Chapter 1

Bells rang along the Leyawiin docks as another merchant ship slid from Topal Bay up the Niben River. Stevedores waited patiently as the ship's sails furled and it steered towards the docks. Figures clambered up the masts and crawling among the rigging. Large oars appeared from both sides of the vessel, dipped into the water, and propelled it carefully towards the docks. It loomed larger and larger. Deep voices began hailing one another. Oars were shipped, lines thrown, and the ship was towed alongside the docks. With a rattle of its chain, the anchor slid into the crystal blue water of the Niben. Gangways were erected and lines of Argonians, Khajiits, and Imperials trooped upwards. Crates, barrels, huge bags, and chests were passed between able arms and placed on the docks. Clerks went around with ledgers, crossing off items on the list, making notes of the deposited cargo, and configuring tariffs.

Another gangway allowed passengers to disembark but only a few did. Redguard refugees lined the rail, waiting for the ship to unload its cargo before pushing further up the Niben River to the Imperial City. Anxious faces gazed down at the sightseers who liked to come and watch ships arrive. More than a few kind souls trundled onto the docks and threw fresh produce, bread, cheese, and other foodstuffs up to the refugees. Although thankful, the refugees had nothing to offer in return.

Much of the cargo, once registered, was wheeled away in carts. Most were loaded into dockside warehouses although many were already bulging with supplies. Others were taken up into Leyawiin itself. Passing the shoddy houses of the dock workers and other menials who eked out a living there, these carts were directed either to Castle Leyawiin. Bags of gemstones and Septims jingled in bags inside secured lockboxes. Other crates marked with stamps reading, 'fragile,' rattled with silver dining ware. Another wagon, which was drawn by two Argonians instead of a horse, waddled deeper into the city until they reached a shop at the corner of the eastern mouth to the square.

It was a small, red-walled smithy and might have been considered quaint by some. The front door faced the square but the right side, facing the entrance to the pavilion, was more open. Beside it was a tall, glass window and both panes were thrown open. A wooden roof went from corner to corner and covered a larger set of double-doors. Both were wide open, as was the cover for a long counter-window beside it. On the wall facing the square, there was one more window identical to the one leading into the house position, although it was far dirtier. Within this addition were the forge and bellows; smoke wafted out of a brick and mortar chimney that rose from the roof of the addition. A Nord stoked the coals, causing the flames to roar and a cloud of sparks to rise. Then he took a thin, long piece of metal from the rim of the forge, placed it on the anvil, and began hammering ferociously. The clanging carried far into the square and down many side streets. Nobody who strolled down the cobblestone roads seemed to be bothered by it or take notice of it.

Besides the smith banging away at his metal, the deep shouting from the docks, and the rattle of wagon wheels, there was the laughter echoing down the streets. In one of the city's many ponds, children splashed and dunked one another. The day was hot, not frightfully so, but enough to make them dive into the water to cool off. Groups of friends held mock wrestling matches in the water, took big gulps then sprayed it at one another, and held competitions to see who could swim to the bottom and rise the fastest. Others upped the ante, seeing who could hold their breath the longest. The Argonian children weren't interested, so a Nord boy, a pair of Imperial siblings, and a Khajiit girl, took a deep breath and ducked under the water. First, the girls came up, then the Khajiit.

Ten seconds later, the Nord emerged with a loud gasp. Throwing his thick mop of auburn hair back and wiping the water from his face, he smiled wide and laughed with his friends.

"Sigtrygg wins!" he declared.

"You only won because you're a blowhard; you've got too much air!" declared M'krinna, a Cathay Khajiit girl. But her green eyes flashed amicably and she flashed a big, toothy smile before she ran off to join another group of children. Both the Imperials, Luca, a ten year old boy, and his sister, Ara, his twelve year old sister, laughed.

"You could be an Argonian!" Luca declared.

