Arc 3—Uncivil War—Chapter 2:

"You shouldn't have told him that," said Serana after we were a short distance outside of Stonehills. "You said just a little while ago that you know you can't save everybody, and now, here you are, trying to do it again."

I was angry at what Flugeal had told me and wasn't in the mood to be second-guessed so I lashed out at her. "No, not everyone, but sometimes you've got to try. If you think I'm making such a mistake, you can go back to Stonehills and I'll meet you there when I'm done. If I'm not back in two days, you'll know I'm not coming. If, that is, you still want to wait for me."

She continued walking along behind me for a couple of minutes before she spoke again. "Aerik, I didn't say it was a mistake; I think what you did was really nice. I just think that man's going to be really disappointed when, despite us doing our best, they don't let his son go."

Like her, I thought on what had been said for a bit before I replied. "I'm sorry, Serana. And thank you. You're a good and wise friend. I can only hope you'll be wrong this time."

A short time later, we reached the farm to find the woman and four children salvaging what they could as the ruins of the barn still smoked. She saw us approaching at the last second and grabbed a fork to protect her kids and her from still more people who would take advantage of them. We held up our hands and waved to her, trying to show we meant no harm as she neared us with the prongs.

"Hold on, mi'lady! Please! We mean you no harm," I said. I really didn't want to have to do anything that would harm her, scare the young children, or give away my identity as the Dragonborn.

She paused, looking at me, as if daring me to make a mistake, so I said to her, with my hands still raised, "Flugeal, your husband, was in Stonehills a little while ago and he told us about what had happened with your son, Rousen."

She drew the pitchfork back a bit. "He told you those damn Stormcloaks took him? The boy's only fourteen but he has the mind of a child. He's not old enough, but even if he was, he still wouldn't understand what's happening. He's...he's simple." Tears were running down her cheeks as she said this.

"Yes, mi'lady, we understand. We're going to try to bring him home if you'll show us which way they took him."

Still looking doubtful, she showed us their trail and we started off after them as evening descended on us. The woman had her arms around the shoulders of the rest of her children as she watched us go.

~ESV~

It was dark, with only the stars lighting the sky, when we topped a rise to see fires in the distance.

"About 40 soldiers," I whispered to her, confirming our estimate of 30 to 40 from our tracking before nightfall. "Unless they're putting in a lot of effort to make their numbers look bigger."

"Or maybe smaller?"

I couldn't see her face but knew she'd asked the question with a smirk. "Possibly," I agreed, rather reluctantly. We quickly went over our strategy before I backtracked a way to come at the encampment from a different direction. Although I didn't see her, I knew she was doing basically the same thing.

Fifteen minutes passed before I started walking forward. "Hello, in the camp? Permission to enter?" I called.

"Halt! Who goes there?" came the challenge in reply.

"I'm Bjorn, a representative of the jarl of the Hjaalmarch. Permission to enter?"

There was a delay for, I suspected, a debate among the officers of the company. "Hold there!" finally came in reply before another long pause.

At last, a different voice called out, "Bjorn of the Hjaalmarch, you may enter, slowly, with your hands in the air. Any trickery and it'll be your last."

I did as they said and was met by three men a few moments later as I crossed into their line.

"You're armed," accused one of the men.

"Yes," I agreed. "It's rather dark out there, if you hadn't noticed. If I'd taken my weapons off out there in the wild, I'd have never found them again."

"Hand them over," said the man in front of me.

"I'm a representative of the Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone and I come in peace. If you remove my weapons, you'll answer to her."

The man hesitated, unsure of himself but he looked as if he was about to try anyway, so I took the initiative. "Now, take me to your commanding officer. I have an important issue to discuss."

He was again hesitant, but this time a voice from further within the camp called out, "Bring him to me."

The fires in the camp had largely burned down as we marched to the only tent I could see. The thick flap opened to reveal a well lit interior and a man of about my own age looking back at me. He stared at me for a few moments before saying, "You aren't the Ravencrone's consort. Not old enough. So tell me, who are you and what brings you to our camp?"

