Chapter 3

Caught in a Landslide

[Author's Note: Have I got the song stuck in your head yet? **grin** Marcus still isn't sure what to make of Tamsyn, and still isn't convinced he can't get home again, so he's sticking close. This leads to some eye-opening experiences for him.]

[See the end of the chapter for more Notes.]

Marcus awoke early and returned to the common room to see Orgnar back behind the bar, but the big man refused to meet his eyes. He saw Tamsyn already up and about, working at the strange table on the opposite side of the room.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Good morning to you, too," she replied dryly. "Sleep well?"

"What?" he started. "No, I – I didn't sleep well at all. Can we talk…privately?" He threw a glance at Delphine, standing not too far away. Her nonchalant manner didn't fool him for a minute; he was certain she was listening in.

"I suppose we need to," she sighed. "I'm just about done here. Give me a few minutes."

"What is that you're making?" Marcus queried. She was pouring some kind of distillate into small red bottles.

"Healing potions," she explained. "As well as other kinds of potions and poisons. I had to use what I had on hand. We don't have the money to buy much in the way of expensive ingredients."

"Poisons!" Marcus looked shocked. "You can't be serious!"

"I'm perfectly serious," she said flatly. "When applied to an arrow or the blade of a weapon, a poison against your enemy might be the difference between life and death…yours, that is."

Marcus brooded, but said nothing. Finally she was finished and thanked Delphine for the use of the alchemy lab, gathered up her belongings and slipped her pack on her back.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go."

"Where are we going?" he asked, trotting to keep up with her.

"Whiterun, eventually," she replied. "But there's a stop we need to make first. And I need to see if Faendal can come with us."

Alvor had mentioned Faendal yesterday, and called him a Bosmer. That wasn't any nationality he'd ever heard of before, but Marcus was realizing there were a lot of things happening recently that were outside his experience.

Faendal turned out to be an elf; a tall, blonde, pointed-eared, Lord of the Rings elf, for Christ's sake. A day or two ago, Marcus would have been marveling over the make-up and prosthetics job. Today, however, he stared quietly at the living, breathing, fairy-tale legend and let Tamsyn do the talking.

"So you'll come with us?" she was saying now.

"Of course!" he smiled. "Helping you retrieve Lucan's claw is sure to impress his sister Camilla. And I sure do want to impress her."

"It's going to be dangerous," she warned. "I can't guarantee your safety."

"You let me worry about that," Faendal said. "I can look after myself. Besides, I got some decent armor from the bandits in the mine yesterday, and a really fine greatsword. I feel a lot more confident we can handle whatever Bleak Falls Barrow throws at us."

"Alright, then," she said gratefully. "I've made some healing potions for you, and a few poisons for your bow."

"Thanks!" Faendal grinned, taking the sack from her. "These will definitely come in handy." He looked over at Marcus who had said nothing this whole time. "He's coming with us, too?"

"Yes," Tamsyn said firmly. "There's something else in the barrow we need to find, the two of us."

"If you say so," Faendal said, shrugging. He offered his hand to Marcus, who took it automatically. "What weapon do you prefer, Marcus?" he asked.

Marcus hardly knew how to answer that. "Um…a sharp one?" he guessed.

The Bosmer elf burst out laughing. "Good answer!" he chuckled, clapping Marcus on the back. "It will be a privilege to see how you handle yourself."

Marcus had a sinking feeling he was already outclassed. Still, Ralof had given him a few pointers. He just hoped he remembered enough of them to defend himself if he needed to.

The bandits at the watchtower weren't that difficult to beat. Marcus hung back and let Faendal whittle away at them with his bow. But they charged forward, and Tamsyn called forth that ghost-wolf again, then shot streams of fire and ice at them until they crumpled under the assault.

The one waiting at the top of the watchtower was a little tougher, and they couldn't all get into the tower and up the stairs to fight him. Tamsyn's wolf went in first, but didn't last long against the man's battleaxe. Faendal charged in with his greatsword while Tamsyn maneuvered around to shoot a steady stream of ice at the brute. When he finally collapsed, Faendal turned to Marcus.