"Why don't you go back down and find out if you are?" Ara said smugly, before she and Luca went off to meet some other friends who were just joining in. Sigtrygg was left on his own but he didn't mind. He trudged over to a shallower spot, although he was already quite tall for a lad of thirteen, so he was still a little deeper than the other children. Picking out some of the grass and bits of reed that got caught in his tangled hair, he continued wading until he got to bank. Tugging up the legs of his threadbare trousers, he went to sit down so he would still be in the water a little.

Sigtrygg sighed as he did. He was glad to be out of the family's forge, where the heat became unbearable on a warm day. Cool air and colder waters were far more preferable, although Leyawiin was a swampy clime and remained muggy and hot throughout the year. Anyone who liked the cold could only hope for the rains to come down from the north, which usually occurred during the last three months of the year. Besides that, sea winds coming up from the south off Topal Bay could drive away the humidity.

There was no wind that day and Leyawiin's air was particularly stale. Passing adults were dabbing their sweating brows with handkerchiefs or patted down their necks with damp cloths. Nords like Sigtrygg were few in number so far south and did not fare very well from the humidity. But Khajiit whose hides tended to grow thicker and fuller suffered even worse. Turning around from the pond, Sigtrygg sat back and watched the adults go by. Everyone seemed unconcerned with the children playing in the pond, too focused on their tasks or trying to find some other place to avoid the heat.

He liked watching folks mill around town. During the day, the gates generally stayed open and allowed a steady trickle of travelers, traders, mercenaries, Legion patrols, and the more rare Synod research team. Occasionally, merchant caravans arrived in Leyawiin and it was always exciting for both children and adults. They came bearing materials, luxury items, simple goods, odds and ends, and other articles not readily available in Leyawiin. Even goods from Bravil were considered interesting to those who did not travel that much or not at all. Sometimes, he went to the docks and watched ships go up and down the rivers. Sometimes there were Legion ships back from patrol, lumbering cargo ships, ornate merchant vessels, and the occasional mercenary longship. He'd watch them go until they were far out of sight, becoming dots further up the Niben or disappearing against the horizon on Topal Bay.

It had been nearly two years since Sigtrygg had left Leyawiin and it was only a short trip and not at all exciting. He hoped he would have the opportunity to leave the city's walls again soon. Just as he began to ruminate just how and when he and his family could go out beyond the walls, he heard a commotion behind him.

There was laughter on the other side of the pond, although it was mocking, not fun-loving. Some older Imperial boys, who originally kept themselves distant from the younger kids, had invaded their space. Three of them were around M'krinna, whose golden fur was far more matted down than before. She was failing up and trying to get away from them, but they pulled on her tail, tugged her back, and then dunked her under the water with heavy hands. Each time they let her back up, they laughed at her cruely. M'krinna was flopping as she attempted to escape but they kept overpowering her. Soon, her agitated squeals and shrieks changed to sobs. Her tears were soon lost in the streams of water running down her face.

Sigtrygg watched for a few moments and began to shake. His heart began to pound. He wanted to help her. M'krinna was his friend but even if she wasn't, he would have wanted to step in. But he was scared. While he might have been tall and already a bit strong from working in the family forge, the Imperial boys were older and rougher. And there were three of them. Looking away, he hugged his knees to his chest. Somebody else would do something. Yes, there were plenty of kind souls who would intervene. But none of the children did anything, merely regarding the event in stupefaction. Others actually got out of the pond, collected their clothes, and left. Adults passed by and didn't do a thing.

It felt like he sat there for hours, rocking back and forth. M'krinna let out a pitiful cry for help which made Sigtrygg look back. He didn't want to get hurt himself or even take his friend's place if he got the boys' attention. But the longer he sat and regarded the terrible spectacle, the more angry he got. Not just at those boys but at himself. This fear seemed so wrong and inappropriate. All his life, his parents regaled him with tales of Nordic bravery in the face of adversity.

