Aegon I

The dew was cold and damp, with a smell that hinted at the on-coming morning. They left for Skyspire Keep at dusk, about seven in total, and arrived just barely past dawn, tired and thirsty for drink. It was the fourth quest that Aegon had gone on as squire to Ser Aaron as a duty to the King of Daggerfall, Aslan of House Reinhold. It was the two-hundredth-first year of the fourth era, and the fifteenth of Aegon's life.

Skyspire Keep, built from the remains of the once orc-held Stonetooth Fortress, remained the home of Aslan's vassal. Aaron felt the man was a right ol' whoreson, a lord who thought more with his cock than with his crown. It made Aegon chuckle at the thought. He remembered the knight's ramblings from the night before. "The man is a dunce," he said, "less concerned with the matters of his people and more so with who shared his bed." It wasn't unknown that the lord had consorted with the whorehouses of Betony, he had probably sired a good number of bastards, much to the dismay of his wife. Though, according to Aaron, the woman had laid with the occasional sea-faring explorer herself.

But Aaron was not a particularly holy man in his own right, often indulging in the pleasures of the fairer sex, not unlike the Lord of Skyspire. He was an older man and well-built, standing a head or so taller than the rest of their party, a trait that earned him several lustful gazes in his years.

Traces of grass and stone mingled, forming the rock-clad path that paved the way through the cliffside, a testament to the impenetrable defenses of the stony keep. Aaron and Orrent stood tall and proud, Aegon following closely behind, carrying Aaron's equipment close to his chest, a duty of his as a squire. A small breeze blew through the gate's keep, of which they just arrived. He glanced down at the sigil of the Reinholds which anointed the chest-piece of Aaron's armor: a crimson dragon with wings spread behind it.

The vassal sat solemnly on his throne, brunette hair falling gracefully on his shoulders. His beard was finely trimmed, a look that made him appear older than his twenty-five years. His eyes were bright and lively, appearing all too well to match the tales Aaron told him by the fire yesterday evening. He glanced longingly at a maiden to his left, all but confirming the behaviors Aaron spoke of prior.

Aaron and the lord exchanged a number of questions and answers after the formalities of their arrival were done and over with. The Lord of Betony gave a command, causing a servant of his to hastily make her way over to the two men, awaiting further command intently. Her liege sent a haughty smack to her rear. Aegon could make out the disdainful look on his wife's face. "Hmph," her groan was easily heard. It gained the attention of her husband, who responded with a sigh and eye-roll. Aaron chuckled at the display, shooting a glance at the distraught woman. Aegon had seen that gaze before and smiled, amused by his knight's intentions. The Lady of Betony may have a new guest in her chambers tonight.

The knight smoothly removed his gloves and tossed them over to Aegon, who caught them swiftly. Aaron gestured for Aegon to follow and called out, "Boy, come place the gear in our quarters. We will be going to the local tavern for food and drink, I'll turn you loose after. By the Divines, we might even find Orrent a woman to have fun with." He laughed as the shorter man shot him a glare.

Orrent's own squire, Anders, followed next to Aegon. "Can't wait to hear about this all night," he whispered. "Those two are always bickering at each other. One would say they're married to themselves."

Aegon laughed heartily at that, causing the two knights ahead to turn back and stare.

The two older men lost interest soon after, returning to their bickering. Aegon enjoyed Anders' company, the boy was the younger brother to Ser Orrent, making his squireship a fascinating one. Unlike his elder brother, Anders was very much so suave and often had his way with a number of the lasses he encountered, tales of which Aegon was told often.

It was several minutes later when Aegon dropped the satchel and equipment onto the floor, a lone coin rolling to Aaron's feet. The knight chuckled, amused. He was light-hearted at nature and found much to be joyful of.

"Drop something?" Ser Aaron chuckled. He was a broad man, brown linen shirt hugging his form rather tightly, dark brunette hair curled at the top of his head. "You did well on the ride here," Aaron told him warmly. He was twenty-four, a wizened hand with a blade. He gestured again for Aegon to follow.

It was a cheery walk to the inn, now bright and illuminated as the sun, called Magnus, loomed overhead. Aegon kept pace with Anders, both staying a number of feet behind their sers, their boots very audibly smacking against the stone trail.

