The Weaving of Yjarrn

by Levi Buchanan

Yjarrn is floating through life until a scrape with the Riften city guard changes everything.

2. Part 2: Running in Armor

The Weaving of Yjarrn

Part 2: Running in Armor

Did it have to be so loud? Yjarrn thought to himself as the crypt, stone grinding against stone, opened up under the graveyard. This was the first time he was setting foot outside the underground den of thieves since he had returned from the Mjoll job about three days earlier. After blowing up at Mallory, he mostly kept to himself. The rest of the Guild members had given him his space, but that did not last forever. Brynjolf had tried giving him a job yesterday, but Yjarrn turned it down. Whispers began to circulate in the Cistern, and Yjarrn began feeling the eyes of his comrades on him, watching. They were probably saying he lost his nerve, scared to lose any more fingers. To some extent, that was true. He had nightmares about the massive Nord woman cornering him and hacking him to pieces with her ax. The first night, he woke with a fright, nearly crying out. It had been terrifying, but it was not as painful as remembering the look on the face of Hrolgir's wife and child, begging on the streets. Tonight, at least, he was not planning on reliving his time with Mjoll because he did not plan on going to sleep at all. Yjarrn was not sure exactly where he was going or what he was going to do, but he knew one thing for certain, he needed to leave the Thieves' Guild. Maybe then he would not be the cause of any more misery.

Having no real direction or place to go, Yjarrn headed northwest, back toward Ivarstead. Maybe, if he was lucky, he might be able to woo Lynly Star-Sung with his wealth. Women are impressed by wealth, right? He began to think of how they might settle down. He did not much like the idea of working a farm, but he liked taverns. Maybe he could buy the tavern from Wilhelm. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he did not know the first thing about running a tavern and striking a deal for mead delivery from the Blackbriar Meadery would be tricky at best after walking out on the Guild. Yjarrn was not naïve enough to think that the Guild could not find out where he was if they wanted to but handing them the opportunity to so easily make his life difficult would be stupid. Settling down anywhere in the Rift would be asking for trouble, but would Lynly be willing to leave Ivarstead for him? He had no idea. Yjarrn was beginning to get frustrated at his lack of prospects and irritated at the time imposed on him by traveling to mull over all the opportunities he did not have.

Yjarrn had stuck to the main road going east out of Riften along the southern shore of Lake Honrich. It was a lovely stretch of road if you ignore the constant danger posed by wolves and bears. He was crossing a stone bridge over a stream that had all but dried up when his temper finally got the better of him and he yelled out, "This stinks! Why is this my life?!" He nearly kicked the side of the bridge, but held himself back at the last moment, leaning on it instead, angry tears brimming in his eyes.

"I don't know this," a rather unscrupulous-sounding voice replied.

Yjarrn jumped and spun around to see who had answered him.

On the bridge in front of him stood a Khajiit with mottled fur-clad in scaled armor. In the dim moonlit glow, the cat man seemed to blend in with his surroundings, and Yjarrn was not sure how well he would have seen him were it not for the glint off the steel of his armor.

"What do you want?" Yjarrn asked.

"Well now," the Khajiit began. "That is the question at hand, is it not?" The Khajiit lifted a furry hand and stretched out his fingers, showing off a set of razor-sharp claws. "There is a lot that J'darzi wants. Moon sugar is one."

"I don't have any moon sugar or skooma," Yjarrn said.

"Who asked for skooma!" J'darzi hissed. "Do you see a Khajiit and always think he is an addict?"

"N-no!" Yjarrn stuttered. "I…"

"J'darzi is not an addict!" the Khajiit yelled. His hands were low and his fingers curls, making his claws seem that much more menacing.

Yjarrn's hand drifted slowly toward the hammer on his belt.

"Do not do that," J'darzi warned, pointing at him. "You do not want to get ugly with J'darzi. J'darzi will mess you up."

Yjarrn hand dropped back to his side. "Fine," he said. "But since I do not have any moon sugar, I will be on my way."

"J'darzi thinks you have gold, though," the Khajiit purred, showing his fangs in the khajiit's hideous excuse for a smile. "J'darzi likes gold, and gold can buy moon sugar and skooma!"

"I thought you weren't an addict," Yjarrn said.

The smile instantly faded from J'darzi's face, replaced with a look of sheer rage. The cat man hissed and spat, almost as if he was having a fit, trying to speak and yet so full of wrath and indignation that the words could not even escape his lips in a recognizable fashion. The Khajiit leaped at Yjarrn, pushing him backward and pinning him to the stone and bending him backward over the side of the bridge. Only instinct born in the moment of intense fear caused Yjarrn to grasp the incoming by the wrists, stopping the claws only inches from his throat. He cried out in fear, trying with everything he had to push his attacker off, but J'darzi was stronger than he was and held him fast. As the Khajiit realized he had the upper hand, the wicked smile returned to his face. He bit at Yjarrn's face, toying with his victim as he wailed in panicked terror.

The Khajiit said, "J'darzi did not think you would die squealing like a pig, Nord, but he does not mind if it makes you feel better."

"Halt!" the loud, booming voice called from the end of the bridge. "Release him!"

J'darzi hissed and turned away from Yjarrn to the new threat. "What is this?" he asked.

"By order of the Emperor, you will release that man and submit yourself to arrest, Khajiit!" the legionnaire commanded.

Now that J'darzi was not pressing down on him, Yjarrn got a look at what was happening. On both sides of the bridge, stood legionnaires in full armor with large, diamond-shaped shields and their distinct imperial swords drawn. He could see the that Khajiit was panicking, looking desperately from side to side for a way of escape.

"Come quietly, Khajiit!" the officer ordered.

J'darzi glanced to the side of the bridge. Yjarrn could see in his eyes that the Khajiit was ready to jump. Unfortunately for J'darzi, the officer could see it, too, and with a single word an arrow flew from the bow of the legionnaire beside him. It thudded in the flesh of J'darzi's upper thigh, dropping the Khajiit to the stone, but he had not yet given up the fight. Even as the officer approached, the cat man lurched toward the edge of the bridge. He tried to pull himself over the side, but the legion officer kicked him hard in the ribs. J'darzi fell backward, but despite the arrow protruding from his leg, the Khajiit came back slashing at the officer with claw and fang. The legionnaire seemed unaffected by the feline's barrage of attacks and simply slammed the boss of his shield into the cat man's face. Teeth cracked, and blood splattered across the shield as J'darzi fell backward. The Khajiit hissed, but the hiss ended in a sickening gurgle as the legionnaire shoved his sword through J'darzi's chest.

"Such is the penalty for thieving and attempting to circumvent the Emperor's justice," the officer said, pulling his sword from the corpse.

Yjarrn sat wide-eyed against the opposite side of the bridge where he had fallen when J'darzi released him. The officer casually cleaned the blood from his blade with the Khajiit's tail and called to a few of his men to dispose of the carcass. Yjarrn's head was still spinning when the officer offered his hand.

"My name is Aquila Valerius, Captain in the Emperor's Imperial Legion," the officer said as he helped Yjarrn to his feet.

"Yjarrn," he replied, watching two of the legionnaires carry off the J'darzi's body.

Aquila followed Yjarrn's gaze. "Your homeland is a dangerous place, as you have just experienced, especially in the middle of the night. What is it you are doing out here?"

Yjarrn balked, his words sticking in his throat. He swallowed hard. Considering how clearing Aquila had made his feelings known about thievery, Yjarrn felt it was in his best interests not to tell the officer about his previous line of work. He felt himself starting to sweat. Tell the man anything, he told himself. Anything will do, just not that you were a professional thief. Now he is looking at you funny. Say words! Any words! Now!

"I-I'm going to join the Legion!" Yjarrn proclaimed, a bit more loudly than he had intended. He groaned inwardly the moment the words escaped his lips.

"Really?" Aquila asked.

Now that he had spoken, Yjarrn could think of half a dozen better lies to have told than the one he did. He was going to visit a sick family member, or a friend needed his help with a mining venture. Shoot, even the truth that he was on his way home to Ivarstead was far better than telling a legion officer he wanted to join up. There was no going back now, though. Anything else would sound suspicious, and Aquila Valerius seemed the kind of man who could see through a shaky fib.

"Of course!" Yjarrn said. "The Empire is awesome. Ulfric is a loser. Skyrim is for everybody… and so forth. Who wouldn't want to join the Legion?"

"As you say," Captain Valerius replied. "The Legion might be just the thing for you, toughen you up some, and today you are fortunate. This detachment is on its way to Solitude for redeployment to the front. My men and I are off to give Ulfric a taste of Imperial steel!" Aquila yelled the last statement loud enough for the other legionnaires to hear, and they let a shout in reply.

"Alright then!" Yjarrn said, a tear welling up in his eye. He raised his fist in mock solidarity. "Give him one for me, too!"

"We would be happy to escort you to Solitude," Aquila continued. "Unless there is some reason you would not want to accompany us?" The hardened officer looked Yjarrn square in the eye, as if begging him to flounder an excuse.

"N-no no, of course not!" Yjarrn stammered. "That is what I was hoping you would ask. I definitely want to go to Solitude with y'all and join up and take oaths and… that. Yes, thank you."

"Good, we set out again at first light," Aquila said.

Yjarrn caught the faintest hint of a smile on the officer's face, and he suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, the kinda small, helpless insect might feel once it realized it was caught in the spider's web.

