Skyrim: Legend of the Dovahkiin

Instruction 1

Pericles had been in the Bannered Mare when the call came. After the building had stopped shaking, the Tavern grew eerily quiet. Then, without warning, the patrons flew up from their seats and flooded out the door and onto the streets, some of them even taking to dancing in the rain. Pericles furrowed his brow, confused by the sudden shift in the peoples behavior.

"You'd think they just announced the end of the war by the way the people are acting." he said, smiling into his tankard.

Hulda, who was still attending her duties shrugged. "It's been a long time since anyone has heard from the Greybeards. For them to make the call… it's history. There hasn't been a Dragonborn in… centuries. Not since Tiber Septim himself climbed the seven thousand steps."

Pericles looked up from his tankard, confused. "What in Oblivion is a Dragonborn?"

Hulda's eyes snapped away from the mug she was cleaning and focused on the Nord before her. "You're joking, right?" she said, flabbergasted by the warrior's ignorance of Nordic tales. "You're a Nord and you don't even know one of the oldest legends of our people?"

Pericles shrugged. "My father never saw a reason to tell me of such inflated tales. Besides, I'm far to busy trying to earn a living to worry myself over myths and legends."

"Be that as it may, every Nord should know the story of the Dragonborn." Hulda retorted. She then explained to him the stories surrounding the legendary hero of the Nords, and the role they played in the world.

As he listened, Pericles found himself becoming increasingly more interested as to the identity of this new Dragonborn.

With someone with power like that on our side, me, Livia and Avik could accomplish anything. No one could stand against us, we'd literally have the world at our fingertips.

"You know something Hulda," the Nord began, bringing the rim of his tankard to his lips. "I'd like to know more about this… Dragonborn legend."

As the tavern owner recounted everything she had ever read or heard of the legend, Pericles resolved to find this individual and bring them to his side.

Ulfric Stormcloak's head snapped away from the map he was looking over and up to the ceiling, seemingly staring through the tightly packed stone and into the sky above. When the violent tremor that shook the war room subsided, he gaze slowly fell back upon the map in front of him. He stood, hunched over the small table, hands grasping its edges. There was no denying the obvious. The return of the dragons, the Greybeards call, all of it pointed to one answer.

The Dragonborn.

After countless centuries, a Dragonborn had finally appeared. And now that they had appeared, his job would be twice as hard. He would have to find the Dragonborn before the Imperials did, to get them on his side. As Ulfric straightened himself, Galmar Stonefist rushed into the room, his expression unreadable.

"I take it you heard it then, the call?" the burly Nord queried

Ulfric shook his head slightly. "I would have to be deaf not to. In any case, we must move quickly if we are to find them. I want scouts out on the roads and in the holds, find the Dragonborn and bring them to me."

Galmar's rough brow knotted in confusion. "But why, Ulfric? Dragonborn or not, why would we waste our resources trying to find someone we know nothing of?"

"The reason is simple, old friend," Ulfric placed his hands behind his back and slowly paced the room. "With the Dragonborn on our side, the people of Skyrim will fall to our cause as easily as Helgan fell to the dragon. They would stand as a symbol of power, a sign that our way is the right way."

The bear like Nord nodded, but sudden thought crossed his mind. "Say we find this person, and they are supporters of the Empire, what then?"

Sighing, Ulfric returned to the map he was reviewing. "Let us hope… that it is not so."

Hemming rushed to his mother's office as quickly as his feet could take him. He had nearly jumped out of his skin when the Greybeards shouted from their mountain, spilling the glass of brandy he'd been drinking on his finely made leggings. The monks hadn't uttered a word in hundreds of years, and if what he remembered reading was true, then it could only mean that a Dragonborn had appeared in Skyrim.

Hemming's heart skipped a beat as an image of his mother flashed through his mind. The very prospect of talking to the woman made him nervous beyond reason, made worse by the fact that he had not made an appointment with her before hand. As he approached the large oaken double doors of his mother's office, he began to doubt that she would willingly agree to the plan that was forming in his mind. Even so, he could not let an opportunity like this one slip past him.

Steeling himself, Hemming slowly opened and entered the large, expensively furnished room. Maven sat at her desk, hard at work on signing ledgers and going over the number of her vast empire. A drop of sweat rolled down Hemming's left cheek as he approached his mother. Despite the fact that they were mother and son, Maven held no familial bonds when it came to the success of her empire, his brother's incarceration was proof of that. Hemming was well aware that if he ever did anything to tarnish the name of Blackbriar in any way, big or small, he may as well forfeit his life.

"I presume you're bothering me for a good reason?" Maven said, not bothering to look away from the many papers on her desk.

"Mother, I assume you heard the Greybeards call." he answered.

"I did, what of it?"

Hemming sat in the chair in from of his mother's desk. "W-well," he stammered. "I-I'd like to-"

"I don't like when people waste my time, Hemming," Maven warned as she signed another business ledger. "Either tell me what it is you want or get out of my sight. I have more important things to do than to sit here and listen to you stutter and stammer like rattled brained buffoon."

Hemming's shoulders dropped ever so slightly. While he was accustomed to his mother hurling insults at him, it did nothing to lessen the sting he felt when she did.

"Mother, I'd like to send out a few of our mercenaries to search for a certain… individual."

At that, Maven looked up from her papers and turned her dark gaze upon her son. "Who is so important that you would have me waste valuable men trying to find?"