"Planning on visiting our good Lord of Betony's wife later, Ser Aaron?" Orrent asked. He was stocky and short, unlike his brother and Aegon's own ser, bearing resemblance to his father in Wayrest. "Going to make her howl like you did the wench in Deerbury?"

"Perhaps," Ser Aaron said mirthfully. "She did seem in need of a good romp with a dragon. I would be happy to oblige." His eyes were blue and seemed to crash like waves, a gaze that many a girl would get lost in. He was young and acted it, having his way with any lady that may want him. He was as gifted with his tongue as he was his sword, while Orrent lacked the former of the two talents, he made up for it with his ability to wield a poleaxe.

Orrent rolled his eyes. "If the good Lord catches you, perhaps he'll take your cock as well as your head," he goaded. "I can see it now, you tossing me shit from beyond the grave."

"Doubtful," Aaron said, all but kicking open the tavern door. "He'd probably be thankful for my service to his wife." Orrent laughed and hooted, signaling to Aegon and Anders that they were free to unravel.

Aegon didn't try to follow, losing himself in the bustle of the crowd. He had seen those two drink before, chaos would ensue if he were to join. After a moment, the holler of Ser Aaron became jumbled with the sounds of the inn.

He toned out the bustle, not noticing Anders waving for his attention. A nudge from the elder squire garnered his awareness. "What do you think, Aegon?" he questioned, not unjoyously.

"I think, Anders," Aegon told him. He turned his gaze to the blonde. Armored in cheap iron and leather, the insignia of his house evident on his shoulder, he stood tall and lean. "That you should ask me again."

"The women, brother," He gestured to the younger maidens that bustled about the small tavern.

Aegon glanced over, seeming unimpressed. "None for me today, I'll use my time for other matters."

"The Great Aegon once again not making time for a tussle with a lass," Anders teased. "Never would have guessed.

"We aren't all philanderers like yourself," Aegon jabbed. "Hopping from lay to lay."

His fellow squire smiled. "Not taking after Orrent, I hope? We can't have another sorry sot torturing our ears about abstinence and the like. Divines, could you imagine? I'd give it a week, maybe two, before Ser Aaron hangs you from a tree for the wolves. And he'd be right too. There's already one too many who are like Orrent."

Aegon chuckled at that. "There can only be one Orrent," he returned, voice certain.

"This is true," Anders admitted. "And aren't we all better off for it? I do wonder what it would be like if Orrent's way was more like my own, or even Ser Aaron's. Perhaps it's best that he doesn't partner with too many women, keeps him well enough out of trouble. I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue had he done like Ser Aaron and attempted to garner the good Lord of Skyspire's wife's attention."

The squire of Orrent let out an exhale, scratching the back of his blonde-haired head. Aegon laughed internally as he spotted the older boy's gaze trailing the rear of one of the tavern maids. While his elder brother may have a staunch desire to avoid trouble, Anders most certainly did not. It was humoring to Aegon that, despite being brothers, the two were quite different when it came to matters of self-control.

The two bantered for a couple of moments further when they were interrupted by a tapping on Aegon's shoulder. "I presume you are Ser Aegon? The good servants at Skyspire said I could find you here."

He urged the two to follow.

Anders sent Aegon a glance. "You have company?"

"It seems so," Aegon responded. "Come, let us see what trouble we've found for ourselves now."

They found the rather gaunt man several yards from the tavern, with a much larger brute standing beside him. The early summer sun was particularly hot this midday. The gaunt man stood nearly bare-clad, leaning back against the hefty trunk of an alder tree. He was eyeing down a slip of paper that his companion had unsheathed from his linen pocket, whispering something under his breath.

The squires trodded their way carefully over to the two men, making note of the burly one's posture, his angered look giving them a slight moment of unease. Aegon made note of the man's uniform, a courier. The gaunt man sighed, seeming glum as they approached. The tension slowly thickened. Aegon heard the disappointed sigh leave Anders' mouth. "This doesn't bode well," he muttered, internally preparing himself for what was to come.

The gaunt man presented the letter, making to hand it to Aegon. "I am quite sorry, lad." Aegon paled slightly as he gripped the letter in his hand.

Aegon unfolded the letter and read through its contents. "This can't be true," he uttered. "He's dead?"