Two hands, one on each arm, still held me, so I shook them off before responding. "I'm Bjorn of the Hjaalmarch and I serve Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. I received news today that you drafted a young man, a citizen of her hold, into your force. The young man is big for his age, but still too young, only fourteen, and he's quite slow of thought and speech. The jarl would demand his release if I informed her of what had happened, so I decided to save the two of us some time by coming directly to you instead of going all the way to Morthal for her instructions and coming all the way back, and you wasting all that time trying to train him only to see him released. Hand him over to me and I'll be on my way so I can take him home to his parents."

The guard from the checkpoint who'd escorted me into the tent laughed. "A number of our men are only fourteen, but they are men, so your argument doesn't hold water. Besides, the Stormcloak army doesn't release recruits who swear an oath to it, whether or not a backwater jarl demands it." He was sneering at me, but I turned to face his commander.

"The lackey's point is understandable," I agreed, "but he can be forgiven for his lack of knowledge about how things work in the adult world. An oath spoken by one who doesn't understand the meaning of the words is about as valuable as the parchment it's written upon."

The officer smiled, but the guard stared at me confused for a few seconds before finally realizing the meaning of what I'd said. He huffed and started to move toward me, but he was stayed by the officer's hand, leading to another angry guffaw.

"Sergeant, guards, leave us," ordered the company commander. Looking at the guards, he added, "You two, remain outside. The jarl's representative and I have much to discuss."

They left the tent and the sound of stomping followed as the one I assumed to be the angry sergeant went his way. The captain, I now saw, stared at me for a moment before a hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth. "Indeed, I can see that a jarl would want service from one such as you, but, whatever your position, don't underestimate Sergeant Brukol. He doesn't like you, so I'll warn you now, don't cross him outside my presence. He can be a very dangerous man."

I skipped the response that I so wanted to give in favor of one that preserved the persona I'd adopted. "I greatly appreciate your kind warning, Captain. Now, to business?"

He nodded without introducing himself. "Tell me, Bjorn, why should we grant such a boon to the servant of a jarl who has failed to declare allegiance to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true king of Skyrim? Is it, as rumor has it, that the Ravencrone sleeps with the emperor? Or could it be the other theory we've heard espoused, that she only has interest in herself?"

"Whether she sleeps with anyone other than Aslfur, her husband, in body or in spirit, I don't know, though I tend to doubt it. As for your second theory, I've seen her keen interest in being fair to her own people, so I personally doubt that, too. No, I believe a third theory may come closer to the truth."

"What is that?" he asked, apparently quite interested in obtaining information that might be of use to his forces in their war effort.

"I noted her interest in her people but I believe it goes much further than that. She understands that this war holds little good for the common people of her hold, whichever side ultimately wins. The emperor holds his grip on power through the White-Gold agreement, with the tacit approval of the Thalmor, even though he and the people hate the situation and the Thalmor even more. Ulfric Stormcloak speaks of his great love for Skyrim, but he is, like too many of his ilk, more interested in himself than true service to his people or those of other races who choose to make their homes in Skyrim. That is the difference between Idgrod and Ulfric; he gives a great speech praising his accomplishments but little happens as a result, whereas she holds her tongue while actually helping her people and trying to keep them out of harm."

The captain pondered my words for a few moments before speaking. "I don't know. Ulfric will win the war because he captures the hearts and minds of the common people."

I lowered my voice as I leaned across the table toward him. "Word getting out about you taking a mentally impaired fourteen year-old boy away from his parents isn't going to do much to help that effort. I see your best bet is to keep the livestock you took from the family as their 'willing contribution' to Ulfric's efforts. Send the boy home as recognition of the fact that Ulfric cares about the plight of the common people, that he understands and can adapt to unusual situations, that he can have compassion for his people when it's appropriate."

The captain shook his head. "That sounds like an excellent, well thought plan. If only it were that simple."

"Make it so," I urged, this time at just a whisper. "You have the power, Captain. Perhaps even Ulfric, as pigheaded as he is, can learn by your example."

