Writer's Note: This chapter is incredibly long (8000+ words) and the future chapters are looking even longer. I hope you guys don't mind! I have so much to say about this particular update, so I have a ton of notes at the end.
I would just like to extend a thank you to everyone who has been reading this story so far :) It means a lot to me, you guys.
Hahnu Do Keizal
By Toasted Panic
Chapter Four
Filok
(Escape)
The thane's tent shone like clear water in the light of dawn. As Erik marched uphill towards the tall beacon, each step felt leaden, every sound growing mute. Rorikstead was silent and sleepy-eyed with dying campfires and rousing soldiers. Those who were awake glanced curiously at him as he made his way uphill. He could feel their whispers. Erik wanted icy water to splash against his skin. This felt like nothing more than a dream with no joyful end.
The thane told me we would speak more over breakfast. But why? Was my vow not enough? By the Nine—I never knew words could weigh so much.
He was standing in front of the tent. The guards on either side of the entrance gave him inspecting glances, their eyes small and inscrutable behind their shining helms. Was he to speak to them? Would they let him pass if he decided to walk through? Erik hadn't eaten, yet he felt as if he could cast up two whole meals if he dared to open his mouth.
A firm grip on his shoulder shook him from his reverie. Turning around, he saw the forest green of Willas's eyes.
"You planned on going by yourself?" he asked, his voice light.
Erik frowned. "I thought I was supposed to go alone."
Scoffing, Willas turned to stand by his side. "If your dear thane is as kindly as you said she was last night, then I don't suppose she'd mind an extra pair of eyes and ears. Besides, someone needs to make sure you don't muck this up even more."
Erik thought he should have felt more insulted. But Willas's words brought comfort instead.
"No," Erik muttered. "Lady Solveig wouldn't mind."
He approached the tent entrance with steadier legs as Willas keeping pace at his right. Erik tried to keep his voice firm when he said, "I'm here to speak with the thane." His words sounded unbearably quiet.
"Your name?"
"Erik. And my friend here is Willas."
"Her lady has business with only one of you."
Erik could feel Willas bristling beside him. Before he could argue with the guard, the thane's housecarl emerged from between the heavy silver drapes of the entrance. She glanced at Erik and Willas before addressing one of the guards.
"What's going on?"
"Our lady's guest has arrived, but he's brought company."
Erik felt the warrior's stare like the press of a knife's cold blunt edge against his skin. Up close, her steel armour looked heavy and impenetrable, making her seem taller although they were of a height. Her sword hilt looked dangerously close to her hand.
"Erik of Rorikstead, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Erik blurted out.
"I know what business you have with my lady. You, however," she turned her cool brown eyes to Willas, "I don't recall my lady asking for you. Your name?"
Willas's lips curled into a sneer.
"Willas."
Erik thought he saw a flash of recognition on the housecarl's face.
"And you're a friend to Erik?"
"Yes. I see no harm in friends accompanying friends to breakfast."
To Erik's surprise, the warrior nodded and drew aside the tent to let them through. "Very well. Both of you, step inside. Lady Solveig will be with you soon."
Hesitating for a moment, Erik moved cautiously, extending a low nod to the thane's warrior. He cast a backwards glance at her glistening armour. She didn't follow inside, letting the heavy white drapes flutter into place between them.
Erik felt his jaw drop. The thane's tent was more magnificent on the inside than it was from outside. The ground had been covered with soft embroidered rugs that muffled their footsteps. Carved wooden chairs with plush silk cushions in all colours were placed in front of the entrance, flanked by two roaring iron braziers. In the middle of the setting was a low table of dark wood and it seemed to sink underneath the weight of dense leather-bound tomes and silver plates of grapes, oranges, and roasted chestnuts.
It was warm, so blessedly warm. Erik allowed himself a shudder of delight.
"Isn't this what you call living, lads? You're smarter than I thought you were, Erik, to pledge yourself to all of this."
Erik and Willas whipped their heads to find Jormund sitting at a long table overwhelmed by plates upon plates of food at a section of the tent reserved for dining.
"Jormund?" Willas sputtered in alarm. "What in the Nine are you doing here? I swear, if you're caught trespassing in the thane's quarters, they'll have you in chains—"
Jormund waved him off as he tore off a chunk of golden brown bread with a side of ham and cheese. "As it happens," he spoke through wads of food, "Erik here isn't the only one with thane business to attend to. I requested to have a word with her ladyship. But I'm surprised to see you here, Willas."
Willas frowned quietly.
Erik approached the table setting, gawking at the food and wine. He sat down across from Jormund with Willas to his right. Even the seats had cushions softer than his bed of hay.
"Was this meant for three people or an entire village?" Willas scoffed, picking up a roll of bread from a plate of more than a dozen. "And who on Nirn has ham, duck, pheasant, and roast boar for breakfast? Most would be grateful for a scraggy chicken leg once a month."
"Now, now," Jormund chided through more mouthfuls. "Don't begrudge the wealthy their riches. Power has its boons every now and then. And you," he winked at Erik with twinkling brown eyes, "you, my lad, were smart enough to pick that out. Who knew you'd be so cunning?"
Erik felt his cheeks colour.
"I hadn't given a thought to her wealth ..." he muttered, staring down at an empty silver plate.