A shiver of fear ran down Hemming's spine as he gazed into his mother's cold eyes. Despite himself, he never once looked away and gave his answer.

"I want them to search for the Dragonborn."

Something was wrong. The back robbed assassin's onyx eyes snapped open, taking in the surroundings of the room in which he sat. Two tapestries bearing his organization's insignia hung along either side of the wall opening he sat before. Various candles were laid about the floor, giving the room a dim glow. Before him stood a sarcophagus of ancient design. The assassin scowled beneath the dark mask he wore, unnerved by his sudden feelings of uneasiness.

True, he had heard the call of the Greybeards, felt the power of their voice as it reverberated through his very being, but that hadn't so much as stirred him out of his meditation. Inhaling the death scented air through his nose, the assassin again shut his eyes to ponder what was wrong. There was already a civil war raging across Skyrim, and the rumors that dragons were returning had just been proven true by the Greybeards' call, so what was it that was causing this sudden… apprehension. As he sat, a chill as cold as the grave coiled around his body. He did not fight the dark embrace. On the contrary, he welcomed it, for it was the only thing on the whole of Nirn that could warm his frozen heart. The sensation was more inebriating than any alcoholic beverage ever concocted, and gave him more pleasure than any women ever could.

He let himself become lost in the chilly arms of the entity that held him, for he knew that no matter what he would face in the unforeseen future, his dark mother would keep him safe.

The Harbinger was surprised at the sudden change in the city's mood. When he, Irileth and the others had departed to face the dragon most if not all the inhabitants had been in a panic. One of the only people who hadn't completely lost it was Adrianne, who continued to work at her forge as if everything was right in the world.

A quick sensation of pain from his ribs caused the young Nord to grimace and take a sharp intake of breath. During his battle with the dragon, the Harbinger's wounds had become so severe that he was forced to accept the help of the surviving guards. The two Whiterun guards who helped him through the streets stopped and gave him concerned looks, having long ago abandoned their helmets.

"Are you alright, Dragonborn?" one of the men asked.

The Harbinger frowned at the legendary name, still unused to the title and the laurels that undoubtedly came with it.

"I'm fine," the young Nord assured the man. "Just get me to Danica, and… stop calling me Dragonborn."

"I think it would be best if we took you to Whiterun infirmary," Roggvar stated as he made his way through the celebrating crowd. "The Jarl will no doubt wish to speak with you about your… discovery."

The Harbinger noticed how the older Nord practically saturated his last word in poison. He inwardly chuckled. Even after slaying a dragon and saving the entire city Roggvar and the other elites still looked down upon him. That was fine, he didn't care about what Roggvar or anyone else on Nirn thought about him, he wasn't there to be liked.

"True, the Jarl will want a full account of what happened from everyone involved," the Harbinger agreed with a nod. "But as it is, I can barley walk and it's becoming increasingly more difficult to breath. If I'm to avoid any permanent damage to my body I need to see Danica as soon as possible."

"What, the great Dragonborn cant stomach a few broken bones without turning into a milk drinker? Ranmir sneered.

"If I remember correctly, you and the other so called elites ran inside the tower like frightened children while I jumped off the tower and onto a dragon's back," the young Nord countered. "Which of us is more of a milk drinker, I wonder."

The elite's fists clenched tightly, but he otherwise remained silent, much to the Harbinger's satisfaction.

As they made their way into the Wind District, the group saw Danica standing by Gildergreen, seemingly waiting for them to arrive.

"Set him inside." Danica said, gesturing towards the temple doors. The two guards nodded and hauled the young Nord through.

Balfring gave the healer a quizzical look. "Were you waiting for him, Danica?"

"Since before that boy became Harbinger he was always coming back from jobs injured and near death," the Priestess explain. "He's constantly throwing himself into dangerous situations with no thought or regard for his own life, like he's trying to kill himself."

Ranmir shrugged his broad shoulders. "Maybe the boy has a death wish."

"Whatever his reason, he's become rather predictable, and I know if he'll return whole or in pieces. In this case, going off to fight a dragon of all things, I was pretty sure he'd need healing, assuming he lived through the ordeal."

"As much as I'd love to stay and talk about the boy's health problems," Irileth started, clearly irritated. "We have a Jarl to report back to."

The Elf then looked over at one of the other surviving guards. "And don't you have a delivery to make?" she said, referring to the dragon bones and scales the young Nord collected before they left the tower.

The man's eyes went wide with realization. "Ah, yes! I'll do so right away."

The guard scurried off towards Jorrvaskr, carrying the bag of spoils with him. Irileth turned to Danica and gave a respectful nod. "If you'll excuse us, healer."

With that, Irileth and the other warriors marched off toward Dragonsreach, eager to deliver the news of their victory to their Jarl. As they walked, Irileth's thoughts went back to the name the young leader went by.

Spartacus.

She could swear she had heard the name before… somewhere. The more she thought about where she had first heard the name, the more the answer escaped her. So, she decided to push it from her thoughts, as she had more important things to worry over. Primarily telling Balgruuf about the discovery of the Dragonborn.

Now that was a conversation that would be very interesting.

"You want to do what?"

"You heard me, Livia," Pericles said. "I want to find the Dragonborn and bring him into our ranks."

"That's a feat easier said than done," the Imperial argued. "We don't even know who they are. They may sooner shout us down than join us."

