Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. As promised, a second chapter this weekend. Thank you all for reading. It was good to hear from you Chris. Maybe Ralof and company just see something in Ulfric I don't. I really looked forward to working for a guy that sounds like Vladimir Kulich.
But enough soapboxing. It's story time.
A few weeks later a merchant paddled his long, broad-beamed canoe upstream to Lake Honrich. At the bow, a hulking mercenary lounged, singularly disinterested in helping his Imperial paymaster paddle the cargo along.
"I'm the protection. You're not paying me to paddle," Farkas had teased me when I made a wisecrack about his laziness. He shifted to get comfortable on his hard bench and prevent his long legs from cramping around the cargo.
The work should have been much harder. Thankfully most of the cargo was just bags of charcoal. Along with that was a handful of iron and corundum ingots. The quartermaster at the Legion camp hidden in the southern Rift was less than thrilled to part with the valuable materials. In the end I was obligated to leave most of my remaining cash and dragon scale armor as an assurance that I would come back with his supplies.
It was a cargo that could have been bought or sold at any of the mining camps, villages and farms that touched the meandering miles of the Treva River, but only at the hidden Legion camp could my purchases go without word spreading to the Stormcloaks that patrolled the southern road on horseback or the river in small barges, yellow moonstone weapons in their hands.
More than once I was challenged by soldiers and passers-by. They often expressed their surprise at the length I was going to, but I insisted the best prices were all the way in Riften. Nobody on the river disagreed. Nobody thought it strange for a battered, tired-looking, ex-legionnaire to be scraping up a cargo with his pension to sell later on.
Our luck and planning held out so Farkas and I found ourselves passing into the city canals just before sunset. The water gates bumped shut behind us, not to open again until sunrise. I found a spot to dock and directed my steps to a water-level flophouse that catered to Riften's cheapest visitors. Farkas stayed behind for a few minutes before carrying out his half of the plan at the Ragged Flagon.
I came out the next morning to find my cargo "stolen". I stood at the blank spot on the wharf where we docked the night before. I pretended to be shocked, yet another outsider reduced to destitution by Riften's baleful influence. I turned away and hid a smile as best I could. If things went well, I would meet Farkas on the water in a few days' time with the knowledge of where that asshole Vulwulf got the moonstone weapons he drove out to the rebel soldiers.
I climbed the stairs up from the canals and spent the next several hours wandering aimlessly. A few too many people continued to stare at me with expressions of sympathy or contempt.
I took the opportunity during my wandering to check on Honeyside, my long-neglected house and peace-offering from Maven Black-Briar. I was not surprised to find it boarded up by the Jarl's order. I wondered for a moment if I was still a thane in the Rift. Graffiti adorned the walls. The word 'traitor was featured prominently in big black letters. There was a generous amount of equally unkind statements and obscene drawings etched around that word. A vandal with more ambition than understanding of Nibenese grammar had scrawled what translates to "People called the Imperials they go the house." I shook my head slowly and moved on.
Eventually I sank beneath the notice of even the most sympathetic locals and took the opportunity to slip in the back door of Mjoll and Aerin's townhouse.
Aerin came through the front door early in the afternoon. He discovered me reading his copy of The Hope of the Redoran. If he was surprised to see me in his living room, he hid it well behind his armload of groceries.
A true Nibenayan, he came in a minute later with two clay cups and an unlabeled bottle of cheap, fruity, red wine. We spoke obliquely at first; exchanging news about our spouses and discussing the domestic issues that plagued his life and would someday haunt mine.
We were towards the end of the second bottle when we shifted over to business.
"Where's Mjoll?" I asked, "I had the impression you two weren't apart very often."
Aerin shifted uncomfortably on his couch, "She went out clear a slighted tower east of town. She should've been back yesterday. I'm getting worried."
I set my tumbler down leaned forward in my seat, "Worried how?"
Some of the love-struck husband eased from his features, "We cased the place last week. The tower's foundation is still there, but most of the walls are gone. Limited approaches and good sightlines to the east, west, and south. Definitely more than a one man job. I wanted to go with her, but. . ." He sighed. I leaned back and waited for him to finish. "Ever since she crawled out of that Dwarf city, she's been trying to make up for it. She left her sword in there and it's like she left a piece of herself with it. She's been nerving herself up to go in there and get it back for a while now," he explained.
I nodded my understanding, "And she's been running bigger and bigger risks in the process. How about a deal Aerin? I'll go look for her if you help me find where Vulwulf gets his weapons from."
"That's easy," Aerin stood and beckoned for me to follow, "You've got a deal on one condition: I go with you to the tower."
Our boots clomped down the upstairs hallway, "Are you sure that's wise Aerin?" I asked as he stopped me in front of a wardrobe in his spare room.
He let out a long-suffering sigh, "Let's put it this way: I haven't exactly told Mjoll what I used to do for a living."
