CHAPTER III

I rolled my head, groaning as it pounded and throbbed. I was in the back of a carriage, being jostled about as it clattered down the cobblestone hills leading back to Skyrim.

"Hey. You. You're finally awake." The Stormcloak opposite me said.

I blinked slowly, my hands bound by the wrist at my front. I shifted in my seat, trying to take in what was happening.

"You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right in to that Imperial ambush. Same as us. And that thief over there." He jerked his chin to the left, where a ragged looking Nord was hunched over.

"Damn you Stormcloak's. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He shot a look of disgust at the Stormcloak, scuffing his cloth boot against the rough wood of the carriage. "You and me-" He said nodding my way. "We shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloak's the Empire wants."

I said nothing. I only sighed, staring back at the familiar Skyrim heavens. Which god was tormenting me today?

"We're all brothers in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" The driver spat, snapping the reins.

"Whats wrong with him?" The horse thief said, pointing to the man across from him.

I stole a glance at him, noting his expensive attire first. Deep blacks and purples, giveaway's of power and fortune. A black strip was tied across his mouth, which he could only mumble against.

"Watch your tongue!" The Stormcloak commanded. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak. The true high king."

I felt my anger rise at such a claim. But I still said nothing.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" He furrowed his brow, and then his eyes went wide with realization. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you...Oh gods." He sobbed, his head in his hands. "Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

"No. This cant be happening. This isn't happening." The thief continued to sob, convulsing wildly.

"Hey. What Village are you from horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" He snapped, wiping furiously at his dirty cheeks.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead...I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

"What about you?" The Stormcloak said, turning his stern gaze upon me. "Where are you from?"

I stared back, showing only rage, and hatred. "It does not matter where I am from. For when this carriage stops, we will all reside in the ground."

"Maybe you will. Sovngarde is waiting for me."

"There is no Sovngarde. You lived for naught, and you will die for naught."

His forehead creased, but he argued no further.

"This is Helgen." He pondered as we passed beneath the stone gates. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with Juniper berries mixed in." He chuckled, wringing his hands beneath his bounds. "It's funny. When I was a boy...Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

We were paraded through the small town, it's inhabitants gawking as we rolled closer and closer to our death.

The carriage halted, the horses whinnying, grateful for the moments rest.

"Why are we stopping?" the Thief whimpered.

"Why do you think?" The Stormcloak scoffed. "End of the line."

"Move it!" An Imperial barked, and we filed out of the carriage.

A fearsome looking imperial soldier donning the glinting silver armor of the Legate stood before us. Beside her, a lightly armored young man holding a large piece of parchment and a feathery quill.

She nodded to him, and he squinted at the text written. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

Ulfric stepped forth, taking his place among the other prisoners crowding beside the executioner.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The Stormcloak said.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The blue-clad Stormcloak stepped forward, chin high, looking proud to die.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No! You can't do this!" The horse thief cried, tripping forward.

"Halt!" The legate commanded.

He scrambled past her, dashing down the cobblestone. "You're not gonna kill me!"

"Archers!"

I heard the stretch of a bowstring, and an arrow flew through the air and caught Lokir in the back. He fell groaning to the ground, dead instantly.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The legate challenged.

"You there!" The young imperial waved his quill at me. "Step forward."

I took a few strides, standing tall before him.

"Who are you?"

I opened my mouth, planning on saying no one...

But something stopped me.

Here I was, running from my past, desecrating my identity. And for what?

A promise I had been forced to make to my desperate father. A king, who watched thousands of years of history crumble at his feet, and sent his son to his doom. All for the greater good of a stupid name.

My name. A name which was laden with the sins and sorrows of generations of foolhardy men sitting atop a golden throne of god-given hubris.

And yet...It was a name which scorched the pages of Skyrim's mighty history. The Aesir's were gods. Each of them beings descended from excellence, born of greatness. We were the foundation which the great north was built upon. The mighty sword and shield which with it's last crushing blow defended it's homeland.

Even through all our foolishness, and all our inequities our blood bestowed...

I wished to say my name. In the face of death, I wished for the world to know that the Aesir blood coursed proud till the end. The closest I could come to honor.

I stared up at Tullius, who sat upon his horse not far behind the Legate and her scribe. And with the voice of my ancestors...I proudly proclaimed that which I had been desperate to keep hidden.