Every time Yjarrn woke during the rest of the night, he was greeted by the stern look of the legionnaires on watch. They were supposed to be watching for bandits or wild animals, but Yjarrn had the distinct impression they were watching him more than anything else. He groaned and rolled back over. Hiding his face in the extra legion issued blankets Aquila had given him, Yjarrn tried to figure out what to do next. He could make a run for it. Yjarrn lifted his head just high enough to get a look at the watchmen. Their bows were strung. He muttered a few choice words and let his head fall back onto his arm. Running would get him nothing but an arrow in the back and slipping away unseen was obviously not going to happen. Yjarrn wished he knew magic, just one spell that could get him out of this. Of course, setting Aquila's tent on fire would get him skewered by an arrow or a blade just as quickly as running away, but he was told once that some mages could turn themselves invisible. Now that would be a helpful trick. He imagined the looks on the soldiers' faces when he vanished right in front of them. They would probably nock arrows and shoot him in the face anyway. Yjarrn sighed and rolled over onto his back. There might have been a way to escape, but he consigned himself to the fact that he was not smart enough to come up with it. A gentle breeze rustled the golden leaves up above, and beyond the stars shone brightly in the night sky. Yjarrn's mind began to wander. He thought of Lynly and Ivarstead and how close he was to getting back before that blasted Khajiit tried to rob him, how painfully close. He laughed to himself. It was probably just a dream anyway.

Yjarrn was shaken awake early, far earlier than he was used to getting up, by one of the legionnaires. "Get yourself vertical and let's go!" the man shouted. "We have some miles to cover!"

Yjarrn's head was ringing. He heard a few of the legionnaires chuckling as he rolled off his blankets and staggered to his feet. Was it really necessary to yell at sleeping people? On his feet, he could see the soldiers were all nearly ready to march out of camp. All of them had their gear packed up and their armor on, and Yjarrn had not heard a thing. How deeply was he sleeping? Maybe he did need to be yelled at.

The journey to Solitude was the first time Yjarrn had ever been outside of the Rift. The woodlands of southeastern Skyrim had always been his home, and it was very strange for him to see the golden trees disappear, replaced by the vast open plains surrounding Whiterun. Eventually, those too transformed into the chilly marshlands of Hjaalmarch before Yjarrn saw Haafingar's rocky crags and the famous natural rock bridge upon which Solitude, Skyrim's capital, rested. The city was far more impressive than Yjarrn had imagined. Before leaving the Rift, the biggest city he had ever seen was Riften and then Whiterun. Now Solitude was the biggest by far with towering walls of dark grey stone and structures so massive Yjarrn wondered just how much the city's rocky arch could hold.

The citizens of Solitude stepped aside as Aquila Valerius and his men marched through the streets. Some smiled while others did their best to ignore the soldiers. One little boy waved as the legionnaires passed, and Yjarrn watched as one of the soldiers stepped out of formation to stop and say hello to the boy and his father. It was touching for the moment and a half or so that Yjarrn was able to see the interaction before he was hustled away.

Yjarrn did not get to see as much of the city as he had hoped for. A legionnaire marched on each side of him, and every time he lagged behind the steady march of the soldiers by as much as half a pace, he was dragged immediately back into line. As Yjarrn did not know how to march and was completely unaccustomed to moving in formation, this happened a lot. By the time they were making the ascent to Castle Dour, his specially assigned entourage were mostly taking him up the ramps by the arms. it would have been embarrassing if Yjarrn was not wholly consumed with what was going to happen to him once he was inside the castle.

Captain Valerius called a halt under the archway and dismissed his men to the yard, all except the two who stood beside Yjarrn. After a brief talk with the legionnaires guarding the door, Valerius motioned to them, and they helped Yjarrn through the door behind the captain. The interior of the castle was dark. Braziers and candles lit the room, but the tall dark grey stone of the walls gave the entire place an ominous feel. Yjarrn could hear talking in the room ahead, a man and a woman, but it was difficult to make out what they were saying. The legionnaires took Yjarrn to the side where they waited as their captain disappeared into the next room.

Yjarrn sat down on a short bench set against the wall. His feet were aching from the days of long travel, and he was happy to take the weight off them. He looked around the room. Heavy legion banners hung from every bit of exposed wall, surrounding him. He quickly forgot about the momentary relief he felt sitting down as the dragon emblems began to feel like a cage, the heavy fabric weighing down on his mind. He had the sudden impulse to jump up and run, and he might have but for the legionnaires set to guard him.

"You just sit right there until the captain gets back," one of them said.

Yjarrn gulped and nodded.

A short time later, Aquila Valerius reemerged from the room from where Yjarrn had heard the voices and gave a quick motion to his legionnaires. Without a word, they hoisted Yjarrn up by his arms and roughly nudged him toward the next room.

This was it, Yjarrn thought. This is where I get the privilege of signing my life away.

Inside the room, an older man, who was dressed in light but splendidly etched armor which Yjarrn could see was nothing but ceremonial, stood leaning on one side of a large wooden table looking over what appeared to be a map of the entire province. Small flags of red and blue dotted the map, detailing the positions of the opposing armies. Most of the flags were red, but a few blue flags still stood on the eastern end of the map. On the other side of the table, a Nord woman in heavy legion plate armor was briefing him about some kind of military maneuver Yjarrn did not understand, but she seemed very sure it would help knock down the few remaining blue flags.

The man sighed, "It's a good plan, Legate. The problem is that if Ulfric sees it coming we could expose the entire left flank."

"But if he doesn't," the legate replied. "It would break him. No matter how deluded his Stormcloaks are or how much they might believe in him, they cannot stand up to that many legionnaires in heavy armor, in close quarters. Once the fort is ours, Windhelm is sure to follow."

"And Winterhold?" he asked.

"Once Windhelm is ours, General," she replied. "We will have no need to worry about Winterhold. We just need to make sure we trap Ulfric. Jarl Korir will surrender the moment he knows we have him, and this war will be over."

"Very well, Legate," the general said. "Give the orders."

"Yes sir, General Tullius!" the legate replied as she saluted and left the room.

Once she left, General Tullius looked up from the map. He addressed the captain, though he did not look at him. "It is a very good plan," he said. "I hope it works. The sooner this rebellion is put down and we have Ulfric's head decorating a spike on the wall of the Imperial City, the sooner we can move on to the real enemy."

"Yes, sir!" Captain Valerius responded.

At this, the general looked over at him. "Is this him?" he asked, making a brief motion with his head toward Yjarrn.

"Yes, sir!" the captain said again. "Ready and eager to take up arms against the usurper."

General Tullius looked at Yjarrn for the first time. "He's rather scrawny for Nord," Tullis observed.

Yjarrn could not care less about the general's observations. He just wanted to get out of there in any way that did not lead to him being forced into service for the rest of his life. He knew he had to take an oath in order to join, and his mind raced to find a way to refuse it politely.

The general continued, "Well, I am glad you're so eager to enlist, what was your name?"

"Yjarrn, General," Yjarrn replied politely.

"Yjarrn," Tullius said, his eyebrow rising. "Interesting name. Well, Yjarrn, I am glad you are so eager to join because after walking into that sensitive conversation, you're going to need to swear in or I'm going to have to put you in the dungeon for the rest of this blasted war."

Yjarrn's face fell. If it were possible, his jaw would be on the floor. He looked over at Aquila Valerius, who was doing his best not to smile in the general's presence. The man had got him again. Twice in nearly as many days, and there was nothing Yjarrn could do about it.

"Are you ready to take the oath?" Tullius asked.

Yjarrn felt sick. His stomach lurched, and his eyes crossed, but dry-mouthed and without recourse, he nodded.

"Well then," General Tullius continued. "Repeat after me…"

Yjarrn did not hear much of the oath, but he felt his mouth repeating the words as the general spoke them. His stomach in knots, Yjarrn lost all sense of the passage of time. What was he doing? He was joining the Imperial war machine. It was not as if he disagreed with what the Legion stood for. It was just that he didn't want to be the one having to make the stand. They were fighting to preserve the province, for those who could not fight for themselves. Like him! General Tullius even said it! He was a scrawny little Nord! he was going to be cut in half by the first brainless, bear flag waving barbarian who found him! His oath was ushering in his own death!

"Long live the Empire!"

Yjarrn heard those words coming from his lips as if someone else had spoken them. Had he just yelled that out? Was the oath complete?

"Welcome to the Imperial Legion, soldier," General Tullius congratulated him.

What the s'wit?! Yjarrn thought, his mind reeling at the word soldier being used to address him.

"Congratulations, Yjarrn," Captain Valerius said. "You're going to make a fine legionnaire."

Yjarrn stood there, stunned. He could feel a tear brimming in his eye as he tried to respond, but no words managed to escape his lips. He heard the sound of legion armor as Legate Rikke came back into the room.

"Legate Rikke, get our new recruit here situated," Tullius ordered.

General Tullius turned back to the map and began making the appropriate changes to his map in accordance with the orders he had just handed down, and the imposing form of Legate Rikke appeared in front of Yjarrn. She was a strong Nord woman, and he could not help but make the comparison between her and Mjoll the Lioness. The difference was that while Mjoll was a more than formidable warrior who had adventured all over Skyrim, Legate Rikke was a professional soldier, a legionnaire, who may very well have traveled all over the continent fighting the Empire's wars, including the Great War with the Aldmeri Dominion. She wore heavy, legion armor, and strapped to her hip was the traditional Imperial sword. She stood at least half a head taller than Yjarrn, and as she looked him over with her piercing brown eyes, he got the feeling of being pieced apart, every secret laid bare before her.

"Very well," she said finally. "I think we could use you. The front is in need of more scouts to keep an eye on Stormcloak troop movements. You could probably handle that, and if not…" Rikke shrugged and left the statement hanging.

Yjarrn swallowed uncomfortably.

"Well?!" Rikke yelled, her face suddenly far too close to his for comfort. "Can you handle that?!"