"Then what in gods' names were you thinking?" Willas hissed angrily. "An oath like that is binding and she knows it. You've yielded your life, and for what?"
Erik looked up at Willas with sad blue eyes.
"Freedom."
Lanre splashed iced water on her cheeks from a stone basin. Stilling her movements, she strained her ears to listen for voices. Her sleeping quarters were separated from the rest of the tent. It was sectioned off by heavy velvet curtains and a tall wooden partition with carved scenes of a spring festival underneath a full moon. From here, she could pick up very little of the outside. But it seemed as if her guests had arrived.
"Erik of Rorikstead," she muttered, looking into the ripples of her water basin. "What have you seen of this ugly world? How could you possibly know what your sworn oath means."
Turning towards the wooden partition, she whispered words as quiet as the heartbeat of a sparrow.
"Laas Yah Nir."
Past the partition and the heavy drapes, she could see three red auras glowing, seated at the dining table. One youthful presence shone brighter than the rest, a far purer red, gleaming and alive like hot blood.
Erik's aura was unique to her. It felt like a child's life force, pulsating with warmth as if filled with heat from a gentle fire. Yet it was brighter, more enticing, like gold and jewels to a dragon. She only knew auras to shine with such audacious light if they were untainted by greed and artifice. She saw the same strength and purity in Lydia's aura.
"She'd find that absurd," Lanre chuckled to herself. "If I compared her to someone as simple as him."
She shut her eyes and opened them once more. The red visions were gone.
Striding to her bed, Lanre picked up her wolf cloak. Draping it over her shoulders, she felt the welcome warmth through her blue silk dress. She cast one last glance at her reflection in the mirror. It was hard to ignore the weariness on her face as she made her way to greet her guests. Sleep had been elusive the night before.
Stepping through the velvet drapes, Lanre observed the three men at her table. Erik had his back to her, but his flame red hair was easy to remember. Another young man was seated to his right, the one who had long blond hair and brown skin. The middle aged man seated across from them was the first to notice her arrival.
He stood from his seat and beamed widely at her with a low bow. "How radiant you look this morning, my lady. 'Tis a pleasure to be joining you for breakfast. I assume your housecarl Lydia has told you that I, Jormund, would be dining with you as well as these young lads."
Erik and Willas followed his lead, both standing to extend stiff, wordless bows.
She smiled politely and made her way to the head of the table.
"Yes, she's told me. The pleasure is all mine, Jormund. Please, have a seat. My apologies for keeping you waiting. I'm afraid I'm not used to the early hours of the country just yet."
"By the looks of it, you'll have plenty of time to become accustomed," Jormund commented cheerfully as they all took their seats. "You've made quite the home for yourself here."
Lanre laughed softly as she poured herself a cup of spiced wine. "I'm afraid the greater luxuries of the world are not so easy to part with. I hope you find it to your liking. Please, eat whatever you wish."
The young blond man spoke up. "Thane Solveig, are we expecting more guests? A hundred oarsmen, perhaps?"
Lanre shook her head as she eyed him curiously. "I'm afraid not."
"Well, that's a shame then," he muttered into his cup. "It would be hard to finish off this feast between the three of us."
She hardly missed the disdain in his voice. Lanre's eyes flickered between Erik and the fair haired man as she addressed him, "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced."
"Willas," came the disgruntled reply. "Willas of Ivarstead."
"Willas of Ivarstead," Lanre nodded. "I honour my guests with the best of what I have to offer—the best of what Whiterun has to offer. Here, underneath my roof and protection, you will not want for anything. That," she smiled wolfishly, "and I have the belly of a dragon."
Jormund chuckled and Erik managed a hesitant laugh. Willas on the other hand stared at her intently over his wine cup, his green eyes sharp.
"Do you also have the avarice of one?"
There was a loud bang underneath the table. Lanre suspected that Jormund aimed a kick at Willas's shin. Unfortunately, it seemed as if he'd missed because Erik doubled over with a grunt of pain.
"Sorry, lad," Jormund grimaced. Turning to Lanre, he ventured a sheepish placating smile. "Pardon young Willas, my lady. I'm afraid manners aren't something I managed to teach him. One doesn't usually need to know the difference between dinner forks when all one has for company are fowl and deer."
Lanre ignored him, keeping eye contact with Willas. He held her gaze fearlessly, his jaw clenched tight. She could feel Erik's blue eyes on her, wide with nervous unease. She chose her words cautiously.
"I can't see how I've displeased you, Willas of Ivarstead," she said quietly. "Do you despise me for my wealth and titles? Or is greed a greater sin to you than envy?"
"How could I envy something as hideously ugly as your choice of garish pillows."
Lanre's stare turned sharp and cold. "Do you know what happens to those brazen enough to insult the highborn? I've known greater men to hang for lesser insults."
Erik's fists collided with the table.
The silver plates and cups clanged sharply against the wooden surface.
Lanre tore her gaze away from Willas. Her eyes met bright blue that reminded her of oceans half a world away. Erik's stare was fierce, transparent anger creasing his brow. She could almost feel the indignation rising off his skin in waves of heat.
"M'lady, I beg you," he said quietly. "Do not harm my friend."
Lanre leaned back in her seat, narrowing her eyes at him. This time, Erik failed to falter underneath her scrutiny. "I seem to recall that you've sworn your loyalty to me. And yet you vouch for him? After he cast aside my generosity like rotting meat? Are you so fickle, Erik?"
