Chapter 5

[Author's Note: And I'm back with another chapter (or two or three) of Marcus' life as he adjusts from being taken out of our world and being thrown into Skyrim, when he's never even heard of the game before. Tamsyn has left him and he's angry and bewildered by that, but before he can go looking for her, he's got to see some monks up on their mountain to find out what all the Shouting is about. Also, I've dispensed with Chapter titles, since it's hard for me to come up with something relevant. The first four were fun because it seemed to fit, but I'm stumped now. Enjoy!]

It was embarrassing, really, Marcus thought to himself. Everyone from the Jarl of Whiterun on down seemed to think he had singlehandedly taken down Mir Mul Nir. He knew better than anyone that he'd had plenty of help, but Jarl Balgruuf didn't seem inclined to pause long enough in his accolades for Marcus to point out the obvious.

Marcus kept trying to surreptitiously glance behind him to see how Tamsyn was taking all this. She must have been standing directly behind him, however, because he couldn't see her from the corners of his eyes.

"Ah, well." Marcus brought his attention back to the Jarl, who appeared to be finally winding down. "Go to High Hrothgar," he said. "See what the Greybeards can teach you."

The Greybeards. They were the ones who thundered the word "Dovahkiin" across the skies earlier. Everyone in Skyrim had to have heard that call.

Balgruuf stood and motioned Marcus to step forward. "You've done a great service to me and my people, Dragonborn," he said. "It gives me great pleasure to name you Thane of my city. It's the highest honor that's within my power to grant." He offered a large, steel, double-bladed battleaxe to Marcus that shimmered with an eerie green glow. "I present you with this axe from my personal armory as a token of my esteem, and I'll assign Lydia to you as a personal Housecarl. We are honored to have you as a Thane of our city, Dragonborn."

Marcus numbly accepted the axe, and turned to grin at Tamsyn, as if to say, "Can you believe this?" but the smile fell off his face when he realized Tamsyn wasn't there.

"Well, Proventus," he heard Balgruuf say behind him. "Back to the business of managing the Hold, eh?"

It was as much of a dismissal as he was going to get, Marcus realized, and he took it gratefully, practically sprinting down the steps to see where Tamsyn had gone. He didn't see the tall, dark-haired Nord woman until he almost plowed into her.

"Ungh! Sorry!" he muttered, awkwardly trying to catch her with one hand while trying not to impale her with the battleaxe held in the other.

"It's alright, my Thane," the woman replied.

Wait. Thane? Didn't the Jarl say something about giving him a servant of some kind?

"I'm a Thane?" Marcus blinked. "What's a Thane?"

The woman smiled. "The Jarl has awarded you with the title of Thane in recognition of your service," she replied. "Guards will know to look the other way if you tell them who you are."

So, corruption not only existed here, too, it was actually acknowledged and encouraged. "And…you're my servant?"

A flash of indignation sparked in the woman's eyes. "Your Housecarl, my Thane," she clarified. "And as my Thane, I am sworn to protect you and all you own with my life." There was definitely a strong suggestion of pride in her tone.

Marcus was still having trouble wrapping his mind around this. "And you're okay with this?"

"Of course!" the woman exclaimed. Oh, what was her name? Lydia! That was it! "Why wouldn't I be?" she continued. "It's a great honor!"

"How can you be my Housecarl when I haven't even got a house?" Marcus asked wryly.

Lydia smiled. "Well, I know there's one available, if you have the coin."

"Yeah, that's the problem," Marcus muttered. "Look, have you seen a young, red-haired girl hanging around here? We came in together."

An indecipherable expression flashed across Lydia's face so quickly that Marcus might have missed it if he hadn't been staring right at her.

"She left, my Thane," she finally admitted. "She gave me this to give to you." Lydia handed over the coin purse. Marcus realized that it quite possibly contained all the coin he and Tamsyn had earned this past week.

"What do you mean, she left?" he demanded, rushing to the huge iron-clad wooden doors. The guards sprang into action and pulled them open for him before he got there. Rushing outside he scanned the city from his vantage point at the top of the Cloud District, but in the glare of the braziers and the gloom of night beyond, he could see nothing.

Tamsyn was gone.

Marcus attempted to keep his temper under control. He didn't like raising his voice; he liked to think he had successfully raised three wonderful children in his past life with very little yelling. Add to that fact that if he shouted here he might very well bring the roof down on their heads.

He and Lydia had retreated to the Bannered Mare, after Marcus had unsuccessfully scoured Whiterun looking for Tamsyn. How could the girl have simply vanished the way she had? And why had she left? There was still so much he didn't know about this Skyrim, and she was the only one who could guide him through it.

"Tell me one more time, Lydia," he said evenly, trying to wrap his mind around it. "What exactly did she say?"

"I've already told you twice, my Thane!" Lydia protested wearily. "She seemed to know who I was without my saying a word. She knew you were to be named Thane, and she told me to look after you, that you would need a lot of help. She said you needed to make your own way from now on."

"That's it?" he pressed. "You're sure she didn't say where she was going? Or why she didn't take the money with her?"