"She's got a point Pericles," Avik agreed. "This… Dragonborn is a third party, an unknown variable. We cant take someone like that with us when we get work, it's too risky."

"You two underestimate my powers of persuasion," Pericles retorted, tone dripping with arrogance. "Once I've exchanged a few words with them, they'll no doubt agree to joining us. Of that, I'm sure."

"But what if they don't," Livia pressed on. "Then what? If they decline your offer, you could very well make them an enemy. I for one don't feel like fighting against someone who can shout us into Oblivion."

Pericles waved his hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about the details, I'll take care of everything. As for the identity of Skyrim's newest Dragonborn, that can be easily narrowed down."

Pericles finished the last of his tankard of mead before continuing. "When that dragon attacked, the Jarl sent a large group of some of his best guards as well as his Housecarl and three of his elite warriors, plus the Harbinger of the Companions. Most of the guards were killed in the battle, but the three elites, the Housecarl and the Harbinger all survived. So…"

"So all we have to do is find out which one of them is the Dragonborn and recruit them." Avik finished.

Pericles nodded. "Exactly."

Livia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "That leaves us with an even bigger problem," she pointed out. "The Housecarl, Elites and surviving guards have all sworn fealty to the Jarl. They aren't going to break their oaths just to join up with some mercenary group."

"True enough…" Pericles agreed. "But… what about the Harbinger? If he is the Dragonborn, could we persuade him to join us?"

Avik's demeanor turned sour at the suggestion. "Why in the name of Mara would we let that boy join us?"

"Because that boy single handedly defeated an ancient demon and survived a battle with a dragon," the Nord explained. "He's also an extremely competent swordsman, as you saw back in Riverwood. Someone with his skill could defiantly be a boon to our cause."

"The Companions are also a mercenary group themselves," Livia told the Nord. "If they found out that we tried to recruit one of their own, there would be problems. Serious problems."

What Livia said was true. Recruiting a member of a separate mercenary party was a sort of unofficial rule amongst the sellswords, unless the individual in question worked alone. Asking the Harbinger to join them would be the equivalent to declaring war with the Companions, and a war between rival mercenary parties would be bad for both parties.

"Another thing to consider," Avik started, taking a quick drink from his tankard. "Is that if the Harbinger is in fact the Dragonborn, we still know nothing about the boy. Skill or no skill, I will not fight beside someone who refuses to reveal his own name."

"Peace, Avik. I've taken both you and Livia's concerns to heart," Pericles told his comrades. He rose from his chair and strode towards his room upstairs. "Rest assured, I will break words with the boy without raising the ire of the other Companions. Until then, I wan you two to prepare for departure."

Livia knotted her brow in confusion. "Departure? Do we have another contract?"

"Yes, in Ivarstead."

Jarl Balgruuf sat upon his oaken throne, his wife and oldest daughter seated on either side of him, listening intently as Irileth recounted their encounter with the dragon. Balgruuf's face was stony and impassive, giving no hint as to his current emotion. Lady Aeta's expression was just as stony, but held a bit of softness in them. Lisaa held a look of shock and sadness, stunned by Irileth's recollection of their battle.

Behind Irileth, the Nobles and Thanes were surprisingly quiet, a far cry from their usual noisy and boisterous selves. Balgruuf shut his eyes and began stroking his golden beard as his Housecarl and closest friend continued with her report.

When she finished, the Jarl sat silent for a few moments, taking in everything Irileth had told him. "And the Greybeards summon?"

"It turns out that the Harbinger of the Companions, who we now know as Spartacus, is the Dragonborn." the Dunmer revealed.

A chorus of surprised gasps and murmurs escaped the lips of the nobles and their bodyguards. Aeta and Lissa also bore looks of complete shock at the Housecarl's revelation.

"Spartacus? Is that his name?" Lisaa queried, all but ignoring the fact that he was Dovahkiin.

Irileth nodded. "Yes, my lady."

Balgruuf slowly opened his eyes and cast them upon the wooden floor beneath him.

So, the boy is Dragonborn. He thought. Kodlak… did you know of this, I wonder?

"Well, this is truly a surprising turn of events," Blagruuf stated. "Where is the boy now?"

Roggvar was the one who answered. "He is currently at the Temple of Kynareth, having his wounds attended to by Danica."

"I see," Balgruuf stood from his throne and looked over to Irileth. "I want to speak with the boy when he is able. Irileth, head to the Temple and retrieve him."

"Yes, my Jarl."

"Roggvar, I want you, Ranmir and Balfring to eat and rest up, you've more than earned it."

The three Elites bowed in gratitude. "Thank you, my Jarl."

As the three warriors strode of to their living quarters, Balgruuf again turned his gaze to his Housecarl. "Irileth, fetch Lydia for me. There is something I would like to discuss with her."

Spartacus slightly grimaced as the powerful healing spell the Priestess cast upon his ankle slowly, and painfully, reconstructed the shattered bones of his left foot. Over an hour had passed since he had been left in Danica's care and most if not all of his wounds had been completely healed. As was per usual, Danica was quick to lecture him about constantly throwing himself headfirst into life threatening situations without thinking of his own safety.

"What would you have me do?" the Nord asked grimly. "Let the others burn to cinders?"

Danica shook her head, still casting her healing spell on the Nord's ankle. "No, I wouldn't. Even if I wanted it so, it's in your nature to rush to the aid of others in danger. I only wish you'd think about your own well being when you do so, your life is just as important as theirs."