"Y-yes!" Yjarrn responded awkwardly.

She scowled at him, her right eye squinting.

Realizing the blunder he had made, Yjarrn quickly added, "Sir!" Her scowl deepened, and Yjarrn's eyes widened. "Ma'am! Yes, Ma'am!"

The murderous look in the legate's eyes abated. "Get out of here," she said. "You are assigned to Captain Valerius until you get to the front and then he can do what he wants with you, but before that, get over to the smithy and tell Bierand to set you up with some proper legion armor. Then you can throw that garbage leather you're wearing in the trash."

Yjarrn nodded and scampered out of Castle Dour as fast as his legs allowed. He left the yard, passing under the archway and to the left to where he had seen the forge on his way in. The only problem was that there was no smith. Yjarrn knocked on the nearest door, but there was no answer. Yjarrn walked over to the next door where a Redguard fletcher named Jawanan told him Bierand might be down visiting his wife, Sayma at Bits and Pieces. Unfortunately for Yjarrn, when he opened the door to Sayma's shop, the couple was right in the middle of an argument that had something to do with their son. Trying not to be rude, Yjarrn cleared his throat loudly. Bierand stopped mid-word, and the two of them looked with disdain at the small Nord who had interrupted their disagreement.

"Can I help you?" Sayma asked.

"Actually," Yjarrn said. "I'm here for him." He pointed apologetically at Bierand.

Sayma muttered something under her breath that Yjarrn could not hear. He figured he was better off not hearing it. She was completely out of sorts, obviously furious over whatever the couple had been arguing about, and he was willing to bet whatever the words were, they were aimed at him and they were not flattering.

"New recruit?" Bierand asked.

Yjarrn nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Meet me back at the forge in an hour, and I'll have your gear. I need to fix this first. I'm sure you understand."

Yjarrn nodded, more out of happiness at the smith's assumption that he had had enough interaction with women to experience the problems that come along with relationships than of any kind of mutual sympathy. His long-running infatuation with Lynly Star-Sung was only that, and he was not even sure she was aware of his feelings.

As the couple continued their quarrel, Yjarrn left the shop, and with nothing better to do for the next hour, started exploring the city. It was nearly noon. Merchants were selling fresh fish and fruit. Yjarrn was about to walk up to the vendor when he felt a little finger poking his arm.

"Hey mister, do you want to play tag?" the boy asked.

Yjarrn had seen kids pull this kind of con before. He had actually been a part of it several times when he was a boy, and he was not about to be taken for a fool. "You know what?" he asked. "I do feel like playing a bit of tag. How about you take a small head start, and I'll see if I can catch you." As Yjarrn said the last few words, he pulled his war hammer from the ring on his belt and hefted it a bit. The boy's eyes widened, and he and his friends scampered off back the way they had come. "I'm coming!" Yjarrn called, eliciting a couple of screams from the fleeing children.

Yjarrn returned his hammer to his belt, chuckling and pleased with his joke. Hopefully, he might have turned some minds away from thieving, but if not, he had tried. After passing under a large, stone archway, Yjarrn saw a strange building that piqued his interest. It was stone, like every other structure in the city, and it was not big. In fact, it grabbed his attention because it looked small, old, and strangely out in the middle of everything. Most buildings were set to the side of the main thoroughfare through the city that led from the gates to the Blue Palace, but this building sat directly in its path, forcing the path and those who followed it to either side. The stonework was ancient. The structure itself had probably stood there for generations, possibly predating the stones laid down for the road and perhaps even the city itself. What kind of building forces a city to be built around it? Yjarrn wondered. He had to see what was inside, just a peak, to satisfy his curiosity.

The first entrance Yjarrn saw was walled up with stone, and an odd rune was carved at the top of the once was doorframe. The former thief's curiosity blazed, and he snuck around the side to check the one door which still existed. It was unlocked and fell open as Yjarrn turned the handle. His heartbeat quickened, and he felt the rush that he had always felt when breaking into a place he was not allowed to be. He missed that feeling, that flood of adrenaline through his body. Yjarrn licked his lips in anticipation and slipped inside.

The interior of the building was a complete surprise. Yjarrn had expected to see a counter or stacks of books, anything but what initially looked to be a simple dwelling. This, however, was not just some humble home. The décor was different. There were too many bones. A troll's skull greeted any guests as they walked through the door, and a large mammoth skull overlooked the small kitchen that stunk of garlic. These, however, did not cause him the same concern as the four human skulls displayed on the shelves around the room. What had he gotten himself into now? His first instinct was to leave. No thief wants to find himself breaking into a place in which the occupant is a trained fighter or a soldier or in this case perhaps a murderous psychopath. Yjarrn turned back toward the door, but as he did, he heard a hand grab the handle outside.

No! he thought. Not again! What was wrong with him? He was not even trying to rob the place! Why did he have to look? Yjarrn made a quick break for the back room as an old man in robes walked into the house. Yjarrn was kicking himself. Why did he have to break into the house of a blasted mage and one harboring a fascination with the dead at that? Suddenly, a terrifying thought shot like lightning through his mind. He is a necromancer! Yjarrn, you fool! You broke into the home of a bloody necromancer living in secret in the middle of the city! You have to report this! You have to be quiet! You have to get out of here before he murders you and turns you into a shambling corpse to do his laundry or his cooking or whatever necromancers do with corpses when they aren't sending them out to slaughter and terrorize!

Yjarrn took a brief glance back around the corner. The old man was taking down some garlic to put in his cooking put, probably because he did not have a zombie to do it for him, crazy old bastard! Yjarrn turned away. He did not remember seeing a balcony from the outside, so he decided to go down the stairs on the off chance the basement had some kind of exit. If not, he would have to hide out until the necromancer moved away from the door.

Old wooden steps are something a thief learns to deal with early. Usually, they do not matter because a thief tries to break in when no one is home. However, situations arise, and one has to know how to remain unheard as well as unseen. Yjarrn placed his feet near the edges of the steps, as close to the strong baseboard as possible to limit the amount of creaking. These steps, however, must have been ancient because they let out moans like a cow giving birth. Yjarrn froze after the first step howled like it had been stabbed, praying for the first time in a long time that the scary old man was deaf. He was not. When the old man called out, Yjarrn swung from the stairs down to the lower steps and bolted toward the back of the door at the back of the basement. In his haste to escape, he did not even notice the lit, stone braziers, the webs, or the skull decorating the vaulted underground passageway leading up to a dark and foreboding door. He ran and slammed the door behind him.

Several choice words escaped Yjarrn's lips when he saw where he was, caught between a necromancer and a tomb. Ever since he was a little boy, he had heard stories of the old tombs of Skyrim where the long dead still walked. He swallowed hard. This must be why the necromancer had taken up residence there! He had a whole labyrinth of catacombs full of bodies to raise! The city was in danger! He needed to get out of here and warn someone before it was too late. He grabbed a table set up along the side and wedged it in front of the door. If the necromancer did come after him, perhaps that would slow him down. The Yjarrn turned back to the corridor. He was deeply hoping that this set of catacombs had two entrances because the last thing he wanted to do was try to get passed that old man to escape, but he was also scared of what could be down here with a necromancer living up above.

Cursing his poor decision making, Yjarrn hesitantly moved down the dusty, web-infested hallway. The underground tomb was far more illuminated than Yjarrn expected it to be. Stone braziers lit the corridors as far as he could see, which Yjarrn found a bit odd. It was not like the long-deceased inhabitants, who he desperately hoped still lay, as they should, on stone shelves carved into the walls, were in need of any light. A slight breeze swirled around his feet shifting small particles of dust across the ancient stones. Yjarrn breathed out slowly, suppressing a cry. Solitude's catacombs seemed far more lively than they should.

Yjarrn had not made it to the end of the entryway before he started hearing something coming from the chamber ahead. He could barely hear it, a strange creaking sound that he could not quite place. He moved forward as quietly as possible to get a better listen. Yjarrn told himself that the sound had to be where the wind had found its way into the catacombs, that it was nothing, and other silly lies like that. He swallowed hard as the creaking got a tiny bit louder as he moved closer, and now he could hear it moving around, swaying back and forth, and then he heard the unmistakable sound of a footstep. It was louder than most, but it could be nothing else. The first step was followed by more, and a funny sound escaped Yjarrn's lips as he pressed himself up against the wall. Someone was down here with him or something! he thought. What was he going to do?

Easy, Yjarrn, he old himself. Get a grip. Get a handle on the situation. Whatever it is, you can handle it. He realized he was lying to himself again and rolled his eyes. Quietly, Yjarrn peaked around the corner only to confirm his worse fear. Standing only a few yards away was the full skeleton of what once was either a human or an elf, Yjarrn could not be sure. He only knew that it was most likely not an orc and that there was no way it could not be a Khajiit or an Argonian. Any fool knew a skeleton from the body of one of those races would look very distinct from men and mer. Yjarrn was stuck, frozen in fear, unwilling to move and risk ire of the smoldering eyes glowing deep within the risen skull. This was not happening! his mind screamed. How was he going to get out of here? Fight? How could he fight the dead, and if he turned back, the necromancer would magic him to death!

As Yjarrn pondered his impossible situation, he realized that the same ominous creaking sound was right behind him. He turned quickly and found himself staring directly into those fiery orbs only inches from his face. Instinctually, Yjarrn opened his mouth in a shriek of sheer panic and terror, but no sound escaped his gaping mouth. He tried to move away from the skeleton, but the wall prevented him from going anywhere. He felt his bowels loosen, and at that point, it worked to his advantage that he had not had any water in a long time. He stayed there, frozen in shock until the skeleton slammed its hand into the side of Yjarrn's head.