"Don't hold back," he said severely. "If you see an opening, get in there and strike!"

"I don't—I mean, I'm not—"

"You do know how to swing a sword, don't you?" Faendal asked sharply.

"It's not that simple," Marcus spluttered.

Understanding dawned in the wood elf's eyes. "You don't, do you?" he said gently. "You've never had to fight for your life before, have you?"

Marcus shook his head, miserably. He was a failure and an embarrassment. He should head back down the mountain right now and wait for them at the Sleeping Giant. He said as much to his two companions.

"You can't, Marcus," Tamsyn protested. "You need to be there."

"Why?" he demanded. "I'm a liability, Tamsyn. You saw what just happened here. You and Faendal pretty much took care of these guys by yourselves. I could end up getting killed….or worse, getting one of you killed!"

"Maybe you just have the wrong weapon," Faendal suggested. "That Imperial sword is all well and good, but you end up having to get too close to your enemy to be able to hit him. And if he's wielding a battleaxe or greatsword, his reach is always going to be greater than yours."

"The larger weapons are slower, though," Tamsyn pointed out. "If you're quick enough, agile enough, you can get inside his guard before he can swing at you again."

"I'm not quick," Marcus said sourly. "I don't even know what I'm doing."

"Then let me show you," Faendal suggested. He proceeded to hand Marcus the bandit chief's large battleaxe and took him through several steps and paces for defending himself against an attack. After a good, solid half-hour, Marcus felt a little more confident that he could ward off a direct attack against him. He still wasn't sure he'd be able to hit anyone if he needed to. And he had the distinct feeling he was going to need to.

Tamsyn and Faendal assured him they would do everything they could to keep him safe. Their promises made him feel a little better about his chances for survival, but he felt ashamed he didn't 'have their backs' as they had his. If he got out of this alive, he resolved to put in some serious practice.

There were more bandits outside the Barrow itself, perched high on the side of the mountain; there were even more inside. Tamsyn with her spells, and Faendal with his bow managed to take them out before they could get too close, but even so, Faendal took an arrow in the shoulder and they had to stop while he drank some of the precious healing potions and recover. Marcus was amazed to see the blood stanch and tissues meld themselves back together.

"How is that possible?" he breathed.

Tamsyn shrugged. "Magic works here, Marcus," she said quietly. "This isn't our old world."

Marcus threw a warning glance toward Faendal, where the Bosmer was attempting to pick open a locked chest. Tamsyn followed his gaze and shrugged.

"Don't worry about Faendal," she said. "He knows about us. I told him everything yesterday."

"And he believed you?"

"Not at first," she admitted, "but eventually he came around and agreed the Divines were at work here. He had a little trouble accepting that this was all just a game where we came from, but he agrees with me now that someone brought us here for a reason, and he's more than willing to help us."

Somehow, knowing there was at least one person in this world who knew the truth and believed them made Marcus feel a lot better.

The chest contained a few more gold coins—called 'septims', Marcus learned—and a few more weapons and bits of armor. There was nothing better than the ones already being carried, but Tamsyn squealed in delight over a green robe folded up in the bottom of the chest.

"Ooo! This is better than what I'm wearing now!" she exclaimed happily.

"We can turn our backs and wait while you change, if you like," Faendal offered.

"Would you?" she asked.

Marcus shrugged. "Sure," he said. "It's not like we're on a time schedule or anything." He turned his back, and Faendal promptly did the same.

"I thought you were both in a hurry to get to Whiterun," the elf said.

"We are," Tamsyn said from behind them. "But we needed to come here first, or else we're just going to have to come back."

"Why?" Marcus asked.

"Because once we tell Jarl Balgruuf about Helgen, he's going to turn us over to his court mage who will ask us to find something here. I'm just beating him to the punch."

"Efficiency at its finest," Marcus grimaced.

"It's a four-hour walk to Whiterun," Faendal said drily. "I don't blame her for not wanting to make that trip twice in one day."