Spartacus let out a chuckle, though he did not smile. "Is it?"

Danica looked up at the young Nord, ready to reprimand him for questioning the value of his own life when the temple doors flew open, and in walked the Jarl's loyal Housecarl. She wore her usual expression of emotionless indifference, gait proud and confident as she approached the two Nords.

"Irileth," Danica stood and turned to face the Dunmer. "To what do we owe this honor?"

The Housecarl looked right at Spartacus, and he inwardly swore. "The Jarl wishes to speak with the boy as soon as he is healed and able to walk."

The Elf looked at the Priestess as if waiting for her to give the young warrior a clean bill of health.

Danica sighed. "Can you move your foot around at all?" she asked.

Spartacus lifted his appendage for the women to see and moved it around in a circular motion, answering the healer's question.

Satisfied, Danica nodded in approval. "Well then, I see no reason to keep you any longer," the Priestess locked eyes with the Nord. "You're free to go."

Rising from the marble slab, the Harbinger grabbed his sword belt and strapped his blades on each of his hips. He gave a silent thanks to the guard that had found his sword after the battle with the dragon had ended, he didn't know how Eorlund would have reacted if he'd discovered that one of his swords was lost somewhere out in the tundra.

With a sigh, the Harbinger moved for the exit. "Lets go."

Spartacus stood in the middle of Dragonsreach's court, legs slightly apart, hands held behind his back, face set as hard as ebony. Surrounding him on all side were the nobles and their bodyguards. In front of him, seated upon their royal thrones, were Balgruuf, his wife and oldest daughter. Around them stood Roggvar and the other elites, all of them poised and composed, ready to unleash swords at the slightest hint of danger.

In front of them, no doubt the real one in charge, was Irileth. Her azure hand gripped tightly at the hilt of her sword, forever waiting to draw the blood of any would be assassin. Balgruuf gazed into the young warrior's eyes, seemingly staring past his blue orbs and boring into his very soul, the same way Kodlak had done. The Harbinger however did not return the gaze, instead staring through the Jarl. It was at that moment when the young Nord realized that every last pair of eyes in the palace was upon him.

From his peripheral, he could see the many noble men and women gazing upon him. Some of them held looks of total awe and admiration that seemed to border on outright worship. Others looked wary of him, a few of them taking a few steps back. One man even braced himself, as if the young warrior were about to shout him through the palace walls.

The last looks he received were from the bodyguards, and were the most disdainful. Many of the noble protectors glared at him so hard the Harbinger was sure their eyes would pop right out of their sockets. Even more looked him up and down and shook their heads, unimpressed by the young warrior. Spartacus inwardly smiled to himself, it seemed everywhere he went someone either hated or envied him, most of the time both.

That was fine by him, let them think what they wanted. The opinions of warriors who's job it was to defend people who's greatest threat was a lone beggar mattered very little to him. The blond haired Nord, Roggvar, was staring right at him, his gaze all but boring holes in the young leader's head. The other two elites, Ranmir and Balfring, stood near him, staring as if willing daggers to rain down and kill him. Then he saw the sole female of the elite group. Lydia, if memory served. Unlike her three companions, she gave him an even look that held no friendliness, but neither held any unwarranted disdain. The two held each others gaze for a small moment, Lydia giving the young leader a small nod of acknowledge, which he returned in kind. Breaking away from the woman's gaze, the Harbinger turned his attention back to Balgruuf and his family.

The Jarl stared at him a bit more before he finally spoke. "I'm honored that you would grace us with your presence, young Harbinger." he said.

"The honor is mine, Jarl Balgruuf," the young Nord responded, unsure of what else he could have said.

The Jarl waved his hand dismissively, laughing as he did. "Save the humble modesty you seem to favor, Harbinger. Or rather… Spartacus, I should say."

The corner of the Harbinger's lips curled into a light smirk. "So, Irileth and the others told you then?"

The Jarl nodded. "They did."

"Then they've no doubt told of what happened after we defeated the dragon."

Balgruuf raised a single eyebrow. "We?"

"It was not just my hand that ended the life of the beast," Spartacus elaborated, shooting a quick glance at Irileth, the three elites, and the Whiterun guards that survived the battle before turning his gaze back to the Jarl. "Had it not been for Irileth and the others, I would have never been able to put my plan into action, and we would all be for the afterlife."

The Jarl nodded and started to speak when his wife cut his words short. "Yet Irileth and the others did not jump off the watchtower to save Whiterun. Nor did they openly challenge a dragon to single combat, as I've heard you did."

"A… momentary lapse in judgment." the Harbinger said, eyes falling to the floor.

"Yet one that saved the lives of your fellow warriors, and that of the people of Whiterun," Aeta said with a smile. "lapsed judgment or no, they owe you their lives."

Spartacus stood silent for a moment, eyes downcast, unsure of what he might say next. It wasn't often that he received the praise of the Highborn of society, and quite frankly, he wasn't used to it. Breaking his gaze from the floor, Spartacus let his eyes meet with Aeta's.

"You honor me with the praise you've seen fit to shower me with, Lady Aeta," he began. "But I am no hero. Your husband asked for my assistance in dealing with the threat the dragon posed, I simply did what he asked of me, nothing more."

