Author's Note: Alright, we're back to Ivar's perspective.

Chapter Five: Bleak Falls Barrow

No further incidents had occurred during our stay in Whiterun. Edric retired to his room to continue studying that tome of his, while I took a brief trip down to the stables as I considered the possibility of buying a horse. I soon learned that was not to be; they were expensive, and even one was beyond what we could afford.

In order to pass the time, I had continued my explanation of the city, contemplating the day's events. We had to delve into a ruin to find a tablet. We had to locate our brother. If we found a mammoth's tusk, we had to give it to Ysolda. The latter was not so important; I had made it clear I was facing more pressing matters, and made no concrete promises. I wasn't even sure why I had agreed. There was something about her that I found attractive, yet I had never such things influence my course in life before. At least, not after...

I remembered my first lover; a woman who I had been almost obsessed with, one who I had even considered marrying. But then... well, it turned out she had not loved me nearly as much as I loved her. It was Beric who shattered my illusion, and though I initially loathed him for it, I had eventually came to realize I owed him a great debt.

Ysolda vaguely resembled her, I recalled. Was that why I was so attracted to her? No matter; it wasn't like anything would come out of pursuing her. She had approached us with a task, and we promised to complete that task if possible. Whether she paid us for it or not, in the end we would go our separate ways and likely forget about each other. There were countless poems and songs of Nord Warriors wooing maidens with trophies from the great beasts they had slain, but this was neither poem nor song.

Eventually evening came, and I retired to bed early, drifting off asleep.

We set off early next morning, the sun still partly concealed by the distant horizon across Whiterun's vast fields. Farmers worked away at planting their crops, and other travellers had begun to file out of the city as well, heading off to their own destinations.

Unlike last time, nobody attacked us on the road, and we made it back to Riverwood without incident, and still had a few hours to spare.

From the outside, the village appeared to be completely unchanged, save for the guard that now stood atop the wall. "Who goes there!?" He shouted down at us, his face concealed by that eerie helmet the rest of Whiterun's guards had worn.

I stepped forward. "Ivar, and Edric," I called out. "We're here on the Jarl's business."

"And what proof do you have of that?" He demanded.

"None!" I responded. "We didn't expect to be denied entry to the village."

"Hold!" A woman's voice called out. It was Gerdur. Though Riverwood had walls, it had no gates, so she was plainly visible before us.

The guard turned his head. "For the last time, these measures are meant to keep you people safe!"

"I know these people, you oaf." She told him. "They were the ones who asked the Jarl to send you."

"Oh," the guard said, surprised. "Come on in, then."

Gerdur stepped forward to meet us. "Thank you for delivering our warning," she smiled. "Riverwood is in your debt."

"Was our brother here?" I asked her.

"Not that I know of," she shook her head. "I need to get back to my work, but if you're more than welcome to stay at my house again if you need it." And with that she turned away.

"The night before our arrival, some thieves broke into the local shop," the guard explained, as he climbed down from the wall to greet us. "We're watching all entrances to the village in case they make another attempt."

"Do you expect them to?" I asked.

The guard shook his head. "No. They only took one thing. Some prized artifact the shopkeeper had on display. They could have grabbed more if they wanted, but they didn't, so it must have been the only thing they were after," he explained. "But if they do come back, one guard on a wall is worth ten brigands on the ground."

It was no boast. Although Riverwood's defenses would not be repelling any professional armies, if adequately manned they were more than enough to see off any band of barely organized cutthroats. "How many of them are there?" Edric asked.

"We don't know," the guard admitted. "About four or five of them were seen running off to the north, but there could be more of them. We think they're camped out in the Barrow, but there's only six of us, and we were ordered to protect the townspeople above all else."

I nodded in understanding. There was nothing they could do that didn't mean abandoning their orders, or spreading themselves too thin to be of use. "The Jarl's Court Wizard wants us to retrieve something from up there," I told him. "We'll take care of your bandit problem, too."

I could sense the guard's skepticism even beneath his helmet. "You can try," he said at last. "But it's not just bandits up there; those ruins are filled with Draugr. They can't die."

I recalled Farengar and Edric mentioning the Draugr, and I also remembered hearing about them in stories my mother told me as a boy. It is said that they sided with the dragon priests, and were cursed to guard their masters' tombs and temples in death as they had in life. It was also said that they crept down into the countryside at night to steal children, and that anyone they caught trespassing in their tomb would be captured and transformed into a Draugr themself. Who knew how much of that was true?