He frowned at me but saw I was actually trying to help instead of being insulting so he shook his head slowly. "You don't understand. I would, if I could. Unfortunately...the boy in question...well, he didn't seem to understand what was happening when his training commenced. He struck a training officer...and was killed in the resulting encounter."

It was as if dragon's tail had struck my midriff, knocking the air from my lungs. Barely able, I forced out the words. "How? How can that be? Training officer?" The truth hit me just as suddenly and just as hard as the surprise. "Sergeants lead the training effort. It was Brukol, wasn't it?"

His expression gave me my answer, but he was once again shaking his head. "Sergeant Brukol is a stern taskmaster, but he's very good at training the men. Most understand strict discipline and comply quickly. The boy...he didn't seem to understand; witnesses said he kept trying to get away. From what I was told, I think he was trying to block the blows when he struck Brukol. It may have even been an accident, but I'm not sure. It was all over by the time I arrived. I will be sending my condolences to the family."

"Condolences won't mean much to them—or others who hear about it—considering their loss and how it happened. The boy's body? Where is it? I'll take it home to them."

He looked to the entrance and called, "Sergeant Brukol! Report!"

The man must have come back and been listening just outside the door for he immediately opened the flap and stepped in. "Reporting, sir!"

"The boy, Rousen. You were dealing with his body. Where is it now?"

"Ah, sir, we hung it on a tree at the edge of camp to be of warning to other traitors to our land."

The shock I'd felt on learning of the boy's death felt like nothing compared to the rage boiling within me at the evil man standing before us. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing his throat and ripping it out but I knew that doing so would mean that neither the boy's body nor I would be leaving the camp. Instead, I said, quietly and forcefully, to him. "Cut him down, gently, and bring the body here to be cleaned and prepared for burial. I'm taking him home to his parents. Bring the old mare you took from his parents, too. That will be all too small a payment for their son, but a small show of respect for their contribution."

"But, Captain—"

Brukol's objection was cut off. "You heard the man, sergeant. Do it. Now."

Brukol saluted before leaving the tent as quickly as he could.

The captain sighed. "I'm very sorry. It is my responsibility, but I really didn't know. What will you tell his parents?"

No suitable answer came to mind. Finally, I replied, "He was killed in service to Skyrim. To say less leaves them wondering and hurting forever. To say more leaves them questioning and hurting in a different way."

He nodded. "Excuse me while I write a condolence letter. You may join the men at what's let of the fire while his body is prepared."

~ESV~

It was well after midnight when, torch in hand, I led the old horse from the camp with Rousen's shrouded body strapped on her back. I'd gone a few hundred yards when Serana signaled, a gentle trill, and then stepped out into the torchlight after I responded.

"What happened?" she asked. "The boy?"

I threw a thumb toward the horse's back.

She bit her lip as she looked at the bundle. It took her several moments before she was able to speak. "As bad as my father was, it's hard to believe that there are still other people who are just as bad in their own way. That poor boy." We walked together for a few moments before she asked, "What are we going to do now?"

"Take him home and lie to his parents to give them what comfort I can. That way, they can at least grieve and, hopefully over time, accept and, perhaps, forget."

Serana must have seen the pained expression on my face as I said it. "What about you, Aerik? What are you going to do?"

Not wanting to attract attention from every beast in the area, I looked up to see the sliver of Jone, newly risen above the horizon into the night sky, so I stopped and extinguished the torch. I waited a bit as my eyes adjusted to the starlit sky before I finally answered her. "Me? I'm going to remember."

~ESV~

Looking at the flowers scattered on the floor, I realized it was true.

Despite all the years that had passed, I still remembered the hurt and the anger as if it had just happened. Worse still, I remembered much more hurt, much more pain, from those long distant times.

Reaching out, I picked up a flower. Bringing it close, I closed my eyes and smelled the fragrance. That brought a smile to my face and the realization that not all of the old memories were bad.

~ESV~

Author's Note: Thanks again to all who are reading! Favorites, follows, comments, and reviews are all greatly appreciated, too!