"Ouch!" Yjarrn yelled, more out of fear than out of pain. The blow hurt, but it really did not do any damage. More than anything else, it knocked some sense into him, and he punched the undead thing right in the skull. His attack did nothing, or at least it did not seem to affect the skeleton in any way. It stood over him for a moment, rather awkwardly, and then swung at him again. This time, however, Yjarrn ducked under the attack and kicked its boney legs out from under it. The skeleton fell to the ground, and Yjarrn scrambled to his feet. He turned to run, but the other skeleton was now shambling toward him. Yjarrn ripped the hammer from the steel ring on his belt and swung it hard at the incoming abomination.

Old bones shattered under the weapon's impact and fell to the floor. Yjarrn turned and swung again. The glowing orbs faded as the skulls rolled across the stones, and where the risen undead once stood, now lay nothing but a pile of dusty bones. A wave of relief swept through Yjarrn's spirit as he stood victorious over the dead. He moved further into the catacombs not even bothering to remain quiet. Another skeleton attacked him, but he put it down as easily as the first two. He had never felt so powerful, so indestructible as the undead fell before him. It was strange, he thought as he reached the door at the other end of the tomb. Necromancers take a lot of trouble to raise these things. Shouldn't they be a bit tougher? He shrugged. They were only bitter old bones, after all, not much to stand against a hammer when you think about it.

Yjarrn rushed out of the catacombs and directly up the ramps to the yard outside Castle Dour where he saw Captain Valerius speaking to another captain.

"Captain Valerius!" Yjarrn yelled. "I have something to report!"

Aquila looked at him strangely but then nodded for Yjarrn to tell him. Yjarrn recounted everything that had happened since leaving Castle Dour, but he specifically described the horrid old necromancer who had trapped him in the catacombs underneath the city. As he described the incident, he realized the other captain was smirking and then gave up all pretense in a deep, hard belly laugh.

"What is it, Captain Aldis?" Aquila asked.

"That's not a necromancer!" Captain Aldis laughed. "That's just old Styrr! He manages the Hall of the Dead, which I am guessing by your smell is where you ended up."

The two men looked at Yjarrn and laughed as the new recruit stood before them, his face turning a deep shade of crimson.

"Don't worry about it, Yjarrn," Captain Valerius said. "It would have put me off a bit, too."

Yjarrn blushed even further, but he refused to let it go. In order to prove he had a reason to report what he did, he asked, "Then why was I forced to kill three walking skeletons?"

This brought the laughing to an immediate halt.

"You killed three skeletons?" Captain Aldis asked.

"Well," Yjarrn said. "Killing might not be the right word. I'm pretty sure they were very dead before I got there, but they were walking around and attacked me."

Captain Aldis grabbed the nearest guard and told him to report what had happened directly to Falk Firebeard and secure the Blue Palace. "Captain Valerius," Aldis continued. "Report this to the general. I am going to take my men into the Hall of the Dead and destroy anything that might still be walking around down there."

"Understood," Valerius replied. "Good luck, Captain." Valerius turned to Yjarrn. "Well done, scout. It seems you have proved yourself of value, which is honestly more than I ever thought I would be saying when I found you." Captain Valerius made his way quickly across the yard, calling to his men to secure the area and Castle Dour before disappearing inside.

This was the first time in his life Yjarrn had done something others might label heroic, though they did not see his first reactions to the undead. He stood there, in the middle of the yard, not quite sure what to do with himself, but with a swelling sense of pride that he had done something worth doing, even if it had been completely by accident. Maybe, Yjarrn began to think, the Legion was not so bad a place to be after all, before realizing he had completely forgotten about getting his armor from Bierand.

Yjarrn scampered out of the yard and over to the smithy to see Bierand getting ready to stoke the fires. "Sorry," Yjarrn said. "I got held up by a thing."

"No worries," Bierand said. "There is always something to get done at the forge. Now, I have just one question for you. Light or heavy?"

"What do you mean?" Yjarrn asked.

"Amor?" the smith replied.

"I get a choice?" Yjarrn asked.

"Of course," Bierand laughed.

Yjarrn thought for a moment. As comfortable and stylish as it might be, the Thieves' Guild armor couldn't stop fork tines, and if Bierand was thinking of giving him something like that, he might as well keep the leather with the enchantments. If he got to choose, he wanted something with some sturdiness to it. "What do you suggest?" he asked the smith.

"Well," Bierand said. "Different armor for different jobs. What are you going to be doing for the Legion?"

"Legate Rikke told me I'd be assigned to the scouts," Yjarrn replied.

"The light armor I have should work well for scouting detail," Bierand said, grabbing the chest piece from off the table and handing it to Yjarrn.

Once again, Yjarrn had been handed a piece of leather and told that it was armor. It was even thinner than what he was wearing! He could not wear this in the field, he would be better off layering up with a few thick linen shirts. At least that way, he would be warm before he died. "Umm," Yjarrn started, trying to think of a tactful way of telling a smith that his armor was not worth wearing. "Do you have anything with steel?"

Bierand pointed to the heavy, steel plate cuirass sitting on his workbench. "I have one I am just finishing up," he said. "It will stop most any weapon pretty well, but I think it would be far too jangly to go off scouting in. Plus, you'd look ridiculous trying to sneak around in it. Even if the Stormcloaks were deaf, they'd see you coming a mile away. I guess you could give it a try, though, if you want."

"Not particularly," Yjarrn said.

"Then take the light armor," Bierand suggested. "It still works, kinda."

"Kinda?" Yjarrn asked. "You know I am still hoping to live through this, right?"

"Oh, well," Bierand backpedaled. "The leather is pretty strong. Should hold up well enough."

"Did it hold up well enough for the animal when it was shot?" Yjarrn asked. "Because I'm going to be facing the same bows firing arrows at me."

Bierand stared at Yjarrn. After an awkward moment, he slowly offered the light option again.

"I have an idea," Yjarrn said, holding up the leather cuirass. He had been thinking about this for a while, ever since his argument with Tonilia. "What if you put some mail or steel plates in the leather armor, so it would hold up better in a fight?"

"Hmm," Bierand said. "Not a bad idea. Give me a few hours, and I'll see what I can come up with."

Yjarrn decided to wait at the smithy. He was interested to see what Bierand would do, and he figured it was better to satisfy his curiosity at the forge than letting it run a bit off course again. Bierand started by putting some pockets on the inside of the vest, around the gut, and slipped some thin steel plates into place before sewing them up tight. He also added some spare mail around the shoulders and some steel pieces to the belt and the baltea that hung around the upper legs. In the end, Yjarrn was very happy with it, and Bierand hand decided to implement the changes to give future legionnaires more options.

"It certainly isn't as light," Bierand said as he handed it over to Yjarrn. "But it is going to give you a lot more protection if you find yourself in a scrap."

Yjarrn ducked inside the shop and quickly put on his new armor. He especially felt good about having a steel helmet on his head rather than a thin, leather hood. He thanked Bierand for his work, and as a thank you, gave the smith his old leathers from the Thieves' Guild. The only part he kept was the steel frog for his war hammer. Once he was done, he returned to Castle Dour to find Captain Valerius.

In the yard, at the entrance to the Castle, Yjarrn found Aquila Valerius talking with Captain Aldis. The two soldiers were talking about the crypts underneath the city, and Yjarrn was eager to hear what had happened.

"Nothing," Captain Aldis replied when Yjarrn asked him what was happening in the catacombs. "Well," Aldis continued. "Nothing at first. We went down into the tomb with Styrr. He was quite distressed when he saw the skeletons you scattered all over the floors, but he quickly forgave you when more started standing up."

"Really?" Yjarrn asked, happy he was not the only one to see them.

"Yeah," Captain Aldis nodded. "They were worthless in a fight. My men just pushed them over, and they fell apart. It was the fact that they're getting up that was worrying. However, the big news was what happened when Styrr started searching out the cause. It was that bloody vampire in the jarl's court that everyone has been too scared to deal with. The moment Styrr pointed the finger at her, she flew into a frenzy, butchered two of my men and nearly killed Falk before Bolgeir took her head. It was a mess. The maids in the Blue Palace are going to have their hands full the rest of the day cleaning up the place."

"Who is Bolgeir?" Yjarrn asked.

"Bolgeir Bearclaw," Aldis replied. "Jarl Elisif's housecarl. I'm glad he was there, or the monster might have killed a lot more before we could stop her."

Yjarrn nodded.

"You did some fine work, scout," Captain Valerius complimented him. "You seem to be taking to your new roll naturally, and I'm glad of it. We are leaving for the front tomorrow to join the final wave of the attack. Get yourself rested. We are going to have to push hard to make sure we don't get left out of the action."

The next morning, Yjarrn was jostled awake before the sun had risen. "Time to go," one of the legionnaire's said, and as a side note, he added, "Well done, by the way, finding out about those bone walkers. I slept good knowing nothing was crawling around down there underneath us."

Yjarrn nodded. He got up, put his armor on and got the rest of his gear together. The legionnaires moved out quickly and headed directly west to the Legion camp in the Pale. Yjarrn did not care much for the camp. It was cold and desolate, and everything was covered with a thin layer of snow. However, it did have a beautiful view overlooking the Sea of Ghosts, and if he walked up onto the surrounding rocks, he could see Dawnstar to the east. Once Captain Valerius was happy with their resupply from the quartermaster, they moved on, following the road south and east to a makeshift town surrounding the Nightgate Inn called Heljarchen. Up until a few months ago, the town did not exist, but when the Legion pushed the Stormcloaks out of the Pale, it sprung up as a headquarters for the Legion in the area as the rest of the army swept through the south. Now it served at the place from which the final push against Ulfric would start, and Yjarrn found himself right in the middle of it, doing his best to stay out of the way.