"I am Sicarius, son of Skjoldur, of House Aesir. Risen under the first sun, descendant of the gods, first born of the new Nirn."

Tullius' eyes went wide.

The young Imperial's jaw dropped, and he frantically stared around at his equally shocked companions. A wave of gasps and whispers erupted from the crowd. Ulfric Stormcloak chuckled from his place in the crowd.

"Wh-What should we do?" He stammered, swallowing hard. "He's not on the list."

"You fool! Forget the list!" Tullius barked. "He goes to the block!"

"By your orders." The imperial actually looked at me with sympathy. "I'm sorry." he said. "At least you'll die here. In your homeland."

"Do not give him your apologies." Tullius sneered. "He will die just like all the rest of his filthy line."

"I am not my ancestors." I said, glaring at the General.

"But you bear their wounds. And their sins." He smiled, pointing to the block. "And for that...My pikes will bear your head."

In four strides I stood before the executioner, who was polishing Stormcloak blood off his blade. Clearing the space for my own.

"The Aesir next." General Tullius said.

The massive headsman laughed darkly, tapping his axe against the block. "I've never killed royalty."

"I suggest you savor it." I said, as I was forced to my knees. Tullius pressed his foot to my back, easing me on to the cold stone chopping block. "For no more royals will occupy this age."

The headsman raised his blade, ready to make the killing blow. I closed my eyes, preparing.

Then a screech echoed in the sky, making him stay his hand and scan the heavens in confusion.

"What was that?" he mumbled.

"It's nothing." Tullius assured. "Carry on."

He shrugged, once more raising his axe. The screech sounded again.

"What in oblivion is that?!" Tullius shrieked, his foot releasing me.

"Sentries! What do you see?"

"It's in the clouds!" The man atop the tower said.

I shot my gaze to the skies, and watched as a gigantic black beast landed atop the tower. It raised its terrifying head, roaring in to the calm sky. The blue swirled to black, and it beat its wings against the conjured storm. Balls of fire began to rain down from the malevolent clouds, the earth shaking beneath the might of the beast.

"Dragon!" a woman screamed.

The dragon leaped in to it's destruction, breaking the tower and allowing the rubble tumble down. One crushed the headsman, leaving me to scramble to my feet and run. Chaos consumed the streets, fire blazing down the cobblestone and swallowing up everything in sight. Hands bound, I ran awkwardly away from the madness, only to find more at every turn.

Archers notched arrow after arrow, trying to get the monster down. Nothing seemed to phase it. It only continued to spray it's evil forth, torching all who opposed.

When it did land, it let loose a jet of hell fire, and a swing of its barbed tail.

"We are leaving!" Tullius cried over top the battle, swinging his sword in the direction of the gates. I stopped before him, panting. He stood between me and the crumbled wall. My escape.

He narrowed his gaze, and gave a long cry before heaving his sword at me.

I raised my hands, falling backward and catching his blade against my bounds. He sliced through them easily, leaving the next target my face. With all my might I kicked him in the chest, sending him soaring in to the burning remains of Helgen.

I scooped up his sword, and made the mad dash to the forests.

Helgen in flames behind me, the ancient beast flying north, I collapsed against a rock face, willing myself a moments rest.

My breathing ragged, my heart doing double time, I gripped the imperial steel.

When my heart stilled, I rose to my feet. Silence. The forest remained untouched, serene, even after the evil that had passed by. I took a few steps away from the wall of rock, and swung my gaze around.

Standing proudly before me, the bodies of worshipers strewn at his feet, was Talos.

He gazed bravely in to the distance, his symbol humming with the ancient magic I had long abandoned.

I dropped to my knees before him, staring painfully in to the harsh Skyrim sun.

"Thank you." I whispered.

And for the first time since I left solitude...I prayed. To whatever odd gods would still listen.

When I felt my dues had been paid, I snatched up the battered steel shield of one of the priests in my spare hand. He wouldn't be needing it

I stalked through the forest, sword raised and ready for some stupid imperial to challenge me. Instead of Imperials, however, I found a group of bandits. One of them wore newly smithed iron armor. Four of them clustered around the fire, oblivious to me. I shifted nervously from my spot in the bushes, preparing to strike.