He stood his ground. "Not fickle, m'lady. Only a faithful friend. Willas speaks his mind. That hardly calls for punishment. He does everybody that courtesy, m'lady."
"Oh, but I am not everybody."
Lanre watched as Erik's face hardened.
"What if I were to call my guards in here to seize him? I assure you, if I do, they will follow my orders without question. If I were to command that they drag him onto the road by his feet, where everybody could see them take off his head—they would follow. And all would know not to doubt my authority."
Erik's voice was stalwart anger. "If you do such a thing, then consider my oath broken. I would not follow one like you with such blind cowardice."
Silence reigned amongst them with an iron fist. No one moved or spoke. Jormund was absolutely still and Willas's calm composure felt dreamlike and brittle. Lanre watched Erik, her countenance a foggy mask of contemplation.
When she roused to break the fragile hush, her words were soft, the steel behind her voice melting away.
"Oaths such as yours are not so easily forgotten," Lanre whispered. "You said so yourself. You owe me a debt greater than all other debts. You owe me your life. You owe me the air you breathe and the light you see. What price is the equivalent of that, except your true devotion? If you wish to revoke the most binding of all vows, then do so knowing this: you will forever be remembered as a man who broke his word. Erik of Rorikstead shall be Erik the False. Every oath you make hereafter will carry as much weight as leaves in the wind. You will never taste even a blind cripple's trust. The lowest thieves would sneer at you, for even they are known to have more honour. So what say you, Erik? Do you revoke your vow? Do you choose to be Erik the False, or Erik the Great? Look around you. Look at the wealth just beyond your fingertips. Gold and silver beyond your numbered days. This is what is promised to those who follow me, that and more. And Lanre Solveig is known to keep her word. I leave you to choose between a false life and one of greatness.
"I ask once more and never again: Do you revoke your vow?"
Erik's clear blue eyes remained steadfast. "If m'lady means to make me choose between the life of a friend and cold coin, my choice will be the same a thousand and one times over. I'd rather folks mistook me for Erik of Broken Oaths who stays faithful to those who call him friend. Begging your pardon, m'lady, but even someone as lowborn as me, not to mistake this for arrogance, knows that my eternal allegiance is worth more than all the gold and silver of the kings and queens that ever lived."
"Then I would be the greatest fool to ever live if I force such a choice."
Erik's eyes widened. Disbelief drained the colour from his cheeks.
Lanre stood from her seat, her smile bright and blinding. "Truer words have never been spoken. Few can boast of such. I believe you, Erik. Truly, your allegiance is worth more than all the gold and silver of any king or queen to sit a throne. A man who chooses his kin and comrades over worldly riches number among the greatest souls to walk our realm.
"In return for your vow, as a gesture of good faith, I swear to you before these witnesses: for as long as you choose to follow me, I will not forsake you. If there is anything your heart desires, ask it of me, and if it is in my power to give it shall be yours. Those you call kin and friend shall be under my protection. For as long as you remain in my service, you shall not want for anything.
"I swear to protect you for as long as you pledge me your loyalty, Erik of Rorkistead. And if I prove false, with the Nine as my witnesses, may I be stripped of all my wealth, my titles, and my life. If I prove false to you, may I be known as Lanre the Forsaken. I would make the same vow again in front of thousands, a thousand and one times over."
Facing Erik, Lanre bowed low, the tip of her nose almost touching the surface of the table. When she rose, she saw that Erik's countenance was that of a man who had sold his soul.
The silence between Erik and Willas was deafening. They were both seated on the grass behind Frostfruit Inn as Rorikstead bustled with activity once more. Yet the village seemed like worlds away.
Erik felt the dry grass between his calloused fingertips. His mind was a painful blank. A dull ache thrummed in his chest as he looked at the familiar plains sprawled out before him. Never did the light of midday break his heart as it did when he gazed at his home for what he thought would be the last time.
"I always dreamed of leaving," Erik whispered, his voice raspy. "I hated Rorikstead all these years. It felt like a prison and I wanted nothing more than to break free of it. I dreamed up all sorts of grand adventures—I'd be the most legendary adventurer to walk the land of Skyrim. That's what I told myself every day. And every day I came to hate my prison even more. I dreamed thousands of dreams of when I'd leave this place. Not once did I think it would be like this."
Hot tears slid down his cheeks.
"I feel so ashamed. Everyone was right, but I wouldn't listen." Erik's voice broke. "I am a fool. I'm nothing but a stupid boy. I never think before I act. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
His shoulders heaved with wretched sobs. Erik buried his face between his knees, hugging his legs towards his chest. He wanted to shout at Willas to leave but he couldn't amidst his weeping. His skin was red and hot with shame as tears poured down his chin.
Erik felt strong arms wrap around him.
Willas murmured against his hair, "Now you know how treacherous and ugly the world can be. Once you're out there, make no mistake—this won't be the last of it."
Erik couldn't help but cry into Willas's shoulder, thankful that no other eyes could see him. Never before did he feel more weak and helpless.
At twilight, a crowd of soldiers and villagers were gathered silently to watch as Erik marched down a straight path at the centre of their gathering. A makeshift square had been fashioned in the middle of Rorikstead so that all could bear witness to his formal pledge of service. What seemed like a thousand paces away, he saw Lanre Solveig standing in the centre of it all. Her undecipherable gaze was what awaited him at the end of his march.