Delvin Mallory stewed over a bottle of Blackbriar mead at a table by himself in the corner of the Ragged Flagon. The boy whom he had hoped would become his protégé, had abandoned him and the Thieves' Guild, sneaking off during the night. He thought for a time that Yjarrn would return after he had come to his senses, but that time had long passed. Now the time had come to do something about it. Usually, if someone were to betray the Guild to the authorities or try to walk out on them, the Guild would handle it in-house. That is what Brynjolf had meant when he told Delvin to handle the situation, but it is not what the old man had in mind. He did not want to get Yjarrn thrown in prison. He wanted him dead. The Guild had had to deal with too much betrayal recently with Mercer and now with Yjarrn. Delvin decided it was time to make a statement. No one walks out on the Guild, and no one walks out on Delvin Mallory.

On the table in front of him was a folded piece of parchment. It already had his request and the promise of payment laid out to Astrid. He knew that she was not going to be keen on making the contract in this unconventional fashion, but Delvin had already struck a deal with a daedra. That was enough. He was not about to start praying to some desiccated corpse when he could go directly to who he wanted. The payment was substantial, and he was sure the amount would be enough to make an exception, especially for an old friend.

Delvin finished his drink and left the Flagon. In the northern part of Falkreath, in one of the stone walls surrounding the large cemetery, was a dead drop. Delvin had used it many times before in his dealings with the Dark Brotherhood, and he knew Astrid checked it regularly. He left the letter there as well as the promised letter of credit in good faith that the contract would be completed. He stayed at the Dead Man's Drink that night and then headed back to Riften the next morning, with confidence that his issue would soon be nothing but a memory.

Yjarrn made camp up in the mountains above Mixwater Mill. From up on the rocks, he could keep track of troop movements along the road going south out of Windhelm and report back in case Ulfric decided to move his Stormcloaks into the Rift or in case he completely loses his mind and tries to move against Whiterun.

It had already been nearly a week with nothing much to report. A fanatical band of werewolf hunters had taken up residence in a ruin nearby, but they were hardly worth spying on. All they did when they got up in the morning was stalk around their tower like it was worth defending against attack, and once they determined it was safe from all the nobody attacking it, they drank cheap ale until they could not see straight. It was funny at first, but then it just got sad and Yjarrn soon decided they were not worth his time.

Yjarrn's scouting duties kept him moving around the area, though. At least a couple times a day, he would make the journey up passed Mara's Eye Pond to the cliffs overlooking Morvunskar, an old fort housing a large number of Stormcloaks, and spend a few hours detailing everything he could see going on there. Based on where the fort was located, he figured if Ulfric decided to make a move to the south, it would begin at Morvunskar, and so Yjarrn made careful notes of numbers going into and out of the fort, supplies when he could see them, any information the Legion might be able to make use of. Once, he stayed on the rocks all night to see if he might catch anything happening then, but all he could report was that he could hear the ruckus from their partying half the night. They seemed far more interested in drinking than doing any good for Skyrim. Maybe if he paired them up with the werewolf hunters they would drink until they forgot what they were all about, kill a few marauding wolves, and go home. That was all wishful thinking. A Nord with an idea was more stubborn than a hungry dog with a bone. It was a terrible trait that affected most of his kinsmen and overrode their logic and gave them the uncanny inability to see both sides of an issue. In this case, Yjarrn was sure that the war could not end until Ulfric's head was separated from his shoulders.

At the end of the week, Yjarrn gathered up his reports and delivered them to Heljarchen. One of the officers in charge of collecting and interpreting the information collected by the scouts took his reports, paid him, and resupplied him for the next week. After a reasonable night's sleep at the overflowing Nightgate Inn, he spent most of the next day answering questions about his reports until he was finally released to return to his post late in the evening.

As Yjarrn made his way through the forest around Lake Yorgrim, he saw movement in the trees. At first, he thought it was just the wind off the lake, but as he peered through the snow, he thought he saw something. Remembering just how close they were to enemy territory, Yjarrn quickly ducked behind a tree and waited, squinting as he searched for whatever it was he thought he saw, but there was nothing. After a while, Yjarrn decided it must have been his imagination getting the better of him and continued back to his camp. When the trees stopped, Yjarrn hugged the rocks and turned southeast, but as he passed one of the old dwarven lifts, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The scout, who had been developing his sensitivity to danger for his entire life, suddenly had the unmistakable feeling of being watched. He slowly turned his head and looked over his shoulder back toward the trees. There it stood, silent and motionless, just inside the tree line, almost invisible in the night and the shadows of the pines, a single figure shrouded in black. Yjarrn almost missed it, it was so hard to make out, but as he stared, it was impossible to deny. He darted to the edge of the rock for cover and looked back at the figure, but now there was nothing but the shadows and the trees.

Yjarrn spent the rest of the trip back to his campsite keeping to cover and hiding the best he could. The last thing he wanted was to be taken unawares by a Stormcloak scout or be hunted down by a patrol. When he neared Mara's Eye Pond, he doubled back and hid in the rocks near Uttering Hills Cave to make absolutely sure he was no longer being followed before finally feeling free enough to walk back to his post.

It was early morning, just a couple hours before the sun would peek out over the horizon, when Yjarrn trudged wearily to the campsite where he had spent the last week. He was cold and very ready to get a fire started a get a few hours' sleep. He was surprised, however, to see that a small fire had already been lit, even though no one was sitting by it. Yjarrn's senses went into high alert. He backed away, but as he did, he felt a small prick in his lower back between the steel plates Bierand had sewn into his jacket.

"Shhhh," whispered a voice just over his shoulder in a tone that sounded like a gentle breeze, yet chilled him to the bone. "Do not move. This blade has been the final woe of many, and it will indeed be yours. Sooner, should you try to defy it."

Yjarrn froze, terrified. The blade in his lower back had pierced the leather of his jacket as it would the surface of a pond, and even now, he felt a small drop of blood moving down the contours of his spine.

"You have made a friend of mine very upset, Yjarrn," the voice continued. "So upset in fact that I just had to come myself to see who it was that got to the old man. He doesn't usually get this distressed over things like you."

Yjarrn was suddenly aware of another trickle at this point.

"Do you know who I am, Yjarrn?" the voice asked.

With great effort, Yjarrn forced out a few words, "T-the d-d-Dark Brotherhood."

"Yes," the voice said. Yjarrn could hear the woman's lips curl into a smile as she fed off of his fear and dread. "The Dark Brotherhood has come for you Yjarrn. Take a good look at that cozy fire in front of you because it is the last thing you will see before I send you to the Void."

Yjarrn did not handle the threat of imminent death in the most graceful of ways. While most Nords would attempt to go down fighting in a glorious last effort to earn for themselves a place in Sovngarde, Yjarrn's body tensed up so much that he lost control of it. His leg jerked to the side finding the slick, ice-covered surface of a stone which sent it soaring backward over his head, and Yjarrn ended up face down in the snow, nose smashed on the rocks with his legs scorpioned awkwardly over his head. Fortunately for him, this unconventional maneuver also took Astrid by surprise when the heel of his boot broke her grip on her weapon. The blade flew forward into the air, over Yjarrn's head and toward the fire.

Yjarrn rolled over to his back, blowing blood and snot from his broken nose and doing his best to breath, but in the next moment, the bottom of Astrid's boot met his face with a thud. He felt his nose crack again. His eyes teared up and he groaned in pain as the taste of blood filled his mouth.

"You made this a lot more painful than it had to be," Astrid said as she walked over to retrieve her weapon. "I could have made your passing quick, just one thrust, a moment of pain and it would have been over, but now it won't be that easy. Whether it comes by one quick prick to the heart or a thousand slashes, you will not live to see another day. I guarantee it."

Yjarrn rolled to his feet, trying desperately to wipe the blood from his face. he could see her now, a tall, blonde Nord woman dressed in black leathers that looked even less functional than what he had been given by the Thieves' Guild. He guessed that the assassins probably relied on getting the drop on their marks rather than getting into fights with them. However, as this assassin, picked up her blade, she seemed awfully confident as her eyes met his. She held the blade low, circling as she approached, feeling him out for a chance to strike. Yjarrn grabbed his war hammer from his belt and readied himself for a fight. He had never really used his hammer in a fight, except for the skeletons, but they were hardly capable of fighting back. He was not even sure if he was holding it correctly.

Astrid sneered at him and lunged in. Yjarrn attempted to evade, but he was far too slow. The tip of the knife clinked against the steel plate covering the left side of his belly. The assassin smiled, and Yjarrn's already low confidence sunk even lower. She circled back and Yjarrn swung as she got closer, but she gracefully sidestepped his clumsy strike and countered slashing the leather and drawing a bit of blood from behind his right shoulder. This was already going terribly, and Yjarrn was gaining no satisfaction from fighting vainly to the end. He had no chance of winning against this trained murderer, and he found himself wondering if it would have been better, easier if he had not slipped. At least it would have been less painful than being sliced to death by that horrible blade.

Astrid moved like a wolf, shooting in when she sensed weakness and dancing away from Yjarrn's ungainly attacks. He was not getting tired, but his confidence had bottomed out. He was bleeding from several cuts, and Astrid seemed to be delivering on her promised to slice him apart.

Yjarrn, having resigned himself to death, decided to try something different. If it didn't work, the worse that could happen is that he would die sooner. He waited until the assassin was about to strike, and instead of swinging at her with his hammer, he employed a tactic he had used very effectively in the past and brought his foot up hard toward her groin. Admittedly, this strategy worked far better against men, but he did not have any better ideas at the moment. Either way, it did not work. The assassin saw it coming a mile away, danced to the side, caught his foot, and threw it upward as hard as she could. Once again, Yjarrn found himself in midair before landing hard on his back.