When Tamsyn was clothed again they pushed on. It wasn't long before they found Arvel, another elf with darker skin, who turned out to be one of the thieves who'd stolen Lucan Valerius' golden claw. Marcus cut him down after they killed the biggest spider he'd seen yet since coming to Skyrim, but Arvel only sneered, "Why should I share the treasure with you fools?" Faendal shot him down before he could disappear out of sight.

"That's for Camilla and Lucan," he muttered, picking up the golden claw and handing it to Marcus to hold. It was a lot heavier than Marcus thought it would be, but he managed to get it into his backpack and lugged it back on his shoulder.

They pushed on further into the Barrow, and before long Tamsyn called a halt.

"We have to be careful from here on in," she whispered. "This place is really a tomb, and it's filled with a lot of dead bodies."

"So what?" Marcus asked. "If they're dead, they won't bother us." The other two stared at him in disbelief. "What? They can't, can they?"

"They're known as draugr," Faendal explained. "Legend has it they used to serve the ancient dragon priests and were cursed with undeath for their treachery. Believe what you might, the dead have a tendency to not stay that way in Skyrim."

"Lovely," Marcus commented, in a tone that clearly implied he thought it was anything but. "So, what happens when they walk around? Can they turn us into zombies or something if they scratch us?"

"You're thinking of vampires," Faendal shuddered. "Pray we don't find any of those down here. The draugr are bad enough!"

"You're not serious!" Marcus exclaimed. He turned to Tamsyn. "He's not serious, is he?"

"Deadly serious," she murmured. "And keep your voice down, or you will literally wake the dead, and then we're all in trouble. Let's keep moving."

Very soon, Marcus found out exactly what she meant. One large chamber they entered had dozens of crypts carved into the stone with numerous skeletons and bodies lying in state within. Some of the bodies were practically naked, while others still had bits of armor on them. All were in a state of mummification he'd only seen in museums and on the National Geographic Channel.

Tamsyn touched Faendal's arm and pointed across the chamber to one of the armored bodies and nodded her head. He seemed to understand, for he took careful aim with his bow and let fly an arrow. It struck true, and the body growled and shuddered before it lay still, startling the hell out of Marcus.

"What was that?" he nearly shouted, as his two companions shushed him severely. It was too late. Three more bodies rose from their crypts, coughed and growled, and peered around with eerie, glowing blue eyes. One of them spotted the three of them near the stairs and shouted something that sounded like "Faaz! Paak! Dinok!"

"Oh, crap!" Marcus moaned. He barely got the battleaxe up in time before the creature was bringing its sword down on him. The smell of death was nauseating, and he realized with horror that the damned thing was female!

Heat washed over him as a flume of fire ignited the draugr. It staggered back just long enough for him to swing down with the axe with both hands. The draugr sprawled undignified on the stone floor, the blue light leaving its eyes.

Faendal was going toe to toe with one wearing really old-looking armor, and Tamsyn was peppering it with bursts of fire, endeavoring to keep from catching the wood elf in the process. Eventually, the tomb was silent once more, except for the labored breathing of the three companions.

"And that, my friend, is a Draugr," Faendal quipped.

"I don't like them," Marcus said sourly, and Faendal grinned, clapping him on the back for the second time that day.

They pushed on. They encountered more draugr, traps that had to be avoided, locks that must be picked on chests to reveal coins and other treasure. As much as he hated to admit it, Marcus was beginning to think he could get used to this kind of life. After a few more skirmishes with draugr and a few more pointers from Faendal, he was feeling more comfortable swinging the battleaxe and blocking blows. He was also smart enough to know he had a long way to go before he could consider himself proficient at it.

They finally reached a large, round wall with no visible opening. Concentric rings with animal motifs on them surrounded a flat circular area in the middle which looked to have some kind of indentations in it.

"Is this the end?" Marcus asked. "Do we go back now?"

Tamsyn shook her head. "We haven't found what we came for yet. It's beyond this door."

"This is a door?" Faendal asked doubtfully. "How do we get it open? I don't see any locks to pick."