The larger of the two men nodded, sternly. He reached around, revealing the blade that had adorned his back. Clad in a rather fine leather scabbard, adorned with the insignia of a wolf. Aegon recognized the blade, it was a sight that left his mouth dry.

Anders had made to reassuringly grip Aegon's shoulder, knowing all too well what the sword was. "Your father's sword?" His voice was hushed.

"Wolf Fang," Aegon told him.

"A fine blade," Anders said. "It represents your clan well."

Aegon's heart was thumping in his chest as gripped the weapon in hand, gently prodding it out of the scabbard. The hint of his reflection greeting him atop the blade.

It was a mighty blade, the edge still as sharp as the day it was forged. Aegon winced as he noticed a small tear fall from his eye, splattering lightly against the steel. The intricate etchings of wolves dancing across the hilt shone beautifully against the ever-rising sun, he could've sworn he saw them sprint across the beginning etchings that emerged from the hilt and traveled up a small portion of the blade. Of course, this was nothing but the illusion of his eye. The blade contained no magical properties itself, nor did most weapons in Skyrim. It was an heirloom of the Valtyr family, an heirloom that wasn't his by rite.

"This is not my blade," Aegon said calmly. "It belongs to the rightful heir, my half-brother. I am not a Valtyr."

The gaunt man nodded, releasing a sigh. "Your father willed the blade to you prior to his battle with the Bear. Falk Firebeard confirmed it himself. The blade is yours and not even Lady Elisif herself could state otherwise."

"You may be a bastard, Aegon, but he is still your father. That blade, and yourself, are his legacies." Anders stated, sternly.

Aegon tore his eyes away from the skyforged steel. It was then that he contemplated his fellow squire's words. He was a Karth, a bastard given that name by a father who thought it humorous for his surname to be the same as the river he was conceived in. The blade was to be passed down to the rightful heir of Haafingar, the Jarl of Solitude. High King of Skyrim. "Take it," Anders told him. "It's yours now."

The courier twiddled his thumbs in a nervous fashion, turning to his large companion who said, "I suggest you find time to return to Solitude to pay your respects." He made to cross his arms. "It will do you a lot of good and put the dead at ease." Aegon kneeled and held the blade close. The leather of its scabbard was rough against the skin of his palms.

"He was murdered, you said, by the Bear?" Aegon muttered, temper evident in his voice. "Killed dishonorably in Holmgang?"

"That is correct," The gaunt courier confirmed.

Aegon's grip on the blade tightened, fury building. "To do something like this is disgraceful. Tell me the man has been dealt with?" He asked, angered gaze piercing into the anxious courier. "Is Ulfric dead?"

"I'm afraid not, sir," The courier told him, looking clammy at the question. His companion went to reassure him, a large hand smacking against his small back. "The Jarl of Windhelm fled with the help of the gatesman and a number of his clansguard. The Empire has activated their Legions to assist Lady Elisif with the war that has erupted from it."

Ander's eyes widened as Aegon lightly stomped his foot to the ground, returning to a stand from his kneel. He slammed his foot into a branch, snapping it in two. The Empire and Lady Elisif have gone to war? With Windhelm?

Ander's lightly kicked away the debris of the twig, listening as Aegon spoke. "The Bear declared war? Against the Empire and Haafingar?" His question was left unanswered, voice enraged.

"He did, yes," The larger man spoke. "As soon as Ulfric arrived back at the Palace of Kings he called forth his banners. Eastmarch has rallied with a number of the other eastern holds expected to follow. Dark times for Skyrim and her people."

"They still rally to him?" asked Aegon. "Even after his disgrace during the Holmgang."

Anders winced at the display.

"They believe him the rightful victor," His voice was gruff and lacked emotion. "As far as they are concerned he is now the rightful High King."

He clipped the scabbard to his belt, firmly securing it on his person. "How pathetic," Aegon cried out fiercely. "Proves himself a disgrace to all Nords and then tries to steal the throne. May the Divines piss on his grave."

"I do not disagree with you, boy," The large man said. For a moment he broke his stern composure, empathy slipping through the emotionless mask. "Only a coward would behave as he has done."

"I will return to pay my respects, I will send you back with a message for Lord Firebeard," Aegon reached into his pouch, pulling out a number of golden septims.

"I will have it to him in haste," The courier said.