Astrid laughed, "Too slow. Why don't you just give up? Let me kill you. I'll do you clean, quick. You'll hardly feel a thing."

Yjarrn sighed. This was hopeless. He looked back at Astrid and nodded.

Her eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "Really?" she asked. "No one has ever taken me up on that offer before. I really only said it to make you lose hope."

"It worked," Yjarrn said, breathing heavily. "I can't beat you."

"True," she mused. "I suppose this does make it easier on both of us. I will keep my promise then. You just lay right there."

Astrid flipped her weapon to an icepick grip and slowly advanced on the helpless legionnaire. Once she came into range, Yjarrn put a second half-baked plan into action kicking her left ankle as hard as he could the moment she put weight on it. The assassin fumbled and fell forward. Yjarrn, expecting the first part of his plan to fail, had not come up with anything to do afterward. He brought his arms in to cover his body and slammed his eyes shut out of instinct. He felt her body fall on top of him, but there was nothing afterward, no sharp pain of a blade penetrating his body, no slash across his throat, nothing. With a great deal of hesitation, Yjarrn opened his eyes to see the eyes of his would-be murderer staring still and unseeing back into his. Written upon Astrid's face was a look of surprise that Yjarrn would never be able to erase from his mind. A dribble of blood escaped from her mouth, and Yjarrn pushed her body off of his. Blood spurted from her chest as she fell limply to the ground, and Yjarrn saw why. He was still holding onto his war hammer, and as he had brought his arms in over his chest, he had turned the backspike up as she came down. The thin black leather had done nothing to stop the spike as it pierced the center of her chest, and she was likely dead before realizing what had happened.

The sun had just peeked above the horizon, dispelling the darkness of night as Yjarrn did his best to take in the whole of the situation while the adrenaline pumping through his body dissipated. Blood was everywhere, covering both him and the dead assassin and coloring the ground around them a shade of crimson he could scarcely describe. The Thieves' Guild was trying to have him killed? He knew that Brynjolf would be irritated by his leaving, but he never expected them to come after him like this. It did not make any sense. He was not that important. Who was it that the assassin had mentioned? Delvin? What the ruddy muck would he care? Then Yjarrn remembered throwing the gems at him. Did he really take it that personal? There were so many questions he had, not the least of which was whether they would send another assassin. Yjarrn knew nearly nothing of the Dark Brotherhood, but he doubted they gave up on a mark in the case of one of their assassins being killed. He needed to hide this! He needed to get away!

There was hardly any snow where Yjarrn had set up camp, which is one of the reasons he had chosen that spot rather than camping further north closer to Morvunskar. He briefly considered throwing her body over the side of the cliff, but that would only get her noticed more quickly and possibly give the owner of Mixwater Mill a heart attack. Yjarrn grabbed Astrid's body by the arms and dragged her over to the rock face where several large stones sat. It took some physical persuasion and a bit of digging, but he managed to loose enough of them to cover her up. He tucked her body next to some of the more stubborn stones and began to pile the rest on top of her.

"What are you doing?!" he heard a voice call out from behind him.

Yjarrn had just about had it with people sneaking up on him. He spun around to see another legion scout sergeant standing behind him gawking.

"Who is that?" the scout asked.

"She said she was part of the Dark Brotherhood," Yjarrn sighed.

"An assassin?!" the scout asked. "And you killed her?! Incredible! Don't want to get on the wrong side of you."

"What are you doing here?" Yjarrn asked.

"I'm your relief," the scout answered. "The siege at Fort Kastav went just as we had hoped, and the Stormcloaks are crumbling. They are moving a number of us east to gather intel on Windhelm before the final assault. I assume that is where they are sending you. They gave me this post because I was up in the middle of it at Kastav. This changes everything, though. We have to get back to Heljarchen now and report this to an officer," he said.

"No!" Yjarrn nearly yelled.

"I wasn't really asking you, scout," the sergeant said.

Yjarrn tried changing tactics. "Would you really want everyone to know you killed an assassin, Sergeant?" he asked the other scout.

The sergeant rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose not," he said. "Doesn't matter, though. It still has to be reported, just like any other skirmish, and I doubt you are going to be able to come up with a believable excuse for why your armor is covered in blood that doesn't involve a fight."

"Wild animals," Yjarrn retorted.

"Still a fight," the sergeant replied. "Unless you were dead, and they ate you."

"I suppose I would have to report that, too," Yjarrn remarked.

"No," the sergeant said. "But I would when I found your corpse."

"S'wit," Yjarrn muttered.

"What was that?" the sergeant asked.

"Nothing Sergeant," Yjarrn answered. "Just saying goodbye to living."

"There are a few officers I know who are good about keeping things quiet," the sergeant suggested. "We can report it to one of them. Do what we can to keep it as low profile as possible."

"I'd appreciate that," Yjarrn said.

The sergeant nodded. He pulled the hood from Astrid's head, and with one well-aimed sword stroke, cut it from her body.

"What are you doing that for?" Yjarrn asked.

"Proof," the sergeant said as he tucked the head back into the hood that he was now using as a bag. "Plus, one of our people might be able to identify her, find out which assassin you put an end to. That'd be interesting, right? Figure out which one of those murderers you finished?"

"I guess," Yjarrn shrugged. As far as he was concerned, one was as deadly as any other, though it might be good to know just how afraid he should be. If this assassin was someone important, he might have two organizations coming after him soon. "They like killing people. Maybe they won't mind her dying all that much?"

The sergeant laughed, "Doubtful! Not with this weapon. A custom-made ebony blade like this?" he asked, prying the weapon out of Astrid's cold, dead hand and lifting it up for Yjarrn to see. "Wouldn't surprise me if she was in charge of the whole bloody crew."

Yjarrn gulped.

"Come on," the sergeant said. "We'd better get moving. Is your face ok?"

"It's Astrid," Legate Skulnar said. "No doubt."

"Who's Astrid, sir?" Yjarrn asked.

"She is," he began to say. "I mean, she was the leader of the Dark Brotherhood."

"Of course, she was" Yjarrn sighed.

"You did good, scout," Legate Skulnar complimented him. "We've been trying to get rid of this poisoned kiss for some time now but getting a hold of her has been like trying to grab onto a shadow or a shadow of a shadow. Every time you close your hand, nothing was there. How did you stumble onto her?"

"Apparently, our man has a contract out on him," the sergeant said.

"Really?" Legate Skulnar said. "You must have pissed off someone royal."

"Yes, sir," Yjarrn said. His mind was reeling from the fact that he had killed the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, but he was also worried that the legate was going to ask him who had taken out the contract on him. He did not want to lie about his past, but he was also worried about how the Legion would react if they found out he used to be part of the Thieves' Guild. That worry, however, was for not because the legate did not ask. It seemed the sergeant had brought him to the right officer after all.

"Well," the legate shrugged. "There's no way around this. You're going to have to go see Commander Maro."

"Who is Commander Maro, sir?" Yjarrn asked.

"He commands the Emperor's security organization, the Penitus Oculatus," the Legate replied. "Even though we've been assisting, the responsibility of bringing the Dark Brotherhood to justice belongs to him, and he is going to want to hear about this. Sergeant!"

"Sir!" the scout said, popping to attention.

"Get this man an escort to Dragon Bridge," Legate Skulnar ordered. "I want him speaking directly to Commander Maro by tomorrow evening."

"Yes, sir!" the sergeant said, leaving the tent.

Legate Skulnar turned back to Yjarrn. "Impressive, scout," he said. "This is going to make some rather large waves in Skyrim for the better. I, for one, am hoping it might lead to the end of those bloody murderers, and the sooner the better. Good work." The legate smacked Yjarrn roughly on the back and shoved Astrid's severed head into his hands. "Don't forget to give him this," the legate laughed. "He'll probably want to hang it outside his office."

"Great," Yjarrn muttered, and followed off after the sergeant, holding the head as far from himself as possible.

The head did not fare well during the trip across Skyrim. At the crossroads near Silverdrift Lair, Yjarrn slipped on the icy stones and simultaneously lost his grip on the bag in which he had stored the assassin's head. It tumbled down the stones in the wrong direction so fast Yjarrn may never have found it if not for the fallen tree it collided with before getting stuck in the surrounding snow. At first, Yjarrn meant to examine his proof to see if it had sustained any damage, but as he picked up the bag, decided it might be better not to. The weight distribution felt a bit different in his hands and there was one or two more red spots seeping through the canvas.

As the small contingent of legionnaires neared their destination, it did not go any better for the head. Yjarrn knocked it into the side of the boat and dropped it into the cold waters of the Sea of Ghosts as he was boarding the ferry from Dawnstar to Solitude, and it spent the entire trip wedged between his feet, sitting in the water that pooled in the bottom of the hull. It likely endured most of the punishment at Yjarrn's hands on the way up from the docks as he accidentally swung the bag into multiple wooden posts.

During the entire trip, city guards and legionnaires asked to get a look at the head of the infamous assassin, but the looks of admiration he received in Heljarchen had changed to looks of disgust by the time they reached Solitude and Dragon Bridge. When Commander Maro asked to see the contents of Yjarrn's bag, he hesitantly handed it over with a meek apology.

Maro looked in the bag, and after the veteran soldier composed himself, he handled it to one of his aides with orders to dispose of it somewhere far away.

"So," Maro said. "That used to be Astrid? And this is no jest?"