"We don't need a pick," the girl said smugly. "The claw is literally the key to getting it open."

Marcus pulled the golden claw out of his backpack and looked closely at it. It was large, that was certain; large enough that maybe…just maybe the talons would fit into the holes on the center portion of the wall. He tested and found that it fit perfectly.

"Hold it!" the red-haired girl cried. "You haven't set the code yet!"

"Code?" Faendal echoed, confused. "What code?"

Marcus pulled the claw back out and looked at it again. Yes…he could see it now. There were motifs on the palm of the claw. A bear, some kind of butterfly or moth, and what looked to be an owl. He examined the door again and saw the rings could actually be moved.

"I get it," he grinned. "Help me here, Faendal!" Together they shifted the rings so the animals on the stone matched the order set on the claw. Marcus then fit the claw back into the holes and turned it.

Nothing happened.

"What?" he exclaimed. "That's the right combination, I know it!"

"Try pushing the plate in as you turn," Tamsyn suggested calmly.

He did as she directed, and a rumble went through the floor beneath their feet as the rings on the door spun and lined up with three owls, then began to sink into the stone, revealing an opening beyond.

"You Nords and your ancient puzzle doors," Faendal smirked, shaking his head. "What were they thinking, putting the right figures on the key itself? Who did they think they were keeping out?"

"Maybe they weren't trying to keep something out," Tamsyn commented, and left it at that.

"Come on," Marcus said, "I want to get out of here as fast as possible. Let's get moving."

"You won't get an argument from me," Faendal said grimly. "This place gives me the creeps."

"A moment please, gentlemen, if you will," Tamsyn said. They paused and turned to her.

"What now?" Marcus sighed.

"This is going to be the toughest battle yet," she told them. "Something may happen to one of us which will trigger a reaction. Be prepared."

"Could you be a little more cryptic, Tamsyn?" Faendal queried, raising a finely-arched eyebrow.

"I don't want to say anymore until we get in there," she replied. "Just be ready."

The two men shrugged and led the way into the huge cavern beyond. At the far end they could see a raised area, with stone steps carved into the base rock leading up to a large curving wall. In front of the wall, on a stone plinth, was a large, black sarcophagus, ornately carved, and a table made of the same black stone, also intricately engraved. As they approached the steps, Marcus heard some kind of chanting. He stopped.

"Something wrong?" Faendal asked.

"No, I just—" Marcus hesitated. "Do either of you hear that chanting?"

Faendal looked confused, and Tamsyn looked oddly disappointed.

"I don't hear anything," the wood elf said. "Do you Tamsyn?"

The girl shook her head. "No, I don't," she said mournfully. "But that tells me what I need to know. Marcus, could you go over and take a look at the wall?"

"I guess so," he replied. "What am I looking for?"

"Just see if you can read any of the scratchings there."

Marcus shrugged and approached the wall. "Looks like Cuneiform to me," he commented. "Hey! Are you guys seeing this?" he asked in surprise.

"Get ready," Tamsyn whispered to Faendal, who nocked an arrow without questioning why. "See what, Marcus?" she called.

"These scratchings….they're glowing!" Wonder filled his voice. "I—I can read them! It says 'fus', but I don't know what it means…guys?" Marcus spun around as a reverberating crack echoed through the cavern. The lid of the sarcophagus had blown off somehow, as if being shot out of a very large cannon, and the corpse inside was getting out!

The creature stood and turned to face Marcus.

"FUS!" it shouted at him, and he felt himself being propelled like a rag doll through the air and slammed against the curving stone wall. Dimly, he was aware that Tamsyn was hitting it with a stream of fire from both hands, and Faendal was peppering it with arrow after arrow, but it seemed to shrug those off. It was the biggest, baddest draugr he'd seen yet.

Bruised and aching, Marcus got to his feet in time to see it slash at Tamsyn, who didn't quite dodge out of the way in time. With an ear-splitting scream, she crumpled, and her fire spell winked out as she desperately tried to crawl away. The draugr raised its sword for a killing blow, but staggered as Faendal hit it squarely between the eyes with an arrow. Those eyes narrowed in hate as the draugr turned to advance on him.