He opened the armoire to reveal a patched leather cuirass, a yew long bow so carefully and liberally polished it was glossy black, and a steel short sword in a worn scabbard.
Two scrawny Imperials, one known as a ruined man the other as a tamed man, drew a number of sidelong glances as we left town. Most had the decency to laugh behind our backs, but not all. Despite his battered gear, Aerin had the unmarred features of a greenhorn husbandman, someone who had never known violence or fatigue in his life. In contrast my splotchy, scarred, unshaved, weather-beaten face was one of a man thoroughly defeated by the world. The new leather armor, like Aerin's in make but new from a local merchant, was the cheap gear of a man down to his last resources. The iron sword at my side told the same story. Revenant was hidden in the quiver of arrows on my back. My ash bow looked like Aerin's yew stave, but lacked the killing power of that gorgeous weapon.
We weathered the meaningful glances and titters of the locals on the way out of town. As soon as the trees masked the walls Aerin led me into the thicket and bent our path north. He broke into a fast, loping jog as soon as we were free of the roadside undergrowth. He was hard to keep pace with. Before long I regretted hanging my sword from my belt where it could bang away on my thigh over the miles of soft, uneven ground.
Aerin's merciless pace paid dividends in the end. Well before sunset we were in the rocks a few yards distant from the demolished tower. A handful of people wandered aimlessly at the camp there. At his gesture, I dropped to my belly and wormed forward behind him in the afternoon light.
We waited until that that hour were the sun is down and yet its light still tries to reach the world. Aerin and I stuck from the grey like livid shadows. It was like so many times I'd rushed a criminal's camp years ago in Colovia. We raced our arrows in with gladius and Revenant drawn. We covered the dead ground and vaulted up the foundation of the tower. Our arrows found their marks and threw two of the squatters to the ground.
I cut a second man down and looked to see Aerin circling the bandits' leader. The fight looked hopelessly mismatched. Aerin might have been two-thirds his opponent's weight and the steel legion-pattern short sword in his hand was slightly more two feet long. It opposed an axe whose haft alone was twice that length.
"Where's the Lioness?" Aerin demanded.
Out of the tail of my eye, I saw a bandit leveling his bow at Aerin.
"Wuld!" I Shouted to close the range. Revenant roared with glee as it cut the raider's weapon in half before doing the same to his stomach. As he crumpled in pain I grabbed his skull and sent the silvery blade though his eye. Once the dead man fell from my view, I saw Mjoll. She was lying her belly bound, gagged, and bloodied. Her eyes were wide behind swollen bruises while she watched from the floor as Aerin killed a man with an efficiency that would do the Dark Brotherhood proud.
Watching Aerin fight was like watching water flow in a rapid. Before the hulking chief could begin to move the weapon which had guaranteed his dominance over the other outlaws at the tower, he had cuts weeping blood covering his body. The axe finally swung down. Aerin treated his arm like a sword, parrying with the flat of his weapon and cutting back, up, and deep into his opponent's forearm.
The axe dropped from the damaged arm. Aerin's free arm was soon wrapped around the man's swollen bicep to pull the overbalanced enemy down. With a ferocious yell the angry husband drove his narrow blade up through the jaw of the bandit. The lifeless body was kicked away and it fell gracelessly at Aerin's feet. There was nothing of the love-struck townie on his scowling face. He dragged his blade over a dark brown stain on his cuirass before sheathing the weapon with a flourish and a hard shove.
"Holy shit Aerin," I breathed while closing Revenant down. People who see me get angry call me frightening. Remind me never to never incur Aerin's wrath.
"That's how you get to retire from being a bandit," was the only explanation he needed.
In a flash he was on his knees at Mjoll's side, loosening her bonds and cleaning her wounds. Opting to give them privacy, I collapsed a few tents to make a stretcher for the trip back to town.
We didn't get far before it was too dark to travel on the road back to Riften. Our camp was quiet that night. Mjoll sat alone, looking across the fire between her husband and me. Her bruised and bandaged arms were wrapped around her knees. I got the feeling that I was about to be caught in the middle of a world-class couple fight.
The next morning found Mjoll significantly recovered. She could walk easily and the bruising had subsided. She maintained her brittle silence however, and looked on Aerin with deep accusation. The townsfolk studiously avoided us when they noticed the look on Mjoll's face. With her obvious seething anger, it was easy to suppose that she was bringing us back after getting in over our heads.
Finally when we were inside, Aerin could bear it no longer, "Mjoll! Please, speak to me!" he called after her as she stomped up the stairs to their room.
"Finish your business with the Dragonborn," she said without looking back. The door slammed shut behind her.
I brought it up when I introduced Mjoll and Aerin back in I, Dragonborn, and I maintain the same opinion now: Aerin is a closet badass. That is the only plausible explanation.