"Yes, sir," Yjarrn replied. "Legate Skulnar identified her."

"He would know," Maro nodded. The commander began to pace around the house that was currently serving as the headquarters of the Penitus Oculatus. "Long have I watched the Dark Brotherhood's movements," he said. "Far too long have I been forced to wait for the right time to strike out at them, but I truly believe the time has come. One of my agents only recently acquired the passphrase to their Sanctuary at the cost of her own life, and I am glad to see that her sacrifice will not be in vain. With it and the confusion bound to have been caused by Astrid's demise, we can finish the Dark Brotherhood in Skyrim forever! You, my friend, have heralded their end! You managed to kill Astrid. I think the honor should be yours."

At this last statement, Yjarrn was snapped out of his own thoughts. "What? Why? What honor?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"

"The honor of opening that dark door, storming down into that pit of vipers and slaughtering every last one of them!" Maro exclaimed.

The color drained from Yjarrn's face, and his mouth went as dry as the A'likr. "Excuse me," he breathed.

"What is it?" Commander Maro asked, smiling.

Yjarrn's mouth was moving, but no words were coming out.

"What is it, scout?" Maro asked again. "Speak up!"

"Y-you don't underst-tand, sir," Yjarrn stuttered, forcing the unwilling words from between his lips. "I am no fighter! Killing that as-assassin was an accident! I cannot do that!"

Commander Maro looked at Yjarrn with a puzzled expression on his face. "Are you saying that you want to refuse this high honor I am offering to you?" he asked.

Yjarrn looked over at the other Penitus Oculatus agent in the house, but after getting no help from him, turned back to Maro saying, "Well, yes! I have no desire to enter that Sanctuary."

"And why not?" Maro asked.

"Because the moment I walk in there, I will die, horribly," Yjarrn said. "The moment one of those depraved lunatics sees me it will just be over. It won't be like, 'Hey, who are you?' It will be stab, stab, dead! They'll be laughing while I re-dye their carpets a rather personal shade of red! Skyrim is a hard enough place to avoid being eviscerated without walking into a dark hole full of people so comfortable with murder that they have taken it on as a profession!"

Unfortunately for Yjarrn, Commander Maro was not the kind of officer who accepted refusal well. He glared at the scout, who suddenly realized he had been yelling at an officer, and quickly found the back wall the most interesting place in all of Tamriel.

"Maybe I was not clear, legionnaire," Maro growled as he moved closer. "I am ordering you to sneak into that Sanctuary and put an end to the Dark Brotherhood."

This is when the other agent spoke up. "I'm afraid you cannot order him to do anything, sir," he said. Both Commander Maro and Yjarrn turned and stared at the agent who was busy writing out something on a piece of parchment.

"What did you say, Cornelius?" Maro snarled.

The agent put down his quill and looked over at his commander. "While you certainly outrank this scout, he is not in your chain of command, sir," Cornelius said. "He is a legionnaire, not a Penitus Oculatus agent, and therefore you have no direct authority over him. If you want to order him to his death, as you seem so intent on doing, you will need to contact his superior and have him order the man into that Sanctuary, which is a request I can write up real quick if you like."

Infuriated, Commander Maro's eyes bulged. He attempted to refute what Cornelius had so calmly explained, but his attempt ended in smoldering silence. He turned back to Yjarrn, his lips curled in ardent fury.

"Good luck with those assassins, Commander," Yjarrn said cheerfully. He turned and made for the door as quickly as he could. As he opened it, he called over his shoulder, "Have a good day, Cornelius!"

The agent did not bother to look up again from his parchment but waved as Yjarrn closed the door behind him.

The legionnaires who had accompanied Yjarrn were sitting comfortably at a table in the Four Shields, and they were not keen on leaving just yet. However, when Yjarrn explained that if they did not leave right now, Commander Maro was likely to find a way to order them into the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary, the men were out the door, tankards of undrunk mead still sitting on the table. They headed south over the Dragon Bridge throwing worried glances back over their shoulders until the town was out of sight.

The legionnaires followed the road south and then east, obviously far more interested in fighting Stormcloaks than a shadowy band of cutthroats. Yjarrn was glad of it. It had been the only arrow in his quiver to get them to leave, and while he wished he had not lied, he was glad to have been able to slip out of the commander's clutches, with a little help from his aide.

It was near the Weylon Stones that everything went to Oblivion. As the legionnaires passed, arrows were loosed from behind a couple of large rocks just south of the road. The first found its mark, piercing one of the soldier's throats. Blood spurted from his mouth as he fell to the ground, grasping at the wound. Another arrow flew wide, and the last bounced harmlessly off the steel cuirass of the legionnaire next to Yjarrn. Reacting instantly to the threat the legionnaires formed up and raised their shields in preparation for a second volley, but none came. Instead, three figures in black leather stepped out from behind the rocks.

"It's the Brotherhood!" one of the soldiers whispered. "They're here for Yjarrn!"

"Be ready!" Corporal Savros ordered. "They won't get any more of us without a fight!"

"We only want Yjarrn," one of the leather-clad assailants called out. "Hand him over, and the rest of you can be on your merry way."

Yjarrn knew that voice! It may have been obscured by the dark hood, but there was no mistaking the unique inflections of Delvin Mallory. What was he wearing, skin-tight layers of molded, black leather? Yjarrn had never seen anyone wearing that clothing in the Flagon, and was that a bird on his chest?

"Not a chance!" Savros yelled.

"Come now, be reasonable," Delvin said. "How valuable has he really been to you?"

"Valuable enough!" the corporal retorted. "But it doesn't matter. The legion does not hand over its people to cutthroats on the threat of violence!"

"I think you forgot, your friend there, lad," one of the other attackers reminded him, pointing to the corpse of their comrade lying still on the cobblestones. "The threat is very real."

"I would prefer not to have to kill another one of you without need," the last one said. She was smaller than the other two, but like the others, her face was hidden behind a closed hood. In her hand, she held another arrow, nocked and ready on the string of an enchanted bow.

Yjarrn was shocked to hear two more voices he recognized from the Guild. Obviously, they had decided to handle their business personally this time, but he still had no idea what he had done to prompt this kind of reaction. He decided to try to smooth things over. "Hey, guys! You know, I'm really sorry about walking out on you."

"You know the Dark Brotherhood?" one of the soldiers asked Yjarrn.

"They aren't the Dark Brotherhood," Yjarrn said.

"Then who are they?" he asked.

"Shut it," Corporal Savros ordered. "Yjarrn, talk to them!"

Yjarrn continued, "Well, I learned my lesson. It was a really bad idea. I won't do it again. Is there any way you think we could just forget this whole thing and let bygones be bygones?"

"Not bloody likely," Delvin growled as the three shadowy figures circled around to the road.

"I'm sorry, lad," Brynjolf called back. "You crossed a line. You're going to have to pay."

"How much?" Yjarrn asked.

"It's not a matter of coin, Yjarrn," Karliah said. "You know things that we do not allow others to know. You could very easily bring us down if you talk. One of our own almost brought us down before. We cannot let it happen again."

"Bloody hell," Delvin muttered, dropping his bow and drawing a dark blade swirling with enchantments. "Just kill 'em!"

In that confusing turn of events that Yjarrn found himself, hiding behind the shields of his comrades-in-arms, who were willing to lose their lives to defend his from the weapons of the people he once called family, Yjarrn made the first completely selfless decision of his life. It was not completely thought through nor was it logical. In fact, it was probably the stupidest thing he could possibly have done, but in the tension of that hopeless moment, it seemed like the only thing he could do.

"I am not going to let anyone else die for me," Yjarrn whispered.

"What?! What are you talking about?" Savros asked, but all he heard were footfalls fading into the distance as Yjarrn tore off to the south into the woods. The corporal turned back to the shadowy assailants, ready for a fight that never came.

"Run him down," Karliah ordered the other two.

Delvin groaned, "Why did he have to run? I'm too old for this."

Corporal Savros and the other legionnaires tried in vain to distract their attackers in order to give Yjarrn a better chance to escape, but Nightingales were gone like a vapor in the wind.

Yjarrn tore through the woods, ducking between trees, skirting passed rocks, and doing his very best to keep his feet on the snowy terrain. At first, he tried to get around the Nightingales, but they were far too quick, cutting off the route back to Heljarchen and pursuing him with tireless haste. Yjarrn kept running east, hoping that he might be able to outrun and get around his former guildmates and make for the safety of Heljarchen, but if not, he knew the terrain in that direction far better than the terrain to the south. Yjarrn could feel his strength fading, but he had run like this before. He had been running for his entire life, and he had far more in reserve than most people. He let his fear fuel him. He thought about the horrible things the Thieves' Guild leaders would do to him if they caught him, and his legs began to pump harder through the powdery snow. At several points, Yjarrn thought he might have lost his pursuers, but each time he would glance back over his shoulder, he would see flashes of black against the bright white snow, shadows in the pale, relentlessly dogging his steps.

As the trees broke away on the south shore of Lake Yorgrim, only steps from where he had first seen Astrid, Yjarrn turned. He ripped his war hammer from the steel ring on his belt, and as the Nightingales came into view, he hurled it at them with all his might. It was something they had not expected. Delvin swore loudly which was immediately followed by a loud grunt as the weapon impacted, and Yjarrn laughed to himself as he continued fleeing to the sound of irate swearing in Delvin's distinct vernacular.