Before his mind was set, his heart forced him up. Sigtrygg charged across the pond and shoved one of the Imperial boys. Unprepared, the boy fell into another and they both staggered back. Grabbing M'krinna, Sigtrygg pulled her away. But the third boy was coming towards him so he shoved her away and spun around to defend himself. Just as he did, a fist struck him square in the eye. Falling over, he found himself underwater but only briefly. Somebody grabbed a clump of his hair and yanked him up. The Imperial boy got in his face and waved his fist in front of him.

"Filthy Nord!" he screamed. "You're nothing short of a beggar! Go back to that wasteland you call home and stay there! Cyrodiil belongs to Imperials, not to dullards like you or mangy, fleabitten cats like her!"

Sigtrygg tried to free himself but another fist on his cheek made him stop. "You think you're something special!? Do you know who I am!?" The boy wound his arm back for another strike. Suddenly, an armored hand appeared and snatched the boy's wrist. A large guard in chainmail, wearing a white surcoat, loomed behind him.

"I know you," said the guard in a menacing tone. "And I know your father, too, and the captain won't like what I have to tell him."

Forcibly, the guard wrenched the boy back and shoved him on the embankment of the pond. The other two Imperials slinked after him. Maintaining a towering, imposing stance, the guard regarded the children sternly. "All of you, get out of here! Back to your homes! How often must I tell you this pond is not for swimming!"

Groaning and mumbling in complaint, the remaining children nonetheless complied. Sloshing out of the water, they collected their clothes on the bank of the pond and trudged off in different directions. Sigtrygg, rubbing his cheek, began to turn. "You there, Nord." He turned back to find the guard standing over him. After a few moments, the Imperial smiled. "Well done, lad."

"Am I going to be in trouble for fighting, too?"

"Nonsense. I saw the whole affair. Go home. Take a damp, cool rag to that eye if you can."

Sigtrygg nodded but found he couldn't move. He was impressed by the stark white surcoat that ran all the way down to his knees. On the front was Leyawiin's sigil, a white stallion rimmed with gold rearing to the right, its front legs high and kicking. Underneath he wore steel chainmail and wore piecemeal shoulder guards. These were polished very finely and reflected the bright sun. A chainmail skirt protected his legs as well as steel guards strapped to his thighs and shins. Leather pouches lined the belt he wore, as well as the scabbard for a dagger. On his left side, he wore a sword and scabbard. He carried a pack and shield on his back.

He was tall, broad in the chest, and robust of health. Bearing a wide face, he had a very large smile that made his cheeks rise. Thick, blonde locks, nearly curly at the ends, came down his shoulders. From his weathered, tanned face and the many nicks on his brow, lips, nose, and cheeks, one could tell he was a seasoned warrior. It was difficult not to be impressed by him. Sigtrygg was well aware of how impolite it was to gawk at another person but this guard seemed different the rest he'd seen. There was an air of grandeur and nobility around him, a quiet professionalism imbued with glory. He was from a different cut, a molding and making no other guard had ever experienced nor ever would. In his eyes was the country beyond Leyawiin's walls and they sparkled with a livelihood unknown to young Sigtrygg. He was not mystified, he was immediately drawn to that expression and longed to not only know what this man had seen and done, but go and do it himself.

Somehow, this guard understood that. Chuckling pleasantly, he clamped a hand down on Sigtrygg's shoulder. "It is a good thing to help those who cannot help themselves. Such acts should be rewarded." He opened the leather box pouch on his right side and produced a silver Septim. Eyes wide, Sigtrygg stared at it. Yet, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to raise his palm. Something deep within told him he should not accept it. It was not a matter of whether he deserved it or not, but rather why he acted. Coin was far removed from his mind during the whole affair. He lowered his gaze.

But the man reached down, opened Sigtrygg's hand, and placed the silver into it. "Such a reward is material," he said, then placed his hand over his heart. "But what your heart feels after the act, now there is the true prize. This coin is but a formality."