"She said she wouldn't need it where she was going," Lydia said, keeping her face as neutral as she could. "I don't know where she is," she prevaricated. It was stretching the truth, and she knew it. Technically, she did not, in fact, know exactly where the red-haired Breton girl was at this moment. It would depend whether she caught the last carriage out of Whiterun or if she had to wait, or if she decided to walk to Winterhold. Unlikely, but possible.

Lydia hated having to hide the truth from her Thane, but there had been an unspoken exchange between the two women before Tamsyn turned and left Dragonsreach; a wordless plea that Lydia could read as clear as a printed letter. Don't tell him where I'm going. Lydia had given a quick nod before turning back to the proceedings at the top of the hall.

So now she had to lie to her Thane. Not a good start to the relationship, there, Lyds, she scoffed at herself.

But her Thane seemed to finally accept reality and asked no further questions about the mysterious Seer. "Let's get some sleep, then," he sighed. "There's only the one bed, but I promise you you're safe from me. I won't betray your trust."

As I've already done yours, the Nord woman thought guiltily.

"There's no need for that, my Thane," she replied. "I'm used to roughing it. I have a bedroll I can lay out on the floor."

They spent the next ten minutes arguing over that until finally, in weariness, Marcus gave in. It was several more minutes, lying in the darkness, before he was finally able to get to sleep. For her part, Lydia seemed to be able to sleep anywhere, as she was already snoring softly.

Marcus awoke bright and early the next morning, but not, apparently, before his Housecarl. Lydia was already packed up and downstairs. He wondered if he had to pay her a salary, then realized he had no way of broaching the subject in any manner that wouldn't be embarrassing.

Well, it's not as if you haven't been in that kind of situation before, he thought wryly. He'd just have to ask and let the chips fall where they may. He spent a few minutes counting out the coins left in the pouch; almost three thousand in total. They were all identical: someone's head on the obverse side – probably the ruler of this world – and a dragon on the other. They seemed to be of the same denomination, too, and he wondered briefly if they had paper money here. Probably not. From what he'd seen so far, this society was still firmly entrenched in the gold standard. It was going to be a problem before too much longer. The gold coins were heavy, and the more he accumulated, the more they were going to weigh him down.

Deciding to wait until after breakfast before wriggling into the heavy steel armor, Marcus put the coins away and headed downstairs. Lydia was already there, waiting for him. They broke their fast on cheese, bread and fresh fruit washed down with some ale – not his first choice, but there didn't seem to be any coffee in Skyrim – and planned what to do next. Marcus decided to start with his first question of the day.

"Lydia, do I pay you a salary?"

The look of pure, unadulterated scandal she shot him answered his question.

"Certainly not, my Thane!" she gasped. "I'm no hired hand!"

"But what do you live on?" he pressed. "I mean, you've got expenses like everyone else."

"I was in the service of Jarl Balgruuf before being elevated to become your Housecarl," she replied, doing her best to remember what Tamsyn had said, that her Thane would need a lot of help. "He saw to my expenses while I served him. Now I serve you."

Marcus nodded. Okay, so anything she needed, he would have to provide. It was like having a wife without the fringe benefits. A wife who was sworn to guard him with her life, clad in steel armor and wielding a sword and shield.

"What kind of weapons do you prefer?" he asked, not sure where the thought came from.

Lydia blinked. No one had ever asked her that. She had been trained in many kinds, and was proficient with them all, but no one had ever asked her what she liked to use.

"Well," she hesitated. "I prefer one-handed weapons, my Thane," she answered slowly. "It allows me to block with a shield, of course. They don't do as much damage as, say, a battleaxe, but they're faster, and if you move quickly enough, it's harder for your enemy to hit you."

"And you like the heavier armor?" Marcus asked.

"Of course, Thane!" Her answer was prompt and full of confidence. "Good steel armor is much better than something made of boiled leather or cured hides. Even the elven armors – nice as they are – just can't protect you the way Dwarven or Orcish armors can."

"What about armor made from dragon bones?" Marcus was still debating whether to keep them or not.

Lydia considered his question carefully. "I know it can be done," she answered. "But it would take more bones than you have right now, and I don't know anyone who could make it for you, even if you killed a lot of dragons and saved all their bones. I've heard that a really good craftsman can make a lighter armor from their scales, which is even tougher than ebony, but I think it really depends on the skill of the smith creating them."

Well, that answered that question for him. With no home of his own at the moment, he wasn't planning on lugging Mir Mul Nir's bones all over God's Little Green Acre in the hope of having a suit of armor made from them. He'd have to sell them, if he could find someone interested in them.

"Jarl Balgruuf told me I should answer the Greybeards' summons," he told Lydia now.

"Yes, all of Whiterun heard their call last night," she said eagerly.

"I'm pretty sure all of Skyrim heard it," he grinned. "The problem is I don't know how to get there. Have you ever been to this High Hrothgar?"

Lydia shook her head. "No, my Thane, I haven't. But I know how to get to Ivarstead, and that village lies at the foot of the mountain on the eastern side. The Seven Thousand Steps begin there, so I'm told."

"Great!" Marcus exclaimed. "And by the way, it's just 'Marcus'. You don't have to keep calling me 'Thane'."