"They can't die," Edric agreed, "but that's only because they're already dead. They can still be defeated, like any other summoned creature. Hit them enough, or in the right place, and you will destroy whatever magic is keeping their soul trapped within."

"If you say so, mage," the guard said. "Another thing: some fool decided he would head up there only an hour or two ago. Thought he could take on the bandits himself. If he hasn't made it to Sovngarde yet, he might be useful."

With the knowledge that someone else had gone off to Bleak Falls before us, there was no sense in wasting time. Whoever this stranger was, there was a chance that they might run off with our tablet, or get themselves killed, and it would be best if we were there to prevent both. So, we made a quick meal out of our provisions, ate it outside the gate, and then set off at a brisk pace. We crossed the bridge yet again, but this time we made a left, where the path winded up towards the mountain.

It was not long before the path gave way to ice and snow, still in the process of melting due to the recently-arrived Spring, and the snow had footprints. That would make our quarry easy enough to track down.

After perhaps half an hour of half-jogging, half-speedwalking, we came across a large, sloped expanse, with a tower in the distance that was accessible via a bridge.

Taking cover behind a nearby walk, we examined the tower from afar, but saw no sign of any inhabitants. Stepping out from behind the rock, we advanced towards the tower cautiously.

It was only when we got closer that we noticed the bodies. "By the Eight," I heard Edric say, and we rushed forward.

The first body was a woman bundled up in fur, lying beneath a nearby tree. There was a spot of blood on her chest, indicating that she been killed by a piercing weapon. Her weapon was sheathed, indicating she had not seen her death coming. In the doorway of the tower itself, a man lay in heavy iron armour, a pool of dried blood beneath his head - the result of a puncture wound on his neck, which looked as if it had been created by an arrow. The arrow had been removed, of course, likely out of a desire to conserve ammunition. A sword lay on the ground next to him.

To me, it was obvious what had happened. She was shot from afar. Her partner came down to investigate, and he was shot as he stepped outside.

"This must be the work of our mysterious stranger," I noted. Edric nodded. Who else could it be?

The bodies had nothing of value on them, and neither the tower. Whoever had killed them had likely taken all their valuables. What we did find were two bedrolls, and a barrel with various provisions. The bandits were likely using this tower as an outpost, to keep watch for any adventurer or soldier types heading up the mountain. Based on how they had been killed so easily, they were not very good at their job. Still, the fact that they could maintain an independent outpost suggested they had much larger numbers back at their own camp.

The footprints continued onward, so we followed them up the slope. The temperature seemed to drop the higher we ascended, so we pulled our fur cloaks around ourselves for warmth.

After another half-hour moving at the same quick pace, the Barrow itself came to view. A series of raised platforms connected by stairs, leading up to the side of the mountain. Pillars and arches rose high into the sky, which we had seen during our walk from Helgen to Riverwood.

Edric had a wide smile on his face. "These tombs have stood for thousands of years," he marvelled. "Look, you can tell that the stone has aged, but there's barely any sign that it has been crumbling. The Ancient Nords were wonderful builders."

"Whoever built Whiterun's walls could have learned a thing or two from them, then." I groused, and Edric chuckled. "Now keep your guard up," I reminded him. "There are still bandits about."

We found another body before we had even ascended the staircase. This one was a Khajiit, lying face down on a patch of hard, blood-stained snow, his weapon still in its sheathe. I rolled him over. His face was a bloody ruin, his neck twisted at an unusual angle, and half an arrow was lodged in his gut. The half with the feather lay on the ground next to him.

"He was standing up there," I said, pointing up at the ledge. "Someone shot him with an arrow, and he fell face first. The arrow snapped off against the ground, and he broke his skull and neck."

Edric nodded slightly, seeming to agree with my assessment. We advanced cautiously up the stone steps, and up to the first platform. To our left was another fur-clad body, also face down, the snow beneath her stained with blood. I flipped her over as well - there was a wide gash across her throat. "She noticed her friend's absence, and thought something was wrong. She went to look around, but this stranger got the drop on her. It's obvious he favours stealth; probably used the pillars and arches as cover."

A quick search of the area revealed no other bodies. At least, no other human bodies. A rather large amount of charred skeever corpses were piled up near the entrance. Of course an old ruin like this would become a skeever nest. "They must have burned them out here to prevent the spread of disease." Edric deduced. I nodded. That much was obvious. There were no tents or bedrolls on the outside, which meant they were sleeping in the Barrow, and having to share it with a bunch of rotting skeever corpses would be unbearable. Only a fool would just leave them where they lay.

