Aaron I

Aaron had never liked the politically driven nature of High Rock.

He had been born poor, in Crosswych just north of Daggerfall, nearing the border of Stormhaven. It was a town that existed sporadically, constantly coming under siege by one group or the other, good folk turned to bandits, usually as a result of whatever politics the various kings called into action.

The kings of High Rock committed to a different type of rulership. It was a dark, sinister environment, filled with intrigue and a complete and utter lack of remorse or care for your fellow man. Filled with behaviors that one would only describe as evil and foul. No room for the honorable man. This was a realm where only cutthroats and malicious schemes thrived, cutting like a knife through any illusions, or defense, of a way of honor. It was a culture so engraved into the very being of the province that even the Empire's own efforts proved a failure in dismantling it. Only the Corsar Republic of Wayrest offered an alternative, even if it was just trading one cutthroat for another. There was no avoiding it, High Rock was a political abomination, and the kings who lived there loved it.

So when Aegon came to him with the news of his father's passing, Aaron knew well enough what should be done. When one was to lose someone of that relation, they should pay heed to respect the dead. Their absence from High Rock was just a benefit on top of an already sacred duty.

Aaron had been knighted by King Aslan nearly seven years ago, the youngest knight of his generation. He was deeply rooted in the politics of the region, much to the joy of Aslan and the disdain of Arthur himself. He missed the talks between him and Ser Wallace, the knight whom he squired for, and a man who shared his distaste for the politics of their homeland. He was raised to act with honor, to never backstab your fellow man, to only swing his blade when it was just, never for personal folly. Of course, these were the tenants of Ser Wallace and himself. The common knight would see no issue partaking in the acts of intrigue that plagued the Iliac Bay. Honor was for a dead man.

For his own sake, Aaron agreed to make pace for Skyrim, King Aslan would have to make do without him, something that the knight was sure the old gloryhound would be none too pleased about, not that Aaron particularly minded. It would be the first bout of freedom he's had in a long while.

He stood at the center of Daggerfall Castle's throne room where the air was chilled and light was dim. "The Grand Circle," Aslan had called it. His throne stood large and proud, clad in dark red leather, like a cloth stained deep with blood. Dragons were etched into the deep oak, their wings dancing and spiraling up its frame, all ending with their mighty heads serving as arm rests. It was a new creation, the throne, serving as testament to Daggerfall's sigil. That damn sigil, Aaron certainly had seen enough of its likeness, donning every paper he read and even his own armor. He didn't have a distaste for it but King Aslan certainly took pleasure in reminding him whom he served.

Aaron found Aslan at the peak of the courtroom, seated on his extravagant throne. A massive greatsword laid across his lap, glinting as he polished it with a soft silk cloth. His father had used that blade, as had his father before him. It was a product of his family's great history, one that had been further glorified by their victory during the time of Emperor Uriel the Seventh.

"My king," he greeted softly.

He lifted his gaze, engaging eye contact. "Ser Aaron," he said. His voice was formal and deep. "I hear that all went well in Betony. How was the Abecean?"

The king would always ask him that. "Well, my lord. The waters were unusually calm." He kneeled low, tucking his head down low. "Ser Orrent and the squires were just as well. Young Anders was particularly taken with the isle."

"And Aegon?" Aslan asked.

"He performed his duties well," he informed. "Especially given his experience."

Aslan frowned. "I trust he has received word of his father? Dreadful news from Skyrim."

"Yes," Aaron agreed. Of course Aslan would have already heard, he always did. The man would've done well as a spy master if he wasn't already king. The royals of High Rock had their hands in every pot, especially the King of Daggerfall. Aaron internally gagged at the way these nobles behaved, no honor.

"The man died honorably, I'll give him that," Aslan said. He fidgeted with the hilt of his blade. He ran a cloth lightly up the length of the greatsword, cleansing the metal in oil. "I imagine that you wish to ask for leave then?"

"Yes, my Lord," Aaron replied, nodding his head. He was surprised, it wasn't in Alsan's character to so calmly pick his brain. The man was known for his anger in his old age, a trait that most of Daggerfall Kingdom knew well. He supposed the man had his own twisted sense of honor, unlike the other royals of the Illiac. He pictured himself a manifestation of his grandfather.

"I will allow it," Aslan said mirthfully. "A son should pay his respects, especially when his father was Torygg the Wolf." His tone grew stern. "You will be on assignment there as well."

"Assignment?" he asked.

"Indeed," Aslan lifted his blade, sheathing it swiftly. "War has broken out across the province, it is the turning of an age for the people of the north. Cyrodil has called forth its legions, I wish for you to update me on their progress."