Faendal danced just out of range, still trying to peg it with his bow, but the creature was chasing him down, and he wouldn't be able to keep up a ranged attack for much longer; he'd have to switch to the greatsword quickly.

Marcus ran over to Tamsyn, who was bleeding from a grievous wound. "Oh my God, Tamsyn! Don't die!"

"Potion," she gasped, and he fumbled quickly through his pack and found one of the red bottles she'd given him. He uncorked it and carefully supported her head while he coaxed the liquid into her. Relieved, he could see it beginning to work as the blood stopped flowing and the wound began to close.

"I could use a little help here!" Faendal called desperately, warding off blows from the huge draugr's greatsword. Frost sparkled from the creature's blade, and every glancing blow he struck made the wood elf wince and shiver.

"Go! Help him!" Tamsyn whispered.

"But—"

"I'll be alright," she insisted. "He needs you more!"

Marcus nodded and stood, unslinging the battleaxe from his shoulder. Fury filled him, directed at this undead thing that had dared to hurt his friends. Without realizing it, he gave a wordless roar and charged the draugr, swinging the axe cleanly over his head, feeling it bite deeply into dead flesh before slicing through.

It didn't kill the creature, but instead of turning to fight him, the draugr ran as far away from him as it could.

Marcus blinked in surprise. "What the hell just happened?"

Faendal chuckled. "Voice of the Emperor!" he grinned. "You calmed it. It doesn't want to fight now. Let's finish it off while we have the chance!"

Marcus grinned back and together they advanced on the draugr. It was still tougher than it looked; being cornered made the creature desperate and broke the charm Marcus had laid on it. Tamsyn had recovered enough to hit it with another stream of fire, and the undead responded by Shouting "FUS!" at her and sending her flying. Enraged, Marcus struck out more viciously, but his attacks weren't as effective, and were mostly blocked. He tried screaming at it again, but it had no effect, and Faendal called out, "It only works once! After that they pretty much figure it out!"

"Now you tell me," Marcus gritted out, hissing as the ice-cold blade of the draugr bit deeply into his armor. He was bleeding, he knew, but none of his wounds were serious enough to stop. "Why don't you die and stay dead, damn you!" he growled, bringing the battleaxe down one last time and breaking through the draugr's defense. The creature went down, and the evil blue light went out of its eyes.

Breathing hard, he bent over and put his hands on his knees. "Son of a bitch, that was hard!" he gasped.

"You handled yourself pretty well," Faendal approved. "Nothing like a life-threatening situation to bring out the warrior in us, eh?"

"It's not the adrenaline rush I'd have asked for," Marcus nodded, still breathing hard, "but I have to admit, it was pretty exciting." Despite everything, he found himself grinning.

Tamsyn came over, dusting herself off. "Well, I could do without being blown into the next Province." She leaned down and rummaged through the draugr's armor, pulling out a large stone tablet.

"What's that?" Marcus asked. "It looks like home plate."

Faendal looked perplexed, but Tamsyn smiled. "This is what we came for, the item we need to give to the court mage in Whiterun." Her smile faded. "Of course, that's going to trigger a whole other chain of events."

"Then don't give it to him," Marcus said, matter-of-factly.

The girl shook her head. "That's not an option, Marcus," she replied. "Not giving the stone to Farengar won't stop what's happening to Skyrim."

"What is happening?" Faendal queried. "Besides this silly civil war, I mean."

Tamsyn looked about as unhappy as a person could get without crying. "The end times," she murmured. "Alduin is coming."

Faendal went pale and Marcus was shocked. How could she know about his dream?

"You've got some explaining to do," he growled at her.

"I know," she answered. "And I will. But let's get out of here first."

Nothing else happened as she led them around to a couple more chests that she seemed to know somehow were there, then walked ahead of them up a flight of stone steps to a tunnel she assured them led to the way out of the Barrow.

"Do you know what she's talking about?" Marcus asked Faendal. "About these 'end times', I mean?"