She wore her polished ebony armour and her familiar wolf cloak was draped about her shoulders. Clasped between her gloved hands was the hilt of an ebony sword, forming a line down the middle of her body, its tip resting on the ground.
As Erik drew closer, he could see familiar faces at the sides of his path. Ennis and Reldith were beaming with pride. Rorik and Jouane both gave him nods of approval. Lemkil's twin girls, Sissel and Britte reached out to him with rosy smiles, wildflowers of gold and red clutched between their fingers. Erik took their gifts and smiled down at them with murmured thanks, tucking the flowers gently into his breast pocket. At least for them, he would look brave.
He continued his march, almost at the end of his journey. He could see Willas and Jormund at the corner of his eye. Their faces were solemn, and Erik knew without looking at them directly. When the time came for him to finally pass his father, Erik feared to look Mralki in the eye. He knew his father wore a broken heart.
Erik swallowed past the lump in his throat and marched faster.
He would not yield to fear and sadness.
After a few rushed heartbeats, Erik finally stood face to face with Lanre Solveig. Her housecarl Lydia stood to her right, holding a small wooden box.
He found himself wondering whether the thane was the gentle woman he'd spoken to at the night of Lokir's funeral or the cunning noble who opened his eyes at dawn that day.
I don't suppose it matters, Erik thought bitterly as he stared into her amber eyes unflinchingly. Whether it happens to be one or the other, I am forever bound to both until my dying day.
"Erik of Rorikstead," Lanre called out in a booming voice so that all would hear. "On this day, on the thirtieth of Frostfall, year two-hundred and first of the fourth era, what do you wish to pledge in the sight of the Nine and all who are gathered witness here?"
Raising his voice, Erik announced the solemn words he had proclaimed the night before: "I wish to pledge my life and loyalty to you, my thane. Accept this as my humble repayment for having saved my life. I solemnly swear that I am yours until the end of my days."
Lanre nodded, her gold eyes impenetrable. "Then kneel."
Erik bowed low over the earth, kneeling as he did underneath the stars the first time he swore himself to Lanre.
He saw her raise her black sword, its tip vanishing from view.
"Do you pledge fealty to me in the sight of the Nine and those who bear witness, that I may have your unbroken faith from this day until the end of your days, or for as long as I wish to keep you in my service?"
"I do swear."
"Do you pledge to forsake all others, keeping your service to me second only to your service of the Nine?"
"I do swear."
"And should you break the faith, Erik of Rorikstead?"
Erik kept his eyes downcast as he uttered the most binding words of all: "Death before dishonour."
"Death before dishonour," the gathered crowd repeated back to him.
Lanre recited her part. "Before the Nine and all who gathered here—from this day forth, I hold you by these words, Erik of Rorikstead. In return, I, Lanre Solveig, pledge to keep your fealty in good faith. May all who call you kin and comrade be under my protection for as long as you remain my true and loyal servant. I do swear. If I prove false, may I be stripped of my lands, my titles, and my riches. Death before dishonour."
The cold dark metal of Lanre's sword gently touched his left shoulder then his right.
"Rise, Erik of Rorikstead," Lanre commanded. "From this day forward, you are mine."
Erik stood on his feet to the sound of roaring applause and cheers.
As the final part of the ceremony, Lanre clasped Erik's shoulders with both hands. Leaning in, she kissed his left cheek, then the right. Erik returned the gesture.
As the cheering died down, Lanre motioned for Lydia to come forward.
"As a token of welcome," she announced warmly, keeping her eyes on Erik, "I present you with a small gift."
Lydia opened the wooden box in her hands, holding it out for Erik to see.
Erik looked down at the velvet cushion inside that held a circular gold amulet glittering with small rubies.
Lanre gently removed it from its box. "An enchanted amulet, so that my protection may be with you for as long as you wear it."
Erik bowed forward as Lanre slipped it around his neck.
"Thank you. M'lady is generous."
Lanre smiled wanly at him as the crowd erupted into deafening applause once more.
To his own surprise, Erik found himself whispering to her, "Why do you look sad, m'lady?"
The noise of the crowd almost swallowed Lanre's quiet words.
"I believed that this is what you wanted. And yet you look so broken."
Lanre could hear the merriment of Rorikstead from her sleeping quarters. Her tent was dim, lit only by the kindling from the braziers. She sat upright in her bed, draped in furs, troubled by lack of sleep. Rubbing at her tired eyes, Lanre felt a heaviness weighing on her slumped shoulders. She wished that Lydia was there.
"I hope you don't mind that I didn't use your front door."
Lanre glanced to the side of her tent. She saw Willas crawling in from underneath the tarp canvas.
She scowled, pulling her furs closer to her as a cold breeze fluttered in.
"This couldn't wait until everybody was asleep or drunk?" Lanre reprimanded as she watched Willas dust himself off. "I trust that no one saw you?"
He snorted, green eyes shining in the dark. "I was born in the Rift. It's in my blood to sneak past drunken soldiers and their lot."
Lanre narrowed her eyes at him. She kept in mind that she never had a dagger far from reach.
"I assume you want your payment for a job well done," she asked, her voice flat and humourless.
