CHAPTER II

I shot up, sweat dripping off me, and my hand shaking as I swung my rusted sword through the silent night. I panted, blinking rapidly as I stared in to the pitch black abyss that spread itself on the edges of my fading fire. I ran a hand over my face, taking a moment for the sadness to pass.

Nearly twenty years had passed since that night...

Yet it still remained vivid and excruciating in all of my dreams. Perhaps the gods were sending it to stop me from taking the path I was on.

I scoffed, poking at the flames with my soft toed boot. Who was I kidding. There were no gods left. They died the night my parents did. Tullius snuffed them out, like everything else I loved.

I heaved a long sigh, my eyes heavy from the previous sleepless nights. 'When you grow up...' My fathers voice still echoed in my head. I moaned, desperate to be rid of it all.

'...brave and strong...You must promise...'

"Enough." I growled, rubbing my palms in to my tired eyes.

'...you will take the throne. You must make Tullius pay for his crimes.'

"No!" I cried, causing the sleeping birds to jolt from sleep and take flight. "I cannot." I whispered, gripping the back of my head, and squeezing my eyes shut.

"I cannot."

"You! Boy!"

Sicarius limped towards the guard, his mouth like cotton, and his face sunburned and gaunt. He looked up in to the metal face of the gatesman, uttering only a single word before collapsing against him.

"Father."

When he awoke, the boy was met with soft candle light, and scratchy sheets. He blinked slowly, trying to adjust to the dimness of the room. An old woman hunched above him, scowling.

"About time, you woke up."

"Where-" Sicarius croaked. "Whe-"

"Riften. You're in Riften."

"My bag." The boy said meekly, trying to sit up.

"You mean this ratty thing?" The woman said, lifting it above his head.

He reached for it, but she only laughed and cast it aside.

He once more tried to sit up, only to have his weakened body betray him and crash back against the pillow.

"My name is Grelod. And you'll be here until you come of age and get thrown in to that wide world to rot."

"But my bag-"

"It's not yours anymore, you brat!" Grelod snapped, cackling as she took it from him.

Unable to protest, he simply fell back against the pillow, and let the tears flow once more.

Sleep evading me, I stomped out my fire and trekked along through the still sleeping forest. The sun stretched it's golden fingers above the proud mountains, preparing to spread it's rousing rays across the slumbering land. The untouched air still chilled my scarcely covered skin, and the cold of the ground leeched right through my tattered boots. Hammerfell would bear better luck.

Or so I hoped...

I'd hole up in a tavern, making gold anyway I could, and hopefully I could drink enough mead to forget the past which insisted on haunting me.

My satchel felt heavier than ever as I stumbled upon the cobblestone road that lead in to Riverwood. The town was silent, not yet graced by the morning. I jogged along the babbling stream that fed in to the river, and across the bridge to the saw mill. I waded across the raging rapids, and stopped, panting, in the clearing across from the town. I took my pack off, setting it on the ground. I closed my eyes, pulling a long breath of the cold Skyrim air in to my lungs. I felt peace. For a sliver of time nothing was wrong. A fresh breath, and a beautiful morning in a land likened to the harshest of mistresses.

But despite all of her dangers, I could not deny one thing...

Skyrim was my home. As it had been for all of my ancestors.

I would be lying if I said this day would be easy.

I kneeled before the bag, delicately parting the leather and removing the cloth bound Book Aesir.

I tossed back the covering, and felt another wave of sadness crash over me as I came face to face with the bejewelled cover. I ran my fingers over the intricate design, feeling the buzz of power in it's pages. My eyes began to well with tears, as I once more recalled that fateful night twenty years ago.

I had made a promise. In my fathers last moments I promised I would avenge our name...

Now I was shying away from my destiny. Casting it away in some log for it to rot and decay at the hands of nature. I opened the book, touching my fathers name.

"I am sorry." I whispered, a single tear rolling down my dirt caked cheeks. I placed the book gently upon some brush, along with my fathers ring. I rose from the ground, running south along the rushing water.

I did not look back.

Weeks had passed, and still, young Sicarius could not recaptured his satchel. Though he couldn't fathom why, he felt he needed to obtain it. To have it close. His father would have wanted that. He peeked in to Grelod's door in the night. The other children lay sound asleep in their beds, the winter wind howled outside.

He shuffled his feet on the wood, as he crept closer to the ajar door.

Grelod sat hunched over her table in the corner, her back to the boy.

On cold bare feet, he snuck around the termite infested planks of the orphanage. His satchel lay at the foot of the wretch's bed. His heart pounded, and he I held his breath as he reached for the bag. He placed his foot, and the rotting wood gave way beneath the boys weight. He gasped, and Grelod whirled around.

"You! What do you think you're doing."

Sicarius gripped the satchel to his chest, back peddling away from the hag. She took him by the wrist, pulling him away from the door. The children had awakened, and were whispering fearfully from their beds.

Sicarius did the only thing he knew how. The same thing his ancestors had built their mighty bloodline upon.

He fought.

Throwing a wild haymaker, he landed his punch square in Grelod's saggy jaw. With a cry of pain, she crumpled to the ground. The boy clutched the bag as if it were a thread hanging him from the heavens. As if to let it go would mean certain death.

And he ran. He ran from the orphanage, through the rabble of the Riften market, and out the city gates.

When he could run no more, and the sound of the chasing guards had faded to the woodland chatter, he sank to the ground.

Touching the amulet of akatosh, he began to cry.

Sicarius sat sobbing in the forest of Skyrim...His family dead, and his kingdom stolen.

"When I get bigger." He whispered. "Stronger." He closed his small fist around the ring, trying to infuse himself with it's power.

"I will take back the throne. Tullius will pay."

I trekked along the road, climbing the incline that led to the border in to Hammerfell. Soon...Soon I'd be rid of the burden of my name. No one would know me. I would be free of the curse Father placed upon my young head.

The stone archway loomed in the distance. The portal to my escape.

The gates of my salvation.

I quickened my pace, each step feeling lighter, and more invigorated with excitement. So close...

I blasted in to full pelt, desperate for the border. Everything counted on reaching the border.

I cleared the crest, ready to leap across the threshold, only to be stopped dead in my tracks by the red-clad imperials, dragging the blue stormcloaks behind them.

I panted, my heart sinking at the sight.

"Well well well." One of the horse riding soldiers said. He removed his helmet,squinting at me against the rising sun. "Looks like we got ourselves a runaway."

Tullius stared down at me, and my blood began to boil. My mind pounded out flashbacks of that night, the image of my bleeding father blazing behind my eyes.

"You picked a bad time to border hop, Nord." He said. He whistled to his men, who rushed forward and dragged me down to the stony ground. A foot pressed against the back of my head, I growled against the cobblestone, resisting against the Imperials.

I screamed out, kicking and fighting my away from them. I was so close...

"Bash him!"

I saw a steel shield come crashing towards my face, and then I only saw black.