He said nothing more as he turned and walked out of the pond. At that moment, Sigtrygg realized he just wasn't a member of the city guard. From the heraldry on the shield mounted on his back, he found he was a knight of the White Stallion, the lodge founded in the Third Era. It was steeped in tradition, honor, and glory and everyone in the city respected them as paragons. Awed, Sigtrygg watched him march down the street, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword, still in its scabbard, and the gilded shield glinting in the sunlight.

Tucking the coin into his pocket, he went back to collect his clothes. There he found M'Krinna, still sniffling as tears continued to disappear into her damp cheeks. She handed Sigtrygg his shirt and then his two buckled shoes. Unwilling to get her plain brown skirt and blouse wet by putting them on over her white underdress, she merely wrapped the deep green shawl around her shoulders. Carrying her own soft shoes in her other hand, she began walking home. Sigtrygg joined her.

He didn't know what to say. The lad wasn't quite sure if there was anything that could make her feel better. On top of the abuse, she was humiliated in front of their friends and many other children they saw regularly. M'Krinna was still sniffing and letting out sad, exasperated breaths as they trundled down the city streets, their bare, wet feet padding on the cobblestone. She carried her shoes in her right hand and tucked her clothes underneath the same arm. So Sigtrygg draped his shirt over his shoulder, switched his shoes to his other hand, and gently wrapped his fingers around her paw. His friend acknowledged the gesture by squeezing his pale hand very tightly.

They were silent until they got to the front door of M'krinna's home, a wooden shack outside the city square on the road to the docks. Their hands slipped from each other and their gazes met.

"Thank you, Sigtrygg," she said in a quiet voice. Unsure, and feeling somewhat bashful at her gentle tone, all the Nord did was shrug a little bit. The pain around his eye and spreading across his cheek proved quite distracting as well. "Bye."

"Bye, Krinny."

M'krinna walked over to the door and raised her hand to the knob. But then she dropped her clothing and shoes and ran back to Sigtrygg. She threw her arms around his neck and embraced him very tightly. He held her back, if only to keep from tumbling backwards. Nothing more was said and after she let go, she hurriedly picked up her belongings and disappeared inside. Running his fingers through his disheveled hair, Sigtrygg went back to his home. Instead of going through the front door, he went through the open double-doors of the forge. Inside, he found his father, Askel, tempering another blade. He wore only brown trousers, black boots, and a leather apron which covered his soot-covered, sweating upper body. He had dark brown hair which came down to his neck and stubble which grew thickly on his chin. His face was flat and his nose was a bit small, traits which Sigtrygg inherited from him.

"Hi, da," Sigtrygg greeted him. Askel briefly looked over his shoulder as he dipped the heated blade, white-hot, into the tub of water nearby. The water hissed and a cloud of steam billowed into the smith's face.

"Best put your shoes on boy, there by many a nail and shard of metal strewn about this floor," he grunted before looking back. Then he abruptly looked back and blinked. "By the Divines, lad, what happened to your face?"

"Nothing," Sigtrygg replied meekly as he slipped his shoes back on. Before he took more than two more steps into the smithy, his father knelt in front of him.

"Nothing he says," Askel muttered. "Have you been fighting?"

"Yes," Sigtrygg admitted, but he didn't say why. He didn't feel like explaining and he thought it best not to mention what happened to M'krinna. His parents knew her family and he didn't want them up in arms over it. They would take it to that boy's father, who was captain of the watch, and then it would just be turned back on the two children after things settled down.

"You shouldn't do that. Fighting does no good. The Divines gave you a voice and you ought to use it from time to time. Or don't they teach you how to speak well in that chapel?"

"Yes, da."