"Regardless of whether you believe yourself a hero or not, your courage in the face of seemingly impossible odds must and will be rewarded," Balgruuf stated firmly. "Therefore, it is my honor as Jarl to name you Thane of Whiterun."

Among the Companions, Spartacus was known for his hard, emotionless visage, one that never showed any form of surprise or shock. Even in situations where his life hung in the balance, he always kept a calm, controlled image. Yet, at that very moment, the young warrior stood staring at the Jarl with an utterly flabbergasted expression.

"Thane?" he repeated.

"Indeed," Balgruuf confirmed. "It is the greatest gift I am able to offer."

The Harbinger's brow knitted in confusion. "Gift? For what service? I merely fulfilled my duty as a citizen of the city, I don't deserve the title of Thane."

"When you first arrived here in Whiterun, you informed me of the fate of Helgan and the dragon that flew towards my city," the Jarl started. "Immediately after you became a Companion, you aided Irileth and my men in the defense against an attacking bandit horde. You slayed the witches of the Glenmoril Coven, single handedly defeated the Jackal absent weapons or armor, liberated Riverwood from Hajvaar Ironhand and his gang of criminals, and now… you've killed a dragon in defense of my city. There is no other in the whole of Skyrim more deserving of honored title."

Spartacus was speechless. Of all the scenarios he had played out in his mind becoming Thane had never even crossed his mind. It was almost inconceivable. Someone like him… someone who once slaughtered people just because they were in his way was not meant to hold such a title.

Yet… if he was to truly move on from his bloody past, maybe this was where he could start. With a sigh, Spartacus looked up at the Jarl and finally spoke.

"Though I don't understand your reasoning behind it, I accept the Title of Thane, Jarl Balgruuf." he said, giving a bow of appreciation.

"We're honored to call you such, young Spartacus," Aeta said, giving him a smile that seemed to warm the entire palace. "But, as you know, the title of Thane is that of an honorary hero of the hold, but I feel that it is not enough."

Lisaa, who had been as silent as a statue throughout the court meeting finally gave voice. "Mother, I'm not sure I understand what you mean."

"To become Thane is indeed a great achievement, yet I feel the title is not… enough to distinguish him from other Thanes of the hold," Aeta elaborated. "Therefore, I give you a title better suited for one such as you. I hereby give you, Spartacus, Harbinger of the Companions, the title 'Hero of Whiterun'."

"A fine title," the Jarl agreed with a nod. "A first within my hold. Carry the name well, young Spartacus."

Momentarily stunned, the Harbinger quickly gathered himself and spoke. "I will, Jarl Balgruuf."

"Now that we have that matter settled," Balgruuf started. "There is another subject I wish to broach with you. One that involves your fellow companions."

"A celebration?" Vilkas queried.

The entirety of the Companions, save for Skjor who was on a personal errand, had assembled in the Harbinger's quarters at his request, where he broke news to his comrades about his new title of Thane. There was some initial shock in the beginning, but it had lasted for only a moment.

He purposely kept the details of the revelation of his name and the discovery that he was Dragonborn to himself, opting instead to let them hear of it during the Jarl's celebration.

"Later tonight, in honor of the Companions and their service to Whiterun," Spartacus said as he splashed cold water from his washbasin on his face. "The Jarl wants to thank all of you for repelling the Jackal during its initial attacks."

"And show off his new Thane, no doubt." Njada muttered.

The Harbinger let a faint smirk cross his lips. "I thought the same in the beginning, Njada. But I believe the Jarl's intentions are noble."

"You plan to attend then?" Ria piped up.

"It would be an insult not to," Spartacus began. "For a man of his standing to hold a celebration only for the guests of honor not to show would be an enormous embarrassment. The Jarl could in turn make the life of the ones who caused him such embarrassment living Oblivion."

"True enough," Vilkas agreed with a light nod of his head.

"I hope the Jarl doesn't expect us to dress like those milk drinking nobles he surrounds himself with," Stonearm said, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not the sort to put on a dress."

"No, you're the sort to attend buck fucking naked, if put to drink." Athis quipped.

The other Companions, save for Spartacus, loosed a chorus of laughter. Njada glared at her Dunmer shield brother before letting her gaze sweep over her other siblings.

"Peace, Stonearm," Vilkas said holding his hands up in a defensive position. "Athis meant nothing by it. Besides, we all know Torvar is the one more suited to acts of drunken idiocy."

"And I do so with pride!" Torvar bellowed, raising a fist in the air.

At that, Spartacus couldn't help but let a tiny smile cross his lips as the others laughed at the drunken Nord's jest about himself.

"The Jarl has made no such request of us," The Harbinger said, answering Stonearm's earlier question. "We are Companions, warriors of Ysgramor himself. If we must be honored, then let it be in the very armor we used to defeat the demon."

"But you had no armor," Ria pointed out. "So does that mean you'll go in only your loincloth?"

Spartacus glared at the Imperial while she and the other Companions boomed with laughter.

Aeta sat in her daughter's room silently watching the girl as she prepared for the night's celebration. For hours Lisaa had tried on dozens of the many dresses she possessed, but none seemed to suit her particular taste at the moment.

"Why not wear the black spider silk dress you bought in Cyrodiil?" Aeta suggested, her hand motioning to the dress that adorned one of the mannequins in the room. "You'd look wonderful in it."

"This a celebration, mother, not a funeral" Lisaa reminded the older woman, still going through her other garments. "If I am to wear something it must be bright and radiant. Besides, you know I do not favor the color black."