There was no sign of the mysterious bandit-slayer. Which meant only one thing: he was already inside.

We stepped up the large door, which was made of intricately crafted metal, and showed no sign of rust. "It shouldn't be in such good condition. How is this possible?" I asked, rubbing a hand along its cold surface.

"Magic?" Edric suggested. "The Nords might not put magic on a pedestal, but they still used it. Alternatively, it could simply be superior craftsmanship, or maybe a rare type of metal."

Whatever it was, it was a way in. I looked to my brother. "Are you ready?" I asked. For all we knew, there could be a dozen bandits waiting on the other side, the bandit-slayer himself, or even more corpses. There was only one way to find out. We pulled the door open, the metal creaking loudly as we did so.

We stepped into a large, vast chamber. While the outside had stood strong and undamaged, the inside had not been unfortunate. Parts of the interior were already in a state of collapse, with piles of rubble lying here and there. They must have wasted most of their budget on the Barrow's exterior, then. To the right was what appeared to be some sort of table or altar, on a raised platform. "Here's hoping the ceiling doesn't come down on top of us," I said as we stepped into the room.

We immediately noticed a campsite on the far end, next to a passage that led deeper into the Barrow. There were a series of bedrolls surrounding an extinguished campfire. Two of the bedrolls contained corpses, their throats slashed, and their expressions in pure and utter shock.

"Did the opening of the door not alert them?" Edric asked.

"They probably thought it was one of their comrades, and went back to sleep," I concluded. "Six bedrolls, plus the two we found at the tower. Eight in total, unless there's another camp further in. We've found six bodies so far, so most of the work has already been done for us."

Edric nodded. "There's still the Draugr to contend with, and possibly some traps." He looked down at the bandits, an uneasy expression on his face. "Can we trust whoever did this? It takes a special kind of person to do something like... that."

"They're bandits, Edric," I said flatly, "and your own magic is far more brutal than a slit throat."

"I mean, whoever did this has killed six people in cold blood, and most of them didn't see it coming. They're highly dangerous, and ruthless too."

"They won't get the drop on us. We're approaching from behind, and they don't know we're here," I reminded him. "As to whether or not we can trust them... we'll find that out when we meet them." Still, he did have a point; whoever did this probably wasn't overly concerned about making it to Sovngarde.

With that, we continued deeper into the barrow, heading down the stairs and into a long, winding hallway. I kept my sword and shield drawn, just in case we came across any unexpected danger. We passed multiple large burial urns, a shelf containing a series of ruined books, and a table covered with wraps of linen and a set of curved blades which Edric identified as embalming tools. "You truly do know a lot about these places," I realized.

"My mentor was from Skyrim; he taught me a great deal about Nordic lore, and he once took part in an expedition to one of these places," Edric explained as we walked. "Look, notice how many of the torches and braziers are still lit? That wasn't the bandits; the Nords enchanted them to burn forever. Sometimes the enchantment fades, but the majority still tend to be functioning."

That was indeed impressive; it saved us the trouble of having to bring a torch of our own, and anyone who wanted to make this place a temporary habitat wouldn't have to worry about constantly replacing them.

The hallway continued to take us lower and lower, with sets of stairs appearing every twenty or thirty feet. Sometimes, it branched off, but unfortunately every alternative route had collapsed. Hopefully none of them led to our Dragonstone; we hadn't brought pickaxes, and even if we had there was no way the two of us could excavate this ruin on our own.

Eventually, we came across another body, lying face down. He too was clad in furs, just like many of his other brethren. His throat had been cut as well. He was lying just a few feet away from another set of stairs, this one leading down into another chamber. We could hear the sound of footsteps coming from within.

I nodded to Edric, and the two of us crept down the stairs as slowly and quietly as possible. We winced slightly every time we took a step that turned out to be slightly louder than expected, but that was to be expected; neither of us were experienced in stealth. Finally, we made it down, and noted that the footsteps had halted. Had they heard us?

I stepped through the doorway. I immediately noticed movement in the corner of my left eye, and instinctively slammed my shield into it. The strange figure staggered backwards, the wind knocked out of him. I raised my sword to issue a follow-up attack, but stopped when I took note of his features.

He wore leather armour, not unlike my own, and had a bow and quiver strapped to his back. Though one hand was clutching his ribs where I had struck him, the other hand gripped a curved elven dagger. His long dark hair had been cut short, but there was no mistaking that face, which was staring right back at my own with wide, surprised eyes.

Beric.