"Only a little," the Bosmer said in a low voice. "It has to do with some prophecy or other about a huge black dragon named Alduin, the World-Eater, and how the ancient Tongues banished him from Tamriel during the Dragon Wars ages ago. The prophecy said that someday he would return, and when he did, it would signal the beginning of the end times."

"And what are the end times?"

"The end of everything!" Faendal answered, surprised Marcus would even ask. "The prophecy says that Alduin will devour all things and the world will end, unless a hero known as the Last Dragonborn can stop him. The problem is, there hasn't been a Dragonborn for centuries."

Alduin; Dragonborn; end times. Faendal spoke as if Marcus would automatically know what he was talking about, and Marcus didn't want to appear any more ignorant than he already did by asking too many questions. He'd had to have Tamsyn clarify things for him later.

What did this mysterious stone tablet have to do with this Alduin? And was Alduin the dragon the same Alduin that had been in his dream, if it was a dream? Why had he been spared and Lynne taken from him? His head ached with all the questions for which he had no answers. That Tamsyn knew more than she was telling him was certain. What of that curious word that only he seemed to be able to read on the wall; the chanting that only he had heard? The draugr had shouted the word at him, and he'd gone flying, yet he couldn't seem to achieve the same result, though he experimented on the way back to Riverwood.

Tamsyn had just shaken her head in that mysterious way of hers. "You haven't unlocked its meaning yet," was all she would say.

It was early afternoon when they made it back safely to Riverwood. They returned the golden claw to a very grateful Lucan Valerius, and his sister was beaming in admiration at Faendal, who grinned like the fool in love that he was. They parted from him with promises to visit soon that Marcus wasn't sure they'd be able to keep and stopped by the smithy to sell off the rest of the weapons and armor Tamsyn had insisted on picking up as they went along.

"Why?" he'd demanded every time they'd killed a draugr and she'd picked over its corpse.

"Because we can sell these items, and right now, we need the cash," she'd explained. So he let himself become a pack mule and carried the equipment with few complaints. Now, he was glad he'd given in, seeing their nest egg grow.

As quickly as possible, they said their good-byes to Gerdur and Hod, Faendal and Lucan, Alvor and Orgnar, and headed up the road to Whiterun. It was mid-afternoon, and Tamsyn was hopeful they could get in to see the Jarl before it got too late.

"And if it is too late to see him, assuming he'll consent?" Marcus asked.

"Then we'll have to rent a room at the Bannered Mare and wait until tomorrow morning to talk to him," she replied, worry furrowing her brow. She still hadn't explained the significance of the stone tablet, or how it related to this World-Eating dragon, and he didn't know how to approach the subject. She broached it herself once they got on the road.

"So I imagine you've got a lot of questions, and just don't know which one to ask first, eh?" she began.

"Yeah," he said. "Like, who or what is this Alduin?"

She shuddered before replying. "Alduin was that huge black dragon that attacked Helgen the day before yesterday," she said soberly. "He was banished from Tamriel centuries ago by heroes known as the First Tongues, the first ones to learn how to use the Dragon Shouts."

"Wait, is that what that draugr did to us?" Marcus asked. The girl beside him nodded.

"Yes. Those with the proper training can learn to focus their vital essence into what is known as a Thu'um, or Shout. They are said to have the dragon blood in them, and a dragon's soul."

"And you think I'm one of them?" he inquired incredulously.

Again she nodded. "You were sitting in the same spot in the cart that the player character in the game wakes up in," she explained. "You were the only one of us to hear the chanting at the word wall, the only one who could read the word. Basically, the player character is the Last Dragonborn, a hero with the body of a mortal and the soul of a dragon. As you go through the game you get stronger, learn new skills, new Shouts, even spells if you choose to, and eventually beat the game by facing your destiny."

"And what is that destiny?" he asked, not really sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Tamsyn hesitated. "To kill Alduin," she finally whispered.