"Then how about the outfit from our stay in Hammerfell?" Aeta again suggested.

Lisaa cringed. "That's too bright mother!"

"Then what," the Lady began. "Do you plan to attend celebration in? Time grows short and the servants are just about finished with the final preparations."

Lisaa however was not paying attention to her mother's words. Instead, she stood in silence staring at the dress she held in her arms.

Smiling, the young woman turned to meet her mother's gaze. "It's decided." She chirped excitedly, walking in great strides towards the small changing curtain in the room.

Spartacus let a quiet sigh pass his lips as he made his way to the Cloud District. It was now nightfall and he and the other Companions were now on their way to the Jarl's celebration, each of them adorned in their usual battle attire. Athis, Njada, Ria and Torvar in their leathers and hides, and Vilkas, Aela and Farkas in their steel. Spartacus was adorned in the same steel armor he wore when he faced the dragon at the Western watch Tower. Belted to each of his hips as usual, were his two twin Skyforged swords, freshly sharpened by Eorlund himself.

Skjor was still out doing whatever it was he was doing and so far hadn't made an appearance. Spartacus was not in the least bothered by his absence. In fact, he counted it as a blessing that he would be spared from the older Nord's insults. As the group of warriors ascended the steps leading to the palace, a thought crossed the young leader's mind.

Halting his advance, Spartacus turned to face the rest of the Companions. "Before we enter the palace, I have a warning for each of you."

"If you mean to keep our eyes peeled for assassins and others of their like, then you waste your breath," Vilkas told him. "We've already gone over what to expect should anyone make foolish attempt on-"

"Gratitude for your concern Vilkas, but that is not the issue I was speaking of." Spartacus interjected. He paused for a moment before continuing. "Inside that palace are some of the most influential people in the Whiterun hold. Nobles, wealthy merchants, men and women with ties to the High Queen herself. Now that the Jarl has named me both Thane and Hero of Whiterun they will no doubt-"

"Try to get close to us and in turn, get close to you." Aela finished.

"Exactly," Spartacus confirmed. "And the constant badgering of nobles is the last thing the Companions need. Mingle with them if you wish, but do not in anyway give name to whatever they may be involved in."

Nodding in agreement, the Companions made their way to Dragonsreach's large wooden doors. Two of the guards standing watch greeted them before pushing the doors open to let them through. The celebration had already started well before their arrival. Raucous laughter rolled over girlish giggling, the drums and pipes of the band, and the clash of finger cymbals from one of the many dancers. One man climbed unsteadily to his feet, using a nearby table for support. His fingers clutched at the wine-stained tablecloth, snagging and dragging several dishes toward him.

A woman, noble by her over-extravagant appearance, staggered through the crowd of guests, spilling wine and groping at the groin of any man-or woman-who happened to be nearby. The Harbinger snorted at the sight of the so called "dignified" nobles, most of whom were babbling like idiots, hugging the walls for support or passed out along the floor and dining table. As they made their way towards the front of the palace, one of the nobles caught sight of the young leader and moved in to greet him. All at once it seemed the entirety of the celebration had converged upon him and his comrades and swallowed them whole.

Dragonsreach erupted with cries of "SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!" which caused even more of the guest to add to the already growing number of admirers.

"Spartacus?" Farkas repeated, oblivious as to who the name belonged to. "Who in Oblivion is Spartacus?"

"Harbinger, is there something we ought to know?" Aela inquired, her emerald eyes staring right into his blue ones.

Spartacus opened his mouth to respond only to be cut off by new, deafening chants of "DRAGONBORN! DRAGONBORN! DRAGONBORN!"

Vilkas's eyes went wide with realization, and he turned to face the young Harbinger. "Wait, do you mean to tell us that you're!-"

"The Dragonborn, yes." he finished casually.

"And Spartacus, is that the name you carry?" Farkas asked.

"Yes."

The Companions all glanced at one another, unsure of what to say or how to react the such news. Not only had their Harbinger finally revealed who he was, he also revealed that he was in fact the one the Greybeards had called. To have the Dragonborn as Harbinger was the greatest honor the gods could bestow upon them. It was almost like having Talos himself walk among them.

"Well, this is certainly an… interesting turn of events." Vilkas said as he scratched at the side of his head.

"It matters not," Aela said, waving her hand in dismissal. "Whether he is Dragonborn or Ysgramor reborn, in my eyes, he is still the Harbinger, and I will treat and respect him as I always have."

It was when the Huntress said such things that Spartacus wondered if she could read his mind. She somehow divined that his greatest concern was that the other members of the Companions would see and treat him differently when they discovered he was Dragonborn and gave a very pragmatic statement so as to sway the minds of the others.

It seemed to work well enough.

"Aela is right," Vilkas agreed with a nod. "Dragonborn or not, you're still the Harbinger in our eyes."

"Gratitude for your support," Spartacus said gratefully. "Now, let us see ourselves out of this horde of noble bureaucrats and to the Jarl."

Nodding, the Companions made their way past the seemingly endless number of nobles and finally came upon Blagruuf and the entirety of his family. Balgruuf was in the middle of a conversation with someone Spartacus could only guess was some dignitary from another hold and, judging by his expression, the subject bored him. Aeta was speaking to the wives of the noblemen, no doubt exchanging stories about their collection of scented oils and exotic dresses. As with her husband, she too wore an expression of boredom. Lisaa was nowhere in sight, strange considering she was almost always around her parents.