Suddenly, a crack of lightning shot forth and killed one of the bandits. I swore beneath my breath, charging forward to finish them off. Bashing one with my shield, and stabbing the other in the neck.

"No! Not like this!" Someone cried.

I spun on my heel, watching as a bandit raised his axe over a cowering Nord.

I brought my shield arm back, holding the leather handle only by my fingertips. With a grunt, I sent it flying forward, hitting the bandit between the shoulder blades with an earsplitting clang. He crashed to the ground, quivering as he tried to get up. I came in with a flying foot, knocking him out.

"T-Thank you, stranger." The man groaned, standing stiffly and brushing the dirt off his blue tunic.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

"I'm a bard by trade." He said, giving a big grin. "I'm travelling across the land in search of song. And what better time to write a song, when brother fights brother."

"Song's of war are sung in times of sadness."

"Unless they are songs of glorious victory."

I laughed darkly. "There will be no victory in this war."

"We will see." the brad chirped.

"Best of luck on your travels, bard." I said, kneeling over the fallen bandit and beginning to strip him of his dented and scratched iron armor.

"What on earth are you doing?" The bard marveled.

"Surviving. As best I can." I answered simply, clipping the breastplate in to place.

It wrapped tightly around my chest, constraining me, and limiting my sword arms movement. It would have to do for now. "Where is the nearest blacksmith?"

"Riverwood." He said, still staring at me oddly. "If you're desperate. Alvor's a good man. But he's a mediocre smith. If you want quality, you can make the trip up to Whiterun. Warmaiden's is very good. Though Eorland Greymane runs Skyforge. If you're oblivion bent on Nord craftsmanship."

"Thank you." I said, slipping on the iron gauntlets and continuing on.

It seemed I had barely moved an inch before another distraction stalled my travels.

"You there! Nord!" Someone croaked.

I scanned the side of the road, where an imperial lay in the bushes.

Cautiously, I approached the struggling man. He was halfheartedly gripping a bow in one hand, the other pressed to his stomach.

"Wolves. They...they ambushed me." He winced. "At least...At least I finished them off."

I looked around the still forest, then back at the wounded imperial. How could I be expected to help him? After all they had done to me...To my family.

"I'm sorry." I said, standing over him and turning to leave.

"Please!" He cried. "I was kind to you!"

I stopped, taking another glance at him.

"You were the scribe." I marveled.

He nodded, gasping as his air became shorter with ever passing moment.

"Still...You would have killed me."

"This war be damned! I'm just a man! Have a heart."

"Had one." I said coldly. "Your revered General Tullius tore it to pieces. Many years ago."

The imperial gave a long cry, thrashing about painfully in the dirt. "You bastard! Tullius will kill you! The entire Imperial army knows who you are. They will find you!"

"For their sake, you better hope they do not find me."

"Rot, Aesir scum!" He spat.

"At least you'll die here." I said, smiling cruelly. "In your homeland."

He gave another long scream, and they did not cease until I was long gone out of earshot.

When the forest cleared to meet the river, I got a view of what was ahead. Riverwood lay nestled between the mountain and water, bustling with it's late afternoon activity. The Barrow loomed over it, ever watchful. And Whiterun stood further still...A solemn, and sturdy protector.

As I surveyed my path, I felt a pang in my chest. So severe, I stumbled backwards. I clutched my iron-clad breast, my breath catching in my closing throat.

And then I recalled.

The lone log across the river...It practically hummed with energy. My blood was pulsing wildly beneath my skin, pulling me towards that which I had cast away.

'As long as Aesir Blood flows...this kingdom will live on.' My father's voice sounded in my head, and my godly-blood spiked in my veins.

Like I was being pulled along by a golden thread by some unseen entity, I followed the path to the rotten log. It was ironic...That such artifacts had been cast in a place so uninspiring. A dead, and decaying piece of wood.

Yet it was also fitting. A place of desecration was the most appropriate house for artifacts belonging to a shattered name. A broken crown, and defiled line.

I crouched before the opening of the log, the golden cover of the Book Aesir glinting in the sunlight that leaked through the crumbling wood canopy. I ran my fingers over the cover, sweeping away the dirt that had gathered there.