Willas surprised her by sneering angrily as he crossed his arms over his chest. "When you asked for me before first light today and requested for my assistance, I had no inkling that you would pull a farce like that. If I'd known you'd be so cruel, I'd have told you to shove your gold up your noble priss backside and walked away. You mongrel bitch."
He looked ready to spit fire.
Lanre looked up at him wearily. She wished for the thousandth time that she had never met Erik of Rorikstead.
"You would ask me to turn a blind eye to a binding oath?" Her voice was hoarse from all the talking and political niceties of the day. "Even that isn't within my power to withhold, Willas. You know that as well as any sane person. Besides, most of what I said this morning was no lie. Mummery only works so well when it's sprinkled with the dust of truth."
"Then dismiss him, for gods' sakes," Willas hissed, frantic and exasperated. "Make up some wild story! Akatosh knows you political types excel at that. Something about Erik bedding all the stable boys and a half dozen of your women soldiers—all in a row. Or that he shat on Talos's shrine. Something. Anything. Whatever can be grounds for dismissal."
Lanre glared. "You think I would dishonour a sacred vow? Even I wouldn't stoop so low. You know the oath goes both ways. I swore my loyalty to him as well. Death before dishonour. Those are the words."
Willas let out a string of muttered curses. He paced the room like a caged sabre cat.
Lanre found it difficult to muster sympathy.
"Is that regret you're feeling?" she asked lightly. "Unlike you, I have betrayed no friendships. Erik is a follower to me now, and before today, he was nothing more than just another common lad. But you, however. You care about him. And judging by his bold and heartfelt words this morning," Lanre's smile was cold and cunning, "Erik is rather fond of you. It would be a grave shame if he found out that you agreed to test the strength of his loyalties in exchange for a few shiny coins."
Willas looked like he was about to lunge at her.
Her eyes flickered over his body. He had no weapons that she could see. Lanre held steady as she watched him fume.
"You didn't have to go so far," he spat furiously. "I told you—Erik's a simpleton. All he wanted was to escape his village life and see the world. He would have believed anything! You hardly had to break his spirit."
"If I broke his spirit," Lanre muttered in a low voice, "then I could have refuted his vow under the grounds of his own weakness. But the state of affairs being as they are, Erik proved exceptionally worthy. And I take none but the most trustworthy and loyal as my closest followers."
Lanre grimaced, turning her gaze to a brazier and its dying flames. "In time, I hope he'll come to disdain me less. It gave me no pleasure—the way I tested him. But I needed to see if his heart was true. Erik happened to be right, more right than he could possibly know. People in my position know complete and utter loyalty for what it is: priceless beyond all measure. Anyone as close to a crown as I am would rather have loyalty like Erik's over the Emperor's seat."
Willas frowned at her. "Just who in the Void are you, to make a statement so bold as that?"
Lanre stood from her bed, wrapping her furs around her. She ignored Willas's question as she rummaged through drawers in her desk.
"What say we have a deal," Lanre sounded as if she were pondering aloud. "We can forget about this business, if you agree to my brand new bargain. And this time, your rewards would rival my own wealth. That is, if you succeed. And judging from all that you've told me, I think you will indeed be very successful."
Willas was silent for a few moments as Lanre continued to search for whatever she needed. When he finally spoke, she had yet to turn around.
"I'm assuming that when you say 'deal,'" he muttered dryly, "that doesn't mean I actually have a choice in the matter?"
"Oh, you have choices. Two, in fact. One of them just happens to lead to a burned bridge."
Willas grunted, "That sounds terribly familiar. I'm assuming my second choice is agreeing to more of your ploys. And where on Nirn does that choice lead?"
Lanre turned around with a wolfish smile. In her hand, she held a small ornate box made of solid gold.
"Most of what I said this morning was true," Lanre whispered. "Those who follow me will never want for anything."
She opened the box, revealing a floating perfectly cut pink gem. It lit the tent with a pale, eerie glow.
"I will give you the Thieves Guild of Riften," Lanre spoke softly. "See to it that you work your way to the top. I need you to become Guild Master. Word has it that they're in need of ... new management. The way I see it, you have a golden opportunity for your skills."
She closed the box, cutting off the light, and threw it to him. Willas caught it, his face contorted with disbelief.
"You are stark raving mad," he laughed weakly. "Me? Guild Master? What makes you think I can pull that off?"
Lanre scoffed and took a seat at her desk chair. "Leave the mummery to the political types. You and Jormund don't fool me. Don't think I didn't notice my missing silver. Your hands would have been hacked off at the wrists if I hadn't found a use for you."
Judging by his fidgeting with the gold box, Willas felt visibly unnerved. "Would your guards actually kill or maim a man at your command? Without question? How underhanded."
"They would," Lanre said coldly. "But I've always preferred to swing the sword myself. The burden of the execution must lie with those who pass the sentence."
"How truly like a Nord of you," Willas muttered disdainfully. "Fine. Very well. What would you have me do, oh Thane of Whiterun? If that's what you really are."
Lanre pointed to the gold box in his hand. "That unusual gem I gave you is your ticket into the guild. If you've thought of selling it off for papers to High Rock, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's worth less than the shirt off your back. No one in Skyrim would pay half a copper piece for it. The only thing you can do is go to Riften and ask for Maul. Once you find him, tell him that you need the gem appraised. Show it to no one else but him. From there, the rest is up to you."
