of that means looking after your own."
He gestured in the direction of Farengar, and David made to follow.
The court wizard was deep in conversation with someone else. Though he could not see their face, it was definitely a woman. Their conversation ceased once they noticed the duo.
"You have it?" Farengar asked.
David took the stone from his pack and handed it over to the wizard who wasted not a second in greedily eying the tablet the way a feral ghoul looked at anything... well, freshly dead.
"Ah, you found it. Excellent! Yes, certainly a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."
"You delved into Bleak Falls Barrow by yourself and retrieved that stone?" His companion asked.
Where had he seen that face?
"I had a guide," David gently elbowed Skjor. "I'm still a bit of a tenderfoot to Skyrim."
"Nevertheless, I'm impressed." The familiar face was sizing him up. "Even for a Companion, that's no small job. Not many people adventure into one of those ruins and come out alive."
"Not many adventurers do." Sjkor shrugged. "Helps to be a professional."
"Time and again, you companions come through for us." They all turned to meet the approaching figure of Jarl Balgruuf. "I will ensure word of my gratitude is passed to Kodlak." He indicated Skjor.
"But you," the jarl turned back towards him. "You have done Whiterun another great service. Is there anything besides coin you would ask that I could give as a reward?"
He shrugged. "I wish I knew what to ask for jarl. I am but a poor wayfaring stranger in these lands, but I suppose I can think of something appropriate when I better understand this land. I can't imagine a title and bodyguard would be proper for just a man doing his job among so many other good men."
Balgruuf laughed darkly. "You helped bring a wanted man here in chains, and now he's a thane. It makes me ill to think about what I just did, but even kings and jarls must bow to the will of the divines. The dragonborn is needed where he can bring down a dragon."
"Can't imagine Ulfric Stormcloak is going to make this easier." The Companion remarked dryly
The jarl's flowing golden hair bounced as he shook his head. "In truth, it's made it all the more simple. Soon both the Empire and Ulfric Stormcloak will cast their hungry eyes on Whiterun stronger than ever. A dragonborn thane of this hold may very well be the only thing standing between Skyrim and an all out war."
Author's Note:Happy valentine's day, boys and girls. I love y'all.