"I'm sorry." I said, just as I had when I left it. I picked up the abandoned satchel, carefully slipping the book inside.

The amulet of Akatosh twinkled in the sunshine. I slipped it over my head, bringing the symbol to my lips before casting my gaze once more to the sky.

"Tullius will pay." I whispered. "I promise you."

"Hail, friend." The blacksmith said from the grindstone, as I cleared the steps of his forge.

"Good day." I replied, allowing my bag to slide to the floor. "You must be Alvor."

"Aye." He said.

I unlatched my armor, moaning gratefully and rolling my tight shoulders.

"That needs to be fitted." Alvor noted.

I chuckled, placing it on the work bench. "Yes. That's why I'm here."

"Shall I take a look?"

I pondered the armor for a moment. "Well that all depends."

"On?"

"Are you any good?" I chuckled.

His beard twitched as his lips drew in to a grin. "For a price. I'm the best."

"That is quite the claim."

"If you have the coin, I could craft you armor that could take a giants club."

I patted my satchel, but the clink of coins did not sound. "Could I make you a deal?"

His brows came together, appraising me. "What kind of deal?"

"Fix my armor now, and when it is fixed I will go and get you your coin."

"Hmm." He scratched at his blackened chin. "I don't know..."

"Nord's honor." I said, offering my hand to solidify the proposition.

He still held an uneasy gaze, but grasped my hand firmly. "You best not double cross me, stranger."

"Not in my wildest dreams."

"Leave your gear on the bench. I'll be done with it soon. Might think about heading up to the inn. Delphine usually has some things to do for someone looking for coin."

"Thank you. I think I will."

I left him to his steel, crossing the tiny village to get to the Sleeping Giant Inn.

As soon as I crossed the threshold to the inn, I was instantly enveloped in merriment and warmth. The hearth blazed in the center of the room, a spit spinning meat and sending it's succulent scent to every corner of the bustling building. Patrons of the bar dotted the long tables, clinking cups and laughing as they filled their bellies with the amber-colored drink.

A bard struck out a joyful tune, adding to the buzz of the scene.

I made my way through the happy crowd, to the scowling barman at the opposite end.

"Yeah?" He growled, looking me up and down in disgust.

"I'm looking for work." I shouted over the rabble.

"Talk to Delphine." He said, jerking his chin to the barmaid who was serving up a tray of drinks to cluster of rowdy elves.

I nodded my thanks, but he only scoffed.

"Excuse me." I called over the noise, approaching the wildflower blue clad woman.

"Be with you in a minute." She shot over her shoulder, laughing at the elves.

Growing impatient, I reached for her shoulder. Before I could make contact she whipped on me, holding a dagger out. Throwing my hands up in surrender, I raised an eyebrow.

"I said wait." She hissed,

"I'm just looking for work."

"And why should I help you, outsider?"

I narrowed my gaze at her. "You won't receive many patrons if you treat them like this."

She laughed, returning her dagger to its sheath. "I have no need for patrons like you. Get out of my bar."

"Give me work." I said slowly.

She glared at me, her fists clenching at her sides. "Talk to Lucan down at the trader. He's got a problem you may be able to help with."

"Thank you." I said between clenched teeth, leaving the bar to it's business.

"I said no!" The shopkeeper yelled as I entered, his fist pounding against the wood of his counter as he erupted. "No adventures, no theatrics...No bandit hunting!"

The woman he was yelling at scowled. "Hmm." She turned away, catching me in the doorway and turning red with embarrassment. "Oh. Hello there." She batted her lashes, taking a seat next to the fire.

"I hear you have a little bit of a problem." I said, flitting my gaze between the woman and Lucan.

"Uh...Yes. Some thieves broke in to my shop. Made off with an artifact of mine. A dragon claw, made of solid gold."

"Where did they go?"

"Up to the barrow."

"I could get it back for you." I said.

"Really? I got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back."

"Consider it done."

"This is your plan, Lucan? Send some stranger after the claw?"

"I told you to stay out of this, Camilla!"

The woman, Camilla, glared at me. "Do you even know where the barrow is?"

"Yes. I do."

"If you don't bring back that claw, I will personally have you eliminated."

"You have my word, m'lady." I bowed slightly, emanating the charm gifted to me by blood.