"WHAT?" He rounded on her. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" he exploded. "I have to go up against that?" He gestured wildly backwards in the general direction of Helgen. "No way! No fucking way!" he raged. "I'll be dead in two seconds. You saw what he did to an entire village, and they had all those Imperial soldiers there to fight that thing."

He didn't tell her about the dream. He realized now it wasn't a dream, and he knew that somehow this Alduin creature, whatever it was, had taken his wife away from him. He had thought that he and Lynne would share their afterlife together in Heaven, but he wasn't in Heaven. Was he in Hell? That had to be it. To have been stripped of his wife's soul and shoved into this ridiculous alternate reality where he had no skills to survive. He had to be in Hell. But what had he done to deserve this? He'd been a good Christian; he'd gone to church faithfully, read his Bible, gave to charity and worked hard to provide for his family. He didn't always get along with everyone, but he was mostly kind to all and didn't hold grudges. He'd never violated any of the Ten Commandments, so why was he in Hell? It had to be a mistake. This wasn't the afterlife he'd signed up for.

Tamsyn was trying to talk to him, to calm him down, to reason with him, but all he could focus on was, I have to kill a dragon to get out of here. I'm going to die.

"Please Marcus," the red-haired girl was begging now, "please just come with me to Whiterun. It may not be as bad as you think. Oh, I knew I shouldn't have told you!"

She sounded so miserable that without realizing it, he felt his anger slipping away.

"No," he said, letting out a harsh breath. "No, you're right. If you hadn't told me, and I'd had to find out all of this on my own, I'd've been a lot more pissed than I am now."

She sniffed, and he saw she was close to tears. "You have no idea what it's like," she said in a low, unsteady voice. "I know now what the Oracles of old must have felt, knowing the future, and not having anyone believe them, or getting so mad at them for telling the truth that they would stone them to death. It's a horrible burden to bear."

Marcus blew out another breath and took off his hide helmet, running a hand through his hair. Part of his brain registered that it was longer than he usually kept it. The main point he focused on, however, was exactly how unfair he'd been to Tamsyn since they escaped Helgen and began traveling together. All along she had only been trying to help them improve their situation, using her knowledge of the game to accomplish just that, and he had grumbled and groused the entire time. He felt ashamed of himself. It wasn't her fault; none of this was her fault, but he'd felt the need to lash out against something he couldn't control. It was a humbling thought, and he resolved to do better. He put the helmet back on and helped her to her feet from the rock she'd been sitting on.

"Look," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault. I just—I feel so helpless." He sat down next to her and sighed. "I've been lost and scared and I've been taking it out on you, and I'm sorry."

"I understand, Marcus," she sniffled, blotting her eyes on the sleeve of her tunic. "I really do."

"You don't know everything, though," he said, his voice subdued, and proceeded to tell her about his dream. "Only I know now it wasn't a dream," he said heavily. "It was real, wasn't it?"

"I'm sorry, Marcus," Tamsyn said softly. "I truly am. And I think you're right. It wasn't a dream."

"Why?" Marcus whispered, his vision blurring as he stared out across the river.

"Maybe…" the girl said thoughtfully, "…maybe Alduin was trying to kill you before you could be brought here. If he had succeeded, there would have been nothing to stop him from destroying this world."

"I guess," Marcus nodded. "But I mean, why me? Why was I chosen to be brought here? I don't know anything about the game. I never even heard of it before."

"Maybe that's why," his companion replied softly. "Someone like me who knows the game might try to exploit loopholes, or second-guess outcomes. But I'm not the Dragonborn, so the world won't have to depend on me. It will have to depend on you, an ordinary person with an extraordinary destiny. Someone who, just like the player character in the game, has to bring themselves up from nothing by just their luck and skill alone."

"But to have to do it alone—"

"You won't be alone," Tamsyn insisted. "There will always be those who can help you, if you let them."

"Like you?" He turned to face her, searching her face.

"Like me, for a time," she agreed. "But as the Dragonborn grows and becomes a force to be reckoned with, they very often outgrow the ones who helped them in the beginning. They don't need them anymore." She stood up then and brushed off her tunic. "At least, in the game they don't. The computer-generated characters don't have genuine intelligence, feelings and free will. The people here in Skyrim do. You'd do well to remember that. This isn't a game any longer. It's real life."

