Arminius spent the next couple of days doing literally nothing but lay up against a rock. There was this ginormous orc that was hammering down on the wall with his third pickaxe, and he looked over at Arminius' lazy form and yelled at him.
"Hey!" He said. "Why don't you get your lazy ass up and work off your debt!"
"Oh let it go, Borkul," a man sitting crisscross on the ground said. "You and I both know were never getting out of here." Borkul grunted and picked up a new pickaxe to keep picking against the wall. "So what are you in for, newblood?" the man asked. Arminius turned himself over.
"I'm innocent for the most part," Arminius replied. The man smiled.
"I was too, for the first one. The other murders we're all me though. Just to pass the time, I suggest picking up a pickaxe and mining before someone decided to take a shiv to you."
"Why not?" Arminius said, pushing himself up. He picked up one of the pickaxes and went next to Borkul. "So…how do I do this? Do I just…hit the wall with it?" Borkul only glared at him, and Arminius just shrugged and went to hitting the wall with the pickaxe.
The crunching of the rocks and the ding of the metal, and Arminius might go crazy. Eventually he saw a little piece of silver ore cracked off into the ground. He picked it up and dusted it off, taking a good look at it.
"Looks like I got one," He said smiling, holding it up to Borkul. Borkul continued to glare at him, and then Arminius noticed the large bucket next to him which was full of silver ore. "Looks like I have some catching up to do."
Borkul pushed him away from him, Arminius tripping on a rock and falling down on his back. Arminius got up and sighed, going away to the other part of the mine.
Arminius had a bucket of silver ore of his own after the next week. The repetitive dinging of the pickaxe and the dusty rocks falling from the ceiling could've driven him crazy by now, but it didn't. For meals, the guards would throw down a couple pieces of meat at least once a day, and it was scarce. The prisoners would have to rush for each piece, sometimes fight each other for it. When Arminius was hungry and he saw a piece of meat in the ground, he had to fight a reachman for it. Duach was his name, and he was rather threatening; but Duach had given Arminius a good punch and he was down.
Especially since they work in the same area as each other, things were particularly awkward.
Arminius was lucky he didn't get a shiv to him; he remembered once seeing someone who was newer than him get his throat slit with a shiv for taking some skooma from someone. Even after that week, it was relentless and he didn't think he could make it.
The longer the time passed, and Arminius eventually had to make some friends. Without people to back him up down there, he could be in serious danger. When he talked to several of the other prisoners, he learned that they were all Reachmen of some sort and that they all had a mutual respect for each other.
When proving himself to them, Arminius joined in with them, gaining their respect for the time being.
He heard their stories, and how sad they were. They all shared bitter resentment towards the Nords for the way they have been mistreated. But who could blame the Nords? The Reachmen were the ones killing innocents.
Braig was a man with the saddest story. He and Arminius were rested up against the rocky wall, they rocks shearing into their backs, but at this point they were used to it.
"Tell me you're story first," Braig said. Arminius nodded.
"Well I was adopted and I grew up on a farm," Arminius said. "This is the first time I have ever been put in jail."
"I see," Braig said. "What did you do for a living?"
"I'm a Legionnaire, or was…until I came to this damn city," Arminius replied. "At this point, I don't know if I'm ever going to get out of here and return." Arminius scoffed. "Here, I was thinking a trip to Skyrim would be wonderful, and it's only full of crazy corrupt guards and people trying to kill me."
"What about your family?"
"I have my parents, but they're back in Cyrodiil," Arminius said. "What about you?" Braig's face went sorrowful for the moment.
"I had a daughter…" He said, his voice shaky. Arminius looked at him blankly. "She would've been 23 by now."
"Would've been?"
"I don't like to talk about it."
When they all called it a day, they would go and find their own place to rest. Arminius sat with Uraccen by the campfire, and after he had gone to sleep, Arminius would look at the barred gate that leads somewhere further into the mine. He did that almost every night.
He knew what was there on the other side: Madanach.
Why hasn't he gone to him yet? A side of him believed that actually working would get him out, but he knew it wouldn't. The king in rags has been able to sneak out orders to people somehow, and he wondered if there was ever a way to escape that way.
The weeks had turned into months, and by the end of his second month, Arminius was losing it. His facial hair was now thickening into a short beard and his once skin short hair was now a little longer, scruffier and greasier. He had by now collected several wagons full of Silver Ore; he had gotten pretty good at mining. He would stare blankly with bloodshot eyes into the rocks, hearing the echo of his pickaxe. He was hungry, and dehydrated most of the time considering the guards barely ever brought water to them.
For months I haven't seen the sun, and all I could hear were the echoes of the pickaxe and the rocks. So many damn rocks, so much ringing.
He eventually just stood there, looking into space with his mouth hanging open. Grisvar the Unlucky noticed him while he was working and waved his hand in front of his face.
"Hello?" He called. Arminius wasn't responding, and some drool hung out the side of his mouth. "Hello?" He repeated. Duach came beside him.
"Goodness gracious, Arminius has lost it," He said. "Come on, lay him down." They both moved Arminius and gently laid him on the ground. "He needs some water, go and get some from our reserve," Duach ordered Grisvar. When they gave him water, Arminius snapped back to reality.
I was a trained soldier, and I couldn't handle this?
Arminius lay down on the ground, looking at the wall without emotion; just pure hopelessness.
"Today is the new year," Uraccen said, carrying a wooden box. He rested a bottle of mead next to him. "Happy 4E 200. The mead was smuggled in by a friend of mine and that rarely happens, so it's best you drink up now before Borkul decides to get himself drunk."
Arminius, keeping his same emotionless face, turned over and sat up. He grabbed the mead and looked at it.
That was the first time I ever really had mead, then it kind of went with me. I kept drinking it after a while because it reminded me of giving me hope in the prison. Of course I've had other drinks before, some regular Ale, beer and wine; but Mead was better for me at that moment, and it was my first time having it.
Arminius slowly opened the bottle and gently sipped some. Letting it settle, he decided to take some more sips and then eventually chugs. The taste was delicious, considering that this was the first drink he's had besides some muddy water.
The first words that he's uttered in a week since his breakdown: "Thank you."
He was now nineteen, his birthday long since passed, and now it was the year 4E 200. He gained his mental stability back for a little bit of time, his facial hair now even thicker and hair even shaggier. He hadn't bathed since he'd gotten in there, and it was now his fourth month.
He was continuing his mining work since it was the only damn thing left to do until the giant Orc, Borkul, came up to him.
"The King wants to speak with you," he said. Arminius paused and looked at him questioningly.
"We have a king?" Arminius said before realizing. "Oh…right, I forgot that King Madanach was in here."
"I suggest you get to it, you don't want to keep him waiting."
This was the day that I make my mark. I built an army, made my plans, and I have answered the people's call.
An old Nordic man in a unique set of thick clothing had ridden his horse up through the region of Haafingar. His blondish hair went down to his neck, and his face looks like he has aged.
Today the Nord's cries for freedom will be heard.
He saw the silhouette of a city on a cliff through the fog and trees.
On this day, I avenge Skyrim.
Looks like the War is knocking on Skyrim's door. Be sure to read and review.