She blushed again, her hand flitting around her neck. "Well then...If my brother trusts you, I suppose I do too. Be careful."

"Of course." I said, smiling.

"Ah! Just in time!" Alvor said excitedly, as I leaned against the workbench.

I picked up the dented and ill fitting armor I had left on the bench. "This is fine craftsmanship?" I asked, raising my brows at him.

He scoffed, waving off the shoddy piece. "No no. I told you...My armor can take a giant's club. That stuff crumbled under my hammer." He reached behind his tanning rack, looking overly too pleased with himself. When he popped back before me, he extended a newly shaped steel breastplate towards me.

I nodded in approval, running my hands over the smooth metal. "This is good."

"I told you. I know what I'm doing."

I strapped it on, glad to be able to breath in it. "Good fit too."

"I had to guess." He said, handing me the rest of the pieces.

Gauntlets, boots, shield.

"They're so light." I marveled.

"I temper them well."

"I can tell. With care." I smiled, as he handed me the blade next. I swung it about, my fingers curling naturally around the hilt. "Now...I'm off to get your coin."

"Wait." The blacksmith called as I turned to leave. "What is your name, kinsman?"

I glanced back at him, my gaze falling to the floor.

"Sicarius." I said quietly. I supposed it did not matter now...Soon all of Skyrim would know my name. "Sicarius Aesir."

Alvor's eyes went wide, and when he spoke his voice was a hushed. "Do you know what kind of trouble you can get in to for saying that name?"

"I do." I said, matching his tone. "But I do not wish you to fear it. The only person I want to feel fear when they hear that name is Tullius."

Alvor's blinked at me a few times, not saying anything more.

"Who do you support? Stormcloaks or Imperials?" I asked.

He shrugged, still gaping at me. "I am not a man of conflict."

I cracked a smile. "Not a man of conflict...Yet you base your livelihood upon it. You craft the tools for which it is waged. You are the builder of conflict. Each blade you craft will spill the blood of someone's enemy."

"Enough." He snapped, his face twisting in to anger. "I do not wish to see brothers spill one another's blood. I wish for peace. And if my blades will bring that...I may rest easy."

"Peace." I repeated. "Alvor the blacksmith wishes for peace."

"Aye." He said.

I raised my new blade, the polished steel reflecting the embers of the forge. "I can promise you...This blade will bring you peace. I will use it to gift you with the slumber you desire."

"For now I'd prefer my pay."

I chuckled, hopping on to the dirt beneath the forge steps. "As you wish."

I ducked beneath the rocks at the base of the mountain, Bleak Falls Barrow looming overhead. Two bandits were lurking around the crumbling tower that stood as the lone guardian to the treacherous inclining path. The first bandit was leaning against a tree, looking half asleep. One arrow would have taken care of him. The other was perched atop the tower, scanning the white landscape spread beneath him.

I rolled a smooth stone in my hand, tossing it gently and catching it in my other hand.

I drew in a breath of cold air, and popped up from my cover to hurl the rock in the direction of the lazy bandit.

Quickly ducking back down behind the rocks, I strained my ear to listen to him fall.

A grunt, and the thud of a body against the ground had me releasing my held breath.

"Who's there?" The bandit yelled. I heard the creak of a bow being drawn. He ran loudly down the stone steps, stumbling out in to the fresh snow. "Show yourself!" He bellowed.

I drew my sword, raised my shield, and barreled towards him. He gasped, but had time to do nothing else. I ran him through with my blade, leaving him to rot with his companion. I snatched up his wooden bow, strapping it across my back along with his handful of arrows. I jogged up the mountain, my breath rising in iced little clouds.

I crept along the stairs leading to the barrow. There was no sign of any other bandits, but the stillness of the area only heightened. I cleared the top of the steps, only to be met with an assault of battle cries and arrows. Ducking beneath my shield, I braced against the tall pillars which dotted outside the Barrow. My lungs feeling ready to burst, I glanced around my cover, only to be nearly killed by another hurtling arrow. I notched an arrow of my own, letting it loose at the sound of a laughing bandit. His glee was cut short as the tip of the arrow buried itself in his jugular. I drew back another, felling the next bandit. And the next...

Until finally they all lay dead, and I was free to enter Bleak Falls Barrow.