Balgruuf took notice of the Companions and turned to face them, face immediately brightening up. "Ah, the Hero of Whiterun and the honored Companions finally arrive!" the man boomed, drawing the attention of the other guests. "My family and I are honored that you grace us with your presence."

"The honor is ours," Vilkas said as he stepped forward. "Very rarely does nobility hold celebration in the name of the Companions."

"One much overdue," Balgruuf nodded with a warm smile. "If it hadn't been for the Companions scores of my people would have been slaughtered. A celebration in your honor is the least I can do."

Aeta waved her hand in dismissal. "Come, let us put such grim thoughts aside and embrace the warm joy of the present," she motioned for the Companions to join them at the dining table. "Come. Drink, fill your bellies to your hearts content."

The Companions strode over to the table and took their seats, upon which the maids immediately served them large plates of meats, meads and various stews. Some of the nobles decided to follow their lead and took up seats of their own, bodyguards close behind them.

"Let us hear the story of how you defeated the dragon, young Spartacus." Balgruuf suddenly said.

The young Nord looked up at the Jarl, a quizzical look plastered on his features. "Irileth and the others didn't tell you?"

The Jarl nodded. "They did, but I would like to hear the tale from your perspective, if you are willing."

The Harbinger glanced over to Vilkas and the other Companions, each of whom gave him a small nod of approval. Spartacus then told them of the events of the battle. As he narrated, the Harbinger took note of the many looks he was receiving from each of the guests. Most of the nobles all bore looks of complete and utter shock upon their faces, while some looked skeptical. Jarl Balgruuf and his wife listened with wrapped attention, their expressions calm and serene. Roggvar and the other elites stood quietly, listening with mild enjoyment as the story went on.

As he neared the end of his tale, Spartacus made sure to leave out the part about Roggvar and the other elites disappearing inside the tower when he'd jumped atop the dragon's back. As much as he wished the Jarl knew about their cowardly actions, he did not wish to embarrass the men in front of the noble politicians. Not out of respect for the men themselves, but for the Jarl and his family. If word got out that the elite warriors of Whiterun fled from battle, that could be used to embarrass Balgruuf and make him a laughing stock.

Something the Harbinger would not stand for.

As he finished, the palace erupted in cheers and applause. Spartacus gave s small, sheepish smile and returned to his meal. A sudden commotion near the steps leading to the war room caught the Harbinger's attention. Turning, the Nord's eyes went wide. Decending down the stairs, with elegance unmatched by even the high queen herself, was Lisaa, clad in a silk dress as white as snow. It held on to her with thin straps over her shoulders and flowed beautifully down to her knees. It clung very close to her, revealing every shapely curve of her body. The collar of the dress dipped down a bit, revealing a fair amount of the girl's cleavage.

The eyes of every man-young and old alike-were upon her... including the members of the Companions. Gliding past the men in her path, Lisaa strode over to the young Nord and dipped her head down.

"Honor to you, and many thanks for saving the city, o hero of Whiterun. May you continue to protect the city and its people from the many dangers that they will no doubt face in the future."

Spartacus stared at the young woman for a moment before he gave a light nod of his head. Bowing, Lisaa took a seat between her mother and father.

Balgruuf turned his attention back to the guests. "Let us toast to Spartacus, the savior of Whiterun."

Everyone raised their mugs in the air and shouted in unison, "To Spartacus!"

The night went on without any serious incidents. For the most part Spartacus found himself in locked in conversation with the nobles, Thanes and their egotistical bodyguards. The children of the well to do nobles were a ravenous bunch. The young men insisted that he demonstrate his Thu'um to them as proof that he was truly Dragonborn, while the young women relentlessly hounded him about his marital status and whether or not he was seeing someone.

Vilkas and the other Companions conversed among themselves mostly, at least the members of the Circle did. Torvar was in the midst of a drinking match with Athis under the gaze of at least fifteen onlookers, Njada was busy harassing dignitaries and picking fights with their bodyguards and Ria was busy chatting with Lisaa.

Slipping away from the mob of nobles, Spartacus made his way up the stairs leading to the palace balcony. Noticing the forlorn look in his eyes, Lisaa quickly ended her conversation with Ria and followed after him.

Spartacus stared out into the vast landscape that was Whiterun, enjoying the silence of the outside. As he suspected, most if not all of the nobles attempted to bring him into their personal circle. Spartacus knew the world of politics was nowhere near as bloody as a warrior's profession, but it was just as cut-throat, if not more so. Dignitaries involved in political plots, assassinations and disappearances were the everyday order when he yet called Cyrodiil his home. Now it seemed that the problems he thought he'd left behind had followed him.

He sighed. Now he had old and new problems to deal with. In all honesty, Spartacus didn't know what to make of his new found identity, nor the power that came with it. True, his apprehension and denial of who and what he was had left him, but the knowledge that he was destined to save the world still gave him pause.

The sound of approaching footsteps quickly pulled the Harbinger from his thoughts.

"A beautiful sight is it not?" She said as she came up beside the Nord. "To have all of Whiterun laid at your feet."

Spartacus shrugged, arms crossed over his chest. "It's the quiet respite from the celebration that draws me here."

Lisaa's eyes flashed with sudden realization. "My presence has shattered your peace," she said, turning to leave. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

Spartacus raised his hand. "No, linger. I would not drive you from the balcony of your own home."