Willas's brows raised incredulously. "Of course, this all sounds so terribly easy. Let's say I manage to do all of that, and then become the Guild Master. What then?"
"You would spy for me," Lanre stated bluntly. "You will be my eyes and ears in Riften, the sharpest and most keen when you become Guild Master. No one else in the other holds would touch that rats' nest with a yard long pole. Not even the Thalmor are willing to dip their manicured hands into that sewer water. If I have you at Riften's pulsing heart, I have a monopoly on priceless information that would send Maven Black-Briar into drunken titters."
"That's it?" Willas's eyes were wide with disbelief. "All that trouble for whispers and gossip?"
Lanre's eyes were hard and brittle as frost. "Wars aren't won by the sword alone. If you wish to emerge on the victor's side of Skyrim's civil conflict, then I advise you to join me."
"Talos have mercy," Willas hissed. "Who are you?"
"Do you consent?"
"Wait—all you need is the information I can provide?"
"Yes, that is all you have to give me. You can keep whatever riches you manage to hoard in the sewers."
Willas frowned suspiciously. "And if I stray, how would you know?"
"I have spies for my spies. And Sithis knows that there is always a poisoned arrow nocked in the shadows, waiting for the hearts of those who would think to betray me."
That name alone was enough to drain the bravado from him. Willas turned pale as he watched her, uncomfortable underneath Lanre's scrutiny.
"Do we have a deal?" she asked coldly.
"I don't suppose I have a choice. Yes, we have a deal," Willas grumbled as he pocketed the gem. "We must both think highly of Erik's loyalty if we'd go through these lengths to keep him."
Lanre smiled softly. "That's one thing we share, you and I. The covetous sort know a true prize when they see it glimmer."
Willas nodded absently as he strode to the edge of the tent.
"I'm assuming I won't be seeing the last of you?" he asked, dropping to one knee, picking up the edge of the tarp.
"In a fortnight, meet me at the Bannered Mare at the top suite. Make sure no one knows you've set foot in Whiterun—I'm sure you're more than capable of that."
Willas nodded, rolling his eyes. He hesitated once more before leaving, turning to Lanre to ask her one more question.
"I guess it goes without saying that I should never mention any of this to anyone, but now I wonder—what business did Jormund have with you this morning? He seemed surprised to see me here."
Lanre shrugged as she went back to bed. "It concerned a message to Jarl Balgruuf. That's all you need to know. And don't worry—both you and Jormund are under my protection so long as we all keep the faith."
The inn was warm and silent. Beyond its walls, Erik could hear the soldiers and the villagers making merry. Someone was playing the flute—perhaps Jouane. Erik remembered when the Breton would sit in front of the mansion during hot summer days. He would play an uplifting melody while Erik, Ennis, Reldith, and Lemkil tilled the soil. All those years ago, Erik would have closed his eyes and imagined he was hearing bird song in a wild and misty forest.
He couldn't bear to do the same thing now.
Seated in front of the inn's roaring fire, his blue eyes were wide open. His ears rang with how the people toasted him today, applauding his honour, his bravery, his faith. How they admired him, and even now in the late hours of the night the village was still awake singing his praises. Rorik had given him a short coat made of elk, Reldith gifted him with a jar of sweet frost berry jam, and Ennis, in a drunken stupor, offered him Gleda, his prized goat (which Erik politely declined). All their farewell tokens lay at the bottom of his pack, sitting on his meagre bed of straw.
Tonight would be his last in Rorikstead.
"I've dreamed of this," Erik whispered, "All these years, I've longed to see the world. And if I asked it of Lady Solveig, she would let me train at the sword, fit me for decent steel, and she'd even let me have a small armoury of my own if she saw me work hard enough for it. She's promised me more wealth than I can imagine, if I do my duties right. But why do I feel so unhappy?"
The stinging behind his eyes came back and he refused to let it slip by him.
"If I knew how much those words meant, I never would have said them. I've thrown my life away, and for what? I'll never see my family again."
Bitterly, he held up Lanre's amulet against the firelight. The gold glimmered like the sun, its rubies sparkling laughter like the stars. Erik had never owned anything more valuable in his life. The gold chain by itself could have bought his father two more inns.
The thought of his father threatened to spill more tears.
"Erik?"
Mralki stood by the entrance to the inn. In the dim light, Erik could hardly make out his expression, but the sadness in his father's voice was all he needed to hear.
Erik rubbed at his eyes, feigning weariness.
"Father, I didn't notice you come in. I must be more weary that I thought."
Mralki walked slowly to where Erik was seated. Without a word, he took another chair to sit quietly by his son. Erik watched, letting his sadness show for once since he'd cried on Willas. They sat in silence side by side, letting the crackling of the fire fill the inn.
When he broke the silence, Erik felt as if his words weighed no more than the sparks that flew and faded in the air.
"I'm sorry," Erik whispered. His eyes felt hot and watery. "What I did was rash—so rash and foolish."
Erik felt his father's gaze on him.
"I understand she saved your life."
The fiery burn of shame coloured Erik's cheeks.
"That was no deer's blood on my clothes yesterday," Erik whispered. He leaned over, placing his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed tight. "A wolf pack attacked while Willas, Jormund, and I were out hunting. One of the beasts had me on my back ... it would have ripped my throat open had Lady Solveig not shot it with an arrow." Erik let out a shuddering breath, his shoulders heaving. "I lied to you, father. I'm sorry ... for everything. I've been a shameful son."