With one of his pursuers down, Yjarrn made his move. Running down toward the bank of the river, he rushed it, high-stepping his way across the shallows and back up onto the opposite shore with the intent of doubling back toward the safety of Heljarchen. His comrades-in-arms had certainly made it there by now and had hopefully alerted the camp to what was happening. Even the likes of Delvin, Brynjolf, and Karliah stood no chance against legionnaires marching en masse. Yjarrn smiled. He had this. There was no way they could get back around the lake in time to stop him from making it back to the Legion camp. He turned north and hustled up the bank, but as he crested the hill at the side of the road, he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye just before she drew back on and released her bowstring.

Yjarrn cried out and fell to the ground as the arrow struck his upper torso. On his back, in the snow, Yjarrn checked the place where the arrow had hit him, but there was no blood, no sharp pain, no wound. Just the chain mail that Bierand had attached to the upper portion of his jacket.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Yjarrn breathed and jumped up to his feet.

Karliah, taken by surprise at her quarry's sudden revival, missed her chance to loose another arrow and was forced to renew the chase as Yjarrn ran further east. Brynjolf had now crossed the river and was closing in on Yjarrn's right. Spurred on by images in his mind of the burly thief pounding on his face, Yjarrn ran faster than he ever thought he could, slipping and sliding down the steep incline to Anga's Mill, and calling for help the entire time. The mill was abandoned, but the lack of people did not stop him from screeching like a banshee until crossed the stone bridge at the east end of the mill. It was on that bridge the Yjarrn finally saw a small ray of hope in the glint of sunlight reflecting off of legion steel.

The Legion had started its final assault on Windhelm, and masses of legionnaires were marching across the stone bridge up to the City of Ysgramor. At this point, whether it was the cold or the exhaustion, Yjarrn could no longer feel his legs, which he counted as a blessing, taking off along the southern bank of the Yorgrim River toward the marching sea of steel. As he crossed over another stone bridge to the east bank and up to join the Legion's ranks, he turned back to see the Nightingales, stopped on the other side of the south-flowing tributary. One of them, which he assumed must be Delvin, dragged his thumb across his throat and pointed at Yjarrn. Yjarrn swallowed hard and then disappeared into the ranks of the Legion as they marched into Windhelm.

Yjarrn had no idea what he was supposed to be doing as he wormed his way into the only open space he found to stand. Even though he had fought for his life more times than he had hoped to ever have to, as a scout, he had never been in a battle, which he imagined would be much different. It was something he was completely certain he was not cut out for, especially unarmed, and now it seemed like Delvin's threat was going to come true without the angry old man having to do the deed himself. The legionnaires in front of Yjarrn stopped, and he found himself uncomfortably close to some men who had been on the road a while. Then, it happened, the long, drawn-out, unmistakable sound of flatulence which someone in the crowd was trying desperately to hold in. Yjarrn nearly laughed, but then the smell came, and Legion discipline was put to the test. Angry comments and threats were muttered, and several soldiers at the edges of the columns turned their heads for a bit of fresh air. Yjarrn was not that lucky, and he was forced to endure the rancid odor until it finally dissipated. As he waited, doing his best to breathe through his mouth, he heard General Tullius shouting from somewhere near the front.

"All right!" the general yelled. "It's time to deliver the final blow to the Stormcloak rebellion! You have all fought bravely and sacrificed much to bring us to this point!"

Yjarrn shrugged. He had fought. It may not have been bravely, or even willingly, but he had fought. That was something. At that thought, Yjarrn's chest puffed out just a bit more than it had before. He was part of something bigger than himself, and that felt pretty good.

"Ready now!" General Tullius cried out.

Wait, what? Yjarrn thought. Was this it? Already? Yjarrn tried to worm his way backward. The good troops, the ones who train for this stuff would want to be the first ones in. He did not want to be too prideful and take their moment from them. After all, that was what they were there for, right?

"What the ruddy muck do you think you're doing, soldier?!" a voice from behind Yjarrn yelled. "What kind of psychopath marches into a battle without a bloody weapon?" Yjarrn found himself spun around to face an officer who subsequently shoved a bow and a quiver of arrows into his hands. "Make sure you cover us once we get in there, alright scout? If you run out of arrows, then you can go after 'em with your fists, alright?"

Yjarrn nodded stupidly, and suddenly the column surged forward as the Legion cracked open the gates and stormed into the city. The streets of Windhelm were pure chaos. Yjarrn, having never used a bow in his life, smacked the first Stormcloak he saw in the back of the head with it. Unfortunately, it hardly did anything more than get the rebel's attention, and the vibration from the impact with his helmet forced Yjarrn to drop the bow. Fortunately, another legionnaire stabbed that Stormcloak in the back before he could hack Yjarrn to pieces, and Yjarrn grabbed the dead man's ax and shield. Had he had a moment to collect himself, Yjarrn might have figured out how to be of some use, but the best the scout managed to do was keep from being killed by his ferocious countrymen desperate to keep their cause alive.

Somewhere in the city's central plaza around Candlehearth Hall, Yjarrn found himself squaring off with a big, beefy Stormcloak swinging around a giant mace that looked far too big for any one man to be wielding it with a single hand. He swung the weapon around like scythe, destroying anything in its path. He had taken out a couple of legionnaires already, but his eyes now focused in on Yjarrn, who looked vainly in every direction for a place to run. The large man laughed as he closed in on his much smaller prey. He swung his mace at Yjarrn's head. The scout instinctively cried out and ducked out of the way. The second swing came, and Yjarrn threw up his shield. The massive blow cracked the wooden planks, and Yjarrn felt the bone in his arm snap under the impact. He yelped in pain, but that pain morphed into anger. Filled with a momentary rage, Yjarrn struck back, completely missing with the blade of the ax but catching the big Nord on the inside of his thigh with the bladed thrusting tip. His eyes bulged as he fell to his knees. The steel bit deep into his flesh, and he grabbed at the wound, which had instantly started pouring blood. Yjarrn watched in stunned disbelief as the man's eye rolled back in his head and the colossal Nord fell face first onto the stones.

Yjarrn looked at his ax and then back at the man he had just killed. What in Tamriel had just happened? he thought. He had won?! As the adrenaline of the fight wore off, he suddenly remembered the throbbing pain in his left arm. He turned, felt a thud against the side of his helmet, and everything went dark.

"I never for the life of me thought I would see you again," Captain Valerius said.

Yjarrn only half heard the words as his vision was starting to clear. "Who? What is going on?" he asked.

"Somehow you managed to survive the Battle of Windhelm," Aquila said. "Though I'm not sure why you're here at all. They don't send scouts into battles. Skirmishes maybe, but not full engagements."

Yjarrn was still not sure where he was, but he knew who he was. That, at least, was something. "Where am I?" Yjarrn asked.

"In one of the field hospital tents we got set up in the Stone Quarter of the city," Valerius answered.

Yjarrn did not know where the Stone Quarter was.

"Your skull got thumped pretty good," the captain continued. "Your helmet's cracked, but it saved your life. Don't worry, though. I got you a new one from the quartermaster."

"Does that mean we took the city?" Yjarrn asked.

"We did," Captian Valerius smiled. "An Imperial banner now flies over Windhelm, and Ulfric Stormcloak is dead. The way I heard it, Legate Rikke finished the bastard herself, drove her sword right through his traitorous heart."

Yjarrn tried to sit up, but Aquila gently stopped him.

"You need to keep still for a while yet, Yjarrn," the captain said. "The healers took care of your arm, but your head is still going to take some time to clear up."

Yjarrn relented and laid back down. "The war?" he asked.

"I suspect this was the death nail," Valerius said. "Jarl Korir has not officially surrendered yet, but I suspect that it's only a matter of time, maybe within the week. He might put on a good show of holding out, but he really doesn't have much of an option. With no allies and no food and with the mages refusing to take sides, all Tullius has to do is cut any supply lines the jarl has with Solstheim or Morrowind and wait for the stores to dry up."

"It's over then," Yjarrn said, smiling.

"It is indeed," Captain Valerius said. "In more ways than one. My men and I have orders to return to Cyrodiil. We leave for the Imperial City as soon as possible."

Yjarrn sat straight up in bed. "You're leaving Skyrim?" he asked.

"Of course," Captain Valerius shrugged. "There are plenty of legion troops here to keep order. We were only stationed here to help quell the rebellion. Now that it's done, we get to go home."

Yjarrn's mind was racing. "Captain?" Yjarrn asked. "Do you think it would be possible for me to come along?"

"Actually, Yjarrn," the captain said. "You don't really have any choice. That's why we're not already on our way to Cyrodiil. Legate Rikke assigned you to my company, and the paperwork in Heljarchen is a mess. As far as anyone can tell, you're still assigned to me, which means you're coming with us. I suppose by that look on your face it means you do not object?"

"Not at all, sir," Yjarrn smiled.

"Good," Aquila said, slapping Yjarrn on the leg. "Then we leave as soon as you're fit to travel." The captain stood up and made his way out of the tent.

Yjarrn laid back on the soft pillow and breathed out a long sigh of relief. The Thieves' Guild might have had the run of things in Skyrim for the last year, but now that the Empire was back in control of things, the Guild would not have the confusion of a civil war for cover. It was going to get harder for them, and that made Yjarrn smile. Maybe one day, Riften might manage to put an end to their nefarious dealings, but all Yjarrn knew was until that day, if it ever came, he would be far from Riften, far from Skyrim, and far from their reach.

It was a cold, clear day when Yjarrn followed Captain Valerius along the well-trodden road through the Jerall Mountains. Gentle gusts of wind swirled lightly around the horses' legs, drawing lines of powdery snow across their path. It was at Pale Pass, as Captain Valerius showed the orders to the gate captain, that Yjarrn turned around and took his last look at Skyrim, the land of his birth. It had been a rough haul at times. He had made some mistakes, but ultimately, he had found a place and a path. Where it would lead, he did not know, but he was off to find out.