Smiling, Lisaa returned to the young warrior's side. She stood silent for a moment, wondering if he would say anything. When he did not speak, Lisaa decided to break the silence between them.

"My father tells me that you head for High Hrothgar tomorrow." she said.

The Harbinger shrugged. "I suppose so."

Lisaa shot the Nord a look. "You suppose so? You make it sound like you don't want to go."

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just..." Spartacus struggled to put his thoughts into words. "I don't know what to think about all this. It's all so sudden.

"I suppose you're right." Lisaa said quietly. "It isn't everyday that one discovers they are Dragonborn."

Another moment of silence passed between the two before the Harbinger finally spoke.

"How is your father doing?" he suddenly asked.

Lisaa was momentarily stunned by his sudden question, but quickly regained her composure. "He's doing well I suppose, though I suspect he's growing weary of all the nobles and dignitaries."

Spartacus snorted. "Who wouldn't grow tired of that rabble."

"Indeed," the princess agreed. "They are a most troublesome and irritable lot, but the merchants at least have their uses."

"True enough," the Nord agreed with a nod. "With the war tearing Skyrim apart Whiterun will need all the financial support the nobles and merchants will give, not to mention recruitment for more armed guards."

Lisaa's expression turned melancholy, and her eyes slowly drifted downward until they settled on the stone floor beneath them. "This war... my father says he is more concerned about the return of the dragons, but I know he fears what might happen to us."

At that, Spartacus tuned his gaze upon the young princess. "I've seen you father deal with a wide variety of problems with absolute fearlessness," the young Nord told her. "What could this war have that would frighten your father of all people?"

Lisaa paced back and fourth, uncertainty clearly written upon her delicate face. "My father knows that he cannot remain neutral in this war for much longer, that sooner or later he will have to choose a side."

"If I'm not mistaken, you father is a supporter of sorts for the empire, am I right?" Spartacus inquired.

Lisaa nodded. "Yes, to a point. He does not agree with the way they operate in Skyrim, or the way haul off anyone suspected of being a Stormcloak spy. He doesn't begrudge Ulfric or the other Stormcloaks for fighting for what they believe in, but he knows that killing the High King and starting a war is the last thing Skyrim needs."

Spartacus slowly nodded his head. After Kodlak had passed and he assumed leadership of the Companions, he avoided the war like the plague. Just as Vilkas had told him, there were many things to fight for, but this war had none.

"But my fathers greatest fear is being driven out of Dragonsreach by the Stormcloaks," Lisaa continued. "Should they attack Whiterun and emerge victorious, we'll be forced to flee to Solitude, assuming Ulfric lets us live."

"That wont happen." Spartacus said, turning to face the young princess.

Lisaa looked upon the young Nord, mouth slightly agape, stunned by his words. "How?" She asked. "How can you be so certain of that?"

The Harbinger's words were soft, but held the confidence and resolve that Lisaa had heard so much about.

"Because I wont allow it to happen," he said. "Your father has been kind to me since the day fumbled through the doors of the palace. Even despite not knowing who I was or where I'd come from, he placed his faith in me."

Spartacus watched as the young woman's eyes became teary. After a long pause, he continued. "Whiterun is my home, and I'll defend it with my life. If Ulfric, Tullius or even the Emperor march their forces to the gates, rest assured, I'll stand in defense of Whiterun until I fall. Of that, you can be certain."

Lisaa felt her throat swell up and bit her lip, trying to keep her tears from surfacing. "Thank you, Spartacus. Thank you."

The young warrior simply nodded. "Go, rejoin celebration. I'll be there shortly."

With a nod, Lisaa made her way to the large double doors and vanished inside. With a sigh, Spartacus once again turned his gaze to the Tundra below him. It surprised him a bit at how much he had changed over the years. Had Lisaa voiced such concerns to him back then, he would have laughed in her face and consigned her to an early grave.

He cringed at the thought. To have been such a heartless bastard disgusted him more than anything. It was like a stain on his very soul, one he wished he could erase from his memory for good. Though his memories troubled him, he had long ago resolved to never let them decide who he was or dictate his actions.

Many of the people he'd met over the course of his life believed he was blessed by gods. Spartacus himself never did believe in them, not since he was a child. But, as he stared up at the starry Skyrim night, he began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, the divines really were involved in his life.

Pushing the thoughts aside, the Harbinger turned on his heels and headed for the doors leading back to the celebration. For now, the path to becoming Skyrim's greatest hero would have to wait.

Hey guys and gals, how you been? Again, I'm not dead, nor have I given up on this story. There's one word that'll tell you guys why it took me so long to update: work. What with my job at the warehouse, I haven't had time for anything. I literally wake up at five in the morning, go to work, work my ass off until six, go home, take a shower, eat and go to bed. Then, I wake up and do it all over again, lol.

Anyway, going back to the story, I apologize for the lack of action in this chapter, but it is RIGHT after the dragon battle, so... yeah. This chapter has more of a filler-ish type of feel, as you've seen, but things are gonna pick up next chapter.

Now, I had gotten a PM about the Harbinger's name, so lemme go ahead and explain that. I'm going to be doing my own head canon with the name Spartacus. If you've read anything about it, the name has a few different ways it's spelled, so that will tie in with my lore.

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter in the Instruction Arc, and i'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible.

Until the next chapter!

~Bang