His voice hung raw and trembling in the air. Erik despised speaking more and more that day. It was as if each sound he made was leaden, each word another promise he could never turn his back on.
"Then it seems I owe the thane much more than food for winter."
Erik glanced up at Mralki. His father's brown eyes were solemn, but his jaw was set firm.
"It seems I owe Lady Solveig the life of my only son," Mralki whispered. He reached over and let his wrinkled fingers graze Erik's flame red hair, a touch that neither of them had known since Erik was a tiny lad. Erik felt the stiffness in his shoulders wash away.
Mralki continued to speak quietly. "We live in hard times. Harder than you might know. Skyrim is ... troubled. Deeply so. We've gotten by, and things in Rorikstead are much better than anywhere else, but I'm afraid I haven't done my best for you."
"That's not true," Erik argued, his voice breaking. "I've been selfish—I see that now. You've been good to me, father. You truly have."
Mralki shook his head, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks. "Oh, but I've made you so unhappy, lad. All I meant was to protect you, not keep you here like a caged bird."
Erik felt himself choking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. If I knew what those words meant—if I knew what I'd be giving away, I wouldn't have said them, father. I wouldn't have sworn the oath."
"Don't say such things, lad," Mralki chided gently. "What you did was honourable. A true and just act. Few men would have done what you did. Even fewer would have sworn the same oath for a good and moral purpose. Such words like ones you said today have been said by others out of greed and envy. But no such evil lies in your heart."
Mralki beamed at Erik, more tears pouring from his gentle brown eyes.
"I've done well to raise a truly noble son. You will bring your ancestors glory, Erik. They will smile on you for all you've done and all you will accomplish. I could ask for nothing more."
Reaching into his tunic pocket, Mralki withdrew a small steel locket with a single pale sapphire in the middle, small as a grain of wheat. He handed it to Erik with a sad smile.
"This belonged to your mother," he said softly. His brown eyes crinkled fondly at the corners. "It would have made her so happy to know that you had eyes and hair like hers. That's where you got your handsomeness, you know. Aye, lad ... your mother was a beauty. She would have been so proud of you."
Erik held the locket in his palm. Opening it, he glimpsed a lock of red hair, brighter even than his own. He closed his fingers gently around the warm steel, feeling comfort for the first time that day.
"I swear I'll come back one day, father. Before then, men and women from all over the land will know my name and you'll have heard a grand tale or two about me. I promise you that."
The sun had yet to rise when Lanre was finally ready for the ride back to Whiterun. She was dressed in her armour and cloak, with her sword strapped at her hip. Most of her belongings had been packed and placed on waggons. All that remained in her tent was a table in front of the entrance. She and Lydia stood over it, pouring over a painted leather map of Skyrim.
They were discussing the route back to Whiterun, reviewing their stops and resupply points when one of the guards entered the tent.
She placed her right fist over her left breast and announced, "One of the villagers wishes to speak to you, my lady."
Lanre straightened. "At this hour? Who?"
"He said he's Erik's father. Mralki."
Lanre felt a sinking in her gut. She hadn't slept a wink and had no patience for any further demands. There were far more pressing matters on her mind like the journey back to Whiterun. She had half a mind to send the old man away, yet the image of Erik's sorrowful face gave her cause to think twice.
She extended her guard a weary nod.
"Very well. Send him in. But no one else. He's the last person I'll receive today."
The guard bowed and took her leave.
Lydia rolled up the map as Mralki entered the tent. Lanre observed him quietly from behind her desk. His visage was gentle and though he stood tall with broad shoulders, he held himself with humility. He extended a bow to her, rising to meet Lanre's eyes quietly.
"I hope I'm not intruding, my lady," he said.
Lanre shook her head. "It's no trouble. But I'm afraid I can't speak for very long. I need to see to our preparations. I assume you've been told that we leave at midday?"
"My son has told me, yes."
"I see," Lanre said softly. "What has brought you here today, Mralki?"
The old man's brown eyes held her gaze with bravery as he spoke. "I'm but a simple inn keeper, my lady, and before that I was a soldier. What I mean to say by this is that I've seen enough of the world to know how unwise it is to make demands of highborn folk."
Lanre smiled. "And are you about to do something wise or unwise?"
"Unwise as a man," Mralki uttered softly. "But any father would do the same."
She felt her gaze softening. "Then say what you wish, Mralki. Underneath my roof, no harm will come to you. Speak your mind."
Mralki bowed again as he continued, "All I ask is that you keep my son safe. Erik will be true to you, of that you should have no doubt. No other man or woman in all of Tamriel would ever be as loyal. I ask as a loving father that you keep him from wars and strife ... keep him safe and in good health."
Lanre watched as he rose again. The sadness in Mralki's eyes was tangible, fear as well, a fear that Lanre knew all too well.
"I will not give you empty promises," she said solemnly. "I have sworn to be true to your son. With all my power, I shall protect him and his loved ones. But I'm a mortal, not a god. Power only does so much." Lanre watched as Mralki's face crumpled. "I will keep him safe, believe me. I swore in front of you and many witnesses. I will do what I can."