He got to his feet, mulling that over. "I think I understand what you mean," he murmured, then took a deep breath. "Come on," he said briskly, "we're not getting any closer to Whiterun the longer we sit here."

She gave him a grateful smile and he patted her shoulder. It was like having his kid sister all over again.

They made good time after that, following the road that followed the river most of the way. They were attacked by wolves only once, but Marcus was starting to feel more comfortable swinging the greataxe, and a forewarning from Tamsyn helped to prepare him when the wolves burst out from cover. It was over in a matter of minutes and they were soon on their way again, after pushing the bodies off to the side of the road.

"Some day you may have to learn how to skin them," she told him.

"Why?"

"Well, where do you think leather comes from?" she asked him. "It's better to hunt your own than to have to buy what you need."

Marcus chuckled. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. They don't exactly have a Wal-Mart on every corner here."

They rounded a last bend in the road which led down the hill to a crossroads, and away to the northwest they saw the city of Whiterun rising up on a knoll out of the tundra.

"Wow," Marcus said. "I admit, I'm pretty impressed."

Tamsyn grinned. "Wait until you see Markarth," she chuckled.

They passed by the Honningbrew Meadery – Nords seemed to really like mead, he thought – and as they approached an outlying farm they heard roars and the clashing of steel.

"Is that a—" Marcus began in wonder.

"Giant," Tamsyn finished. "No, Marcus wait!" Tamsyn called after him, as he took off at a dead run to help the three figures fighting the huge humanoid.

The giant was facing away from Marcus, and he roared as he sunk his axe into the titan's back. It shuddered and turned to face him, but he ducked under the massive club it swung at him and retaliated with a vicious blow to its knees, bringing the creature down with an earth-shaking thud.

One of the other fighters, a woman in green and brown leather with green warpaint striping her face, stepped up to him.

"You handle yourself well," she praised him. "You could make for a decent Shield-Brother."

"Shield-Brother?" he asked blankly, breathing hard. The other two warriors stood a respectful distance away. One was a large, burly, dark-haired man with deep-set eyes; the other, a lithe, strong-looking young woman with less warpaint and wearing heavier armor made up of overlapping scales of steel.

"You're new to Skyrim, eh?" she chuckled. "Never heard of the Companions before?" Marcus shook his head as Tamsyn came running up. "I'm Aela, the Huntress," the woman introduced herself, "and these are my Shield-Siblings, Farkas and Ria. We're an order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor, and we show up to solve problems, if the coin is good enough."

"And you can train people?" Marcus asked hopefully.

"Only if you're a member of the Companions," Aela said, giving Tamsyn a sweeping, dismissive look.

"Can I join, then? What do I have to do?" he pressed her.

"Not for me to say," Aela said. "You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck."

The three Companions turned and left, then. Marcus stood there, deep in thought. This would be a good way for him to improve his fighting techniques. The Lord knew he could use it.

"You're thinking about joining them, aren't you?" he heard Tamsyn say.

"Maybe," he shrugged. "Why? You don't like them?"

"I don't dislike them," she qualified. "I've done their questline before, in the game. But here? They'd never let me in. I'm a mage, not a fighter. Nords generally don't like magic."

"That dark-haired girl didn't look like a Nord," Marcus pointed out.

"No, Ria's an Imperial. But the Companions in particular don't care for magic."

"Well, Aela said they could train me if I joined them," he pointed out. "I could use some training. Where's the harm?"

She looked as though she was struggling with her conscience before she smiled at him. "No harm," she said. "If you want to join them, I'm not your Mom. You don't need my permission."

"That's right," he said, still not sure she was being completely open with him. "I don't. Let's get moving, it's getting late."

[Notes: No, of course she didn't tell him what could happen if he joined the Companions. He will have to find that out for himself, and make his own choice. Next up: all Oblivion breaks loose. Will Marcus be able to handle it? Has he learned enough to survive?]