"Their progress?"

"The Empire has lost the support of the elves and beastfolk, Hammerfell was taken, Morrowind was dealt the worst blow of all. That dreaded Red Year has all but turned the province to ash, it's a mystery to me how they had enough strength left to halt the argonians."

"I see," Aaron understood.

Aslan saw the glint in his eyes. "We will not fall like the others. I will not allow it."

"You wish for us to spy then? Perhaps intervene if needed?" He glanced at the red dragon banner that hung behind the throne, a symbol of Daggerfall's ambition. It stood strong, powerful, a dominating force against all.

His mouth was a thin line. "You will not intervene unless I command it. Solitude will not be taken, but still I wish to be safe. My birds tell me it might be over sooner than Ulfric would have hoped."

"Ulfric is protected by the wall of the Eastern kingdoms, why would he possibly surrender?" Aaron reminded him.

"I ought to know better than to be subtle with The Dragon," he used the nickname ruefully. He stood and stretched, old bones seeming to creak. "Ulfric will be captured in the coming months, mark my words. Aegon will be witness to the Bear's execution. Do you understand?"

Aaron clenched his fist. "I will uphold your will, my lord." His confusion was still evident, he made it known. "What if he is not captured? What is your command then?"

His eyes found Aaron's own, hard like the man's posture, he pondered his response. Aslan was not a man to be told that he was incorrect, a trait he received from his father. Aaron knew what the man was going to command. Aaron was known as The Dragon of Daggerfall, a moniker he has received a number of years ago during his siege of Crosswych. When bandit kings slaughtered a number of the village folk, the newly knighted Ser Aaron had razed their camps to the ground. He declared himself a dragonknight soon after, signifying his single-handed resurrection of the combat style made popular during the age of the Daggerfall Covenant.

A fact that Aslan has called into play often.

And just a number of months ago, the man was granted a squire to train, the second generation of dragonknight, at least that is what Ser Aaron hoped would be the case.

"If he does remain free…" he said. "You will intervene."

"I will not have our benefactors diminished any moreso than they already have been. I refuse to have enemies at or our borders. What happened in Hammerfell will not be allowed to occur again."

"I understand," Aaron said. He could see the ambition on his face. "Your will," he said with a pause. "I will uphold it. Anything else, my lord?"

Aslan shook his head. "Just do what you can, be there for the boy. It is not easy to lose a father, bastard or not…"

"Go to him," Aslan urged. "Take care of your squire, Aslan. That boy needs laughter in times like this."

"I will do what I can," Aaron said. "Perhaps I can convince him to have a tumble with some lass."

It took Aslan a moment to comprehend his words, but when the understanding came, he erupted into laughter. "Perhaps you could."

Aslan wished he could guarantee such a response from Aegon. But he had heard the talk between him and Anders; vengeance, war, and death. He shivered as if he were in bitter cold, he worried about the boy's ambition. He wanted the Bear's head. "I certainly hope so," he said. "For his own sake."

"Indeed," Aslan sighed. "Lady Elisif will be expecting you. I'll send a courier with word of your upcoming arrival, he should be there a week prior to your arrival." He made to walk past Aaron. "You should leave by tomorrow evening."

"I should think traversal through Wayrest will be quote the pain. Especially once we reach the mountains."

"Your journey should not be too difficult, the reachmen shouldn't give you too much trouble," he said. "They have become weakened these last couple of years."

"I'm sure Madanach being imprisoned has also affected their morale," he told him.

Aslan smirked at that. He found it rather humorous when the reachmen were brought down by Ulfric and and his men. There was no love to be had between the kingdoms of High Rock and the barbarians of the mountains, Aaron knew. The Reachmen were known to partake in all sorts of brutal ceremony, having hags replace their hearts with poisoned seeds. Their attempt to usurp the kingdom of Markarth as their own had also driven a fine wedge between them and the more 'civilized cultures.' Aslan chuckled. "May he rot in their mines."

"Where a king resides, his people follow. They will be weakened without leadership, I would be surprised of they lasted the next couple winters."

"They will last," Aslan told him. "No people ever die out, at least not in completion. They may fragment, become diluted, but they will remain."

Aaron squeezed the pommel of his sheathed blade. "An unfortunate truth, my lord. We will prepare for our leave. Aegon will need guidance and a firm hand during the coming months, I will make sure that it is provided. He will be a man by the time we return."

Aslan smiled, almost knowingly. "Not a man."

"My lord?"

"By the time you return, that boy will be more than a man."

Ser Aaron blinked in confusion, waiting for the king to continue.

"That boy will be a Dragon."