After a brief inspection, Askel went over to one of the chests they used for storage in the forge. It was much darker in here than outside; even with the doors, counter, and window open, the sunlight did seem to penetrate the natural darkness. Not even the deep, orange flames of the forge, stirred up by the bellows, seemed to make a difference. The square-shaped forge was tucked into the right side of the room with two anvils, one larger and one smaller, in the center. By each was a wooden tub of water. A cut beside the wall and the forge contained a few tall cabinets where they kept their tools. Chests on the left side contained their supplies. Next to these chests was a workbench, long, flat, made of steel, and propped up by thick wooden legs. Across from it, near the window, was the grindstone. In the corner by the entrance to the house were various completed items on hold for customers. Mostly these were horseshoes, building materials from hinges to nails, repaired tools like pickaxes, and a few hunting daggers and shortswords. A lockbox on a counter contained their more ornate creations such as necklaces, rings, and cheap circlets.

Opening one of the chests, Askel began to rummage through it. Sigtrygg waited patiently on a stool by the counter. On the shelves underneath the counter, there were more parcels waiting to be picked up by patrons. He looked over at the blade his father was forging, resting on a stone shelf built into the forge. "You are making swords today, da?"

"I am until your mother comes back," Askel replied wearily. "She prays in the chapel once more, calling upon Zenithar instead of working." This he said somewhat bitterly. Finally, he found a piece of cloth and then went over to one of the water tubs. Dipping the cloth into it, he squeezed out the excess and then gave it to Sigtrygg. "Place it upon your eye."

"That is what the knight said to do, too."

"Knight? What knight?"

"A Knight of the White Stallion! He spoke to me after the fight. He stopped it."

"Then it appears knights are good for something after all," Askel muttered as he returned to his work. Sigtrygg deflated, feeling Askel's dismissive tone seep into him. Instead, he pressed the cloth gently against his stinging wound. After a few minutes, he went to the window, wiped some of the soot off with his hand, and looked into the glass. It took a moment to find his reflection as the glass caught the sun's glare. Taking away the cloth, he found the skin around his eye had turned black and the mark on his cheek turned into a brown-red color. It was very unsightly and he sighed sadly.

Just as he began to go back to the stool, he heard feet outside the shop. A moment later, his mother emerged. She was tall, red-haired, and strong in her arms and chest like Askel. Just as she removed her shawl, she noticed Sigtrygg and was surprised.

"I thought you were off playing still. Why have you come back so soon? And why is your face covered?"

Sigtrygg reluctantly lowered it.

"Kaja, the boy was fighting," Askel said sternly.

"Now why would you go and do a thing like that? I hope you had a good reason for it."

Sigtrygg merely shrugged. Kaja sighed and shook her head. "Well, it matters not now. Tend your face, dress, and then come work the counter. We have many pending orders and money to make."

Sighing, Sigtrygg donned his shirt and went to fetch his tools. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he felt the coin the knight gave him. Unwilling to take it, lest his parents wonder why, the lad just smiled a little bit, feeling rather contented, and set himself to the hard work ahead.

Words: 3,885

Pages: 8

Font: Libre Baskerville

Font Size: 10

Line Spacing: 1.5

Author's Note: Welcome! This is a little side project I'll be working on and I'll update it once or twice at least biweekly. If I can manage my main projects, I should be able to upload this weekly. This story is set during the Fourth Era a little over a decade before the Skyrim Civil War/Dragon Crisis and follows a character I created in ESV: Skyrim. Some aspects, large and small, are based on some of the lore friendly and immersive mods I've utilized playing the game and I plan to give credit to the creators and porters along the way. Featured here, via the silver Septim, is the mod Coins of Tamriel mod by Force70 for which I used for both the original and Special Edition of Skyrim. Immersive mod that overhauls the coins and values, as well as populates certain dungeons with race-specific coins that you can sell. Anyways, I'm looking forward to this project. If you're a new reader, you can check out my Halo fanfiction series, I'm Alone, a standalone Halo story, To Be Brave, or my Warhammer: 40,000 series Marsh Silas. Thanks!