Aegon handed the man his pay, who eagerly pocketed the coins. He looked to Anders with a furrowed brow. "I must find Ser Aaron and tell him of what has transpired. We will need to gain leeway from King Aslan."

"Yes, you should," Anders agreed, nodding to showcase. He had not lost his father but he understood the importance of paying heed to the dead, especially given the context of the situation.

Aegon prevented his sobs, stubborn to not break. "I will return to the tavern to search for him," he said. "Get myself a drink as well, I need one after all of this."

"I agree wholeheartedly to that."

"Let us make our way back then," Aegon's response was curt. He was lost in his mind, wondering why his father would will the family blade to him. While his relationship with the man was warm and he was treated as well by the man as one could be, it still remained out of character for Torygg to disregard tradition in this way. "Ser Aaron will know what to do," he told Anders. "He will arrange for us to leave."

"Most likely soon as well. Our task here is largely complete."

"Perhaps," Aegon replied. "Ser Aaron may need to pull some strings, he told me before there is good reason we are never truly at ease. King Aslan puts him to great use."

The two re-entered the tavern soon after, exchanging glances with each other before skimming the crowd for their respective masters. Aegon contemplated what he was to ask. The boy of fifteen recognized that his ser would find it difficult to request such a thing from the king. He resided as Knight Commander of Daggerfall, a position that was seldom unneeded. The man issued orders and carried out the tasks issued directly by the king himself, still, Aegon was certain that the man would find a way. He would understand that this was no fleeting reason for leave.

"Anders mentioned that you required my attention," Ser Aaron's voice broke Aegon out of thought. "Well it is yours; what do you need?"

Aegon sighed and made to inform the man of what had unfolded, who in response nodded in confirmation. "I was hoping that you would be able to request leave from Lord Aslan," he asked. "I know that I am unable to leave your side, but if we could make our way to Skyrim so I can pay my respects, I would be grateful."

The Knight Commander weighed his squire's request long and carefully, calculating his response. "I will arrange for our leave, we will leave for Daggerfall after a night's rest. However, I do not want you to treat this as a vacation. You will still be running your drills and holding true to your duties. Is that understood?"

Aegon nodded eagerly. He made to lightly tap on Wolf Fang, an action that seemed to reassure him.

"And you will take utmost care of that blade," his master said. "Utmost care with it. That is a much more valuable weapon than the average sword, the legacy of one's house is not to be disregarded. Whatever you do with it now, will affect your lineage for generations to come."

"Yes, Ser Aaron," Aegon said.

"We will be off then. Orrent, Anders, we are done here for the day. It's time we head back to the Skyspire."

It was not until they were well on their way that Aegon allowed himself time to process the events of the day. By then, Wolf Fang was straddled comfortably against his leg, a feeling that oddly felt natural for the boy. Aegon was wondering how it would compare to his current blade, something hardly larger than a dagger.

Once they had arrived inside the keep, Anders called them aside.

"What is it, Anders?" Ser Aaron asked.

"Ser Orrent and I are requesting to come with you. On the journey to Skyrim."

Aegon's eyes widened as he halted his step, the step of his boots echoing loudly throughout the keep's halls. Ser Aaron eyed the boy curiously, looking to Orrent for confirmation. The man nodded.

"Very well," the Knight Commander said. He swung his leg around, turning his body towards the entrance to his quarters. The three watched as he began to make his way inside. A moment later turning to Aegon, smiling. "It seems you have made quite the impression on your fellow knights and squires, boy. I am proud."

"Thank you, Ser," Aegon responded, gently rubbing the tip of his thumb over the pommel of Wolf Fang. He watched as the man nodded before entering his quarters, going to rest for the night. Orrent nodded to Anders and followed suit, making way for his own room. The two were left alone.

"Looks like we are to leave for Skyrim then," Anders said with wry amusement. "A return to your homeland."

Aegon Karth gave his companion squire a long, chilling look. "It seems so, Anders," he grinned. "I am going back home."

This is an author's note:

I plan on changing the title of this story in the near future. Dovahsos is largely a placeholder as I could not think up anything at the time of posting the prologue. Putting this here as a note as an attempt to halt any future confusion.

Word count will be different chapter-by-chapter as I will be occasionally shifting perspectives throughout the story. RR.