She made her way around the desk to stand in front of him. Placing a firm hand on Mralki's shoulder, Lanre explained, "You love your son and only wish the best for him. Which is why I see no harm in telling you this: once we set foot in Whiterun, I will entrust Erik's training to the Companions. Kodlak Whitemane is their leader, a strong and noble man who is wise beyond his years. He and I will see to it that Erik has a welcome place among them.
"Within a year's time, your son will number among the best warriors of this era. No foe will dare to strike him."
Mralki's brown eyes came alive with hope, eyes that would come to haunt her.
"Gods be praised," he whispered loud enough for her to hear. "My son couldn't have pledged himself to a more noble woman."
By midday, the sun had risen high and bright.
Erik observed their entourage assembled on the village road: five of Lanre's most trusted guard, three more to drive their luggage waggons, and him and Lydia. Erik had been given a spirited chestnut courser to ride. He was positioned in the middle of their formation, just in front of the waggons, while the thane and her housecarl rode at the head. Scouts had already been sent to their first resupply point.
Though he hardly got a wink of sleep, Erik felt wide awake.
He'd said his goodbyes at breakfast. All he had to bring was a small roughspun sack of clothes. He wore the coat that Rorik gave him. It was warm and comfortable, perfect for the journey ahead. Inside his tunic, hanging from his neck was the thane's talisman, along with his mother's locket. Their warmth against his skin gave him courage.
A horn sounded, signalling them to mount their steeds.
Erik swung himself up onto the saddle, grasping the leather reigns firmly in his hands. He looked around, watching the crowd of faces that were there to see them off. All the village people were beaming proudly. Erik found his father in the huddle. He extended a wave, giving Mralki a fearless smile. His father smiled back, his face gleaming with pride.
When the second blast was sounded, they began to ride.
Erik didn't look back as he left Rorikstead for the first time.
Writer's Notes: This was absolutely bittersweet and difficult to write. I've included these following notes because I want to clear up any misinterpretations that may have resulted from this chapter. I have very important intentions that I want to convey properly.
Feel free to skip this if you feel satisfied with the chapter!
I wanted to accomplish a number of things with Filok, the most important of which is this: I wanted to give meaning to Erik's vow and also his eventual departure from home (which the game doesn't do). Because he made a mistake, he comes to learn in the span of a day that words carry weight and that he shouldn't give his trust freely just because a person seems kind and honourable. This opens the floodgates for character development. Learning from his mistake provides Erik an opportunity to step away from his childish views, allowing him to reassess the world anew as he leaves his home.
One of my secondary goals was to emphasize how the Nord's value and view honour. The most important part of Erik's pledge of loyalty was that if Lanre had accepted it, she knew full well that she would be making a similar commitment to him. So in order to accept or reject his vow, it was extremely important for Lanre to see if Erik made his promise with honourable intentions. Her wealth is a symbol of power and how it can attract the wrong kinds of people (i.e., Willas). Anyone in her position would find a very easy death if they trusted wrongly. So upon seeing Erik's honest and pure nature, she is compelled to accept his vow and extend a similar pledge of loyalty to him.
If you missed it, there are hints that the breakfast scene was staged (aside from it being purposefully dramatic): Lydia lets Willas into Lanre's tent despite knowing he wasn't given an explicit invitation, which, if not a calculated move, would have simply been irresponsible. Not only that, but she leaves the men alone with Lanre. Judging from knowledge of the game dynamics alone, you know that Lydia is supposed to protect her charge with her life. It can be inferred that Lanre requested Lydia to leave, because had she been present when Willas started insulting the thane, it would have been Lydia's responsibility to remove him from the premises (given that he would be seen as a threat). It would have seemed incredibly strange if Willas started insulting the thane and Lydia stood there doing nothing.
A more subtle hint is that Lanre doesn't seem at all surprised that Willas is there. Erik already mentions that he's supposed to come alone.
The most obvious hint is Willas's blatant and fearless disrespect, and at Lanre's table no less (which in a society that values honour would be considered boorish and downright stupid). Being thane in a more realistic world carries weight with it (unlike in the game), and the other common folk are seen in this story to respect Lanre, albeit some are begrudging about it. And that's because insulting people with power to their faces (at least in a world like Skyrim) often results with heads on spikes. Willas knows this. He's far from stupid. In fact, he can be very clever. He would never have insulted a thane as he did in that scene if he didn't have absolute assurance that no harm would come to him.
The fact that Jormund and Willas have shady pasts is something a little less obvious. The only hint I can discern at this point is also in the breakfast scene: when Willas sees Jormund there, he immediately assumes that the old fellow is trespassing. He didn't say, "Oh, you were invited for breakfast, too?" which would have been the reaction of more law-abiding folks. No, Willas jumps to the conclusion that Jormund is doing something he's not supposed to.
My last note for this chapter is this: I don't feel strongly compelled to have all my protagonists be sterling beacons of morality. Not all people are as honest and true as Erik, and that's okay. I enjoy writing characters with grey-area moralities. They seem truer to life and are vital to compelling storytelling, right alongside characters who happen to be more black-and-white. So it was not my intention to make either Willas or Lanre seem like villains. I simply wanted to make them more complex, driven by motivations that are entirely their own. Willas was driven by need for money. Lanre is driven by caution. Seeing that they will both be playing vital roles, there is of course room for character development.
Other than that, I hope I've written justly. Now the ball is truly rolling. See you next time :)