"But you are my Thane," Lydia replied perplexed. "It's the proper form of address for a Housecarl to use in the presence of her Thane."

Marcus rolled his eyes. It was going to take him a long time to get used to the customs around here, he could see that now. "Look," he said, as reasonably as he could, "I feel a little funny hearing you call me that. Couldn't you make an exception to the rule?"

A look of bewilderment crossed the Nord woman's face before smoothing into an understanding smile. "You're new to the title," she said. "In time you'll come to accept it. In fact, the more I use your title, the sooner you're likely to get used to it."

Marcus could see he wasn't going to win this argument either. "Alright, fine, have it your way," he grumbled. "But maybe, when we're not in public, like out on the road or something, just call me by my name, okay? If you scream 'Look out, my Thane!' I might not react as fast as if you yell, 'Marcus, look out!' Okay?"

Lydia considered the propriety of this and finally gave a consenting nod. Lapses in discipline like this were to be avoided at all cost. She'd heard too many stories of Housecarls who'd become too friendly with their Thanes. They either ended up as sex slaves or dead because they let their emotions get in the way of doing their job. She had no desire to end up either way. Best to keep things on as formal a footing as possible.

Though she had to admit, for an Imperial, he was a handsome man with his dark hair swept back from his finely-chiseled features, and his neatly-trimmed beard and moustache. There didn't seem to be an ounce of spare flesh on his muscled body, which looked as though it had taken a beating recently.

The dragon, Lydders, remember? Oh yeah. Right.

They went back upstairs to pack things up. Marcus began to struggle into his armor, and suddenly Lydia was there helping him.

"You can't put it on properly unless you've undone all the straps, my Thane," she chided gently, loosening everything and refitting it around him. "And I noticed last night you weren't wearing it properly. If you had been, the dragon might not have hurt you so badly."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Marcus said sourly. "I do know how to get dressed."

"Clearly you don't, my Thane," she scolded him, "and yes, I do have to do this. It's part of a Housecarl's duty to prepare you for battle."

"I'm not going into battle," he argued.

"You don't know that," she shot back, cinching the straps across his shoulders tighter than he would have liked. "A fight could break out at any time, or you could walk right into a Stormcloak ambush." She pulled the side straps tight and buckled them, tugging the cuirass down into place. "Always wear your armor," she intoned, as she retrieved the gauntlets and gave them to him. "It's the first thing we're taught in the guard service."

"Is that why you slept in yours last night?" he scowled at being chided, but he had to admit the weight felt much more evenly distributed now. He also noticed that during her entire lecture, she hadn't once called him "Thane".

"Absolutely," Lydia said staunchly. "In time you'll get used to it, to the point where you won't even notice the weight anymore. But until then, if you want to stay alive – or at least have a better chance of it – you wear your armor at all times."

Lydia stepped back to look her Thane over. He wore the armor uneasily, as if he'd never worn anything that large, heavy and cumbersome around his body. She hoped her words would prove right, that he would soon get used to it. That mysterious Seer, Tamsyn, had said her new Thane would need quite a lot of help, and she could tell already that was true. If Thane Marcus truly was Dragonborn, the fabled hero of the Nords, she owed it to Skyrim to prepare him for what lay ahead.

She followed her Thane out of the Bannered Mare and into the market district, tagging along after him as he sold off excess weapons and armor he'd picked up before he'd come to Whiterun. As her Thane bartered with Belethor, the sleazy little Breton kept leering at her behind her Thane's back. Lydia kept her temper. A public brawl would be too much of an embarrassment, and might get her dismissed from the Dragonborn's service; if that were to ever happen, it certainly would not be on account of Belethor. She'd make sure it was something worth far more.

As Marcus pulled dragon bones and scales from his sack – the last items in it he intended to sell, Belethor sniffed and sneered.

"Are those real dragon bones? Those aren't just mammoth bones you picked up off the plains now, are they? Because believe me, I can tell the difference."

"My Thane would never attempt to deceive an honest merchant!" Lydia said with some heat.

"Lydia, please!" Marcus soothed. "I'm sure he didn't mean—"

"Yes he did!" Lydia stormed. She leaned across the counter and grabbed Belethor by his collar. "You implied my Thane is untrustworthy, didn't you?" she demanded, glaring at the little man. "You practically called him a liar! You're lucky you're still alive, you worthless piece of refuse! Do you know who this is? Do you?"

Marcus was alarmed. He didn't need overzealous Housecarls intimidating everyone with whom he attempted to conduct business.

Belethor was squirming in Lydia's grip. By the Eight, but this woman was strong! In spite of the situation, he realized his traitorous body was responding to the rough treatment. "I didn't mean – I mean, I'm sorry! It's just that—"

"Lydia, let go of him!" Marcus threw as much command into his voice as he could muster, but really, the sight of his Housecarl practically dangling the shopkeeper over his own counter was a bit comical, when you thought about it.

Lydia looked back at Marcus to see him frowning at her. Or at least, he was trying to look stern, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes that told her he wasn't upset at all. Inwardly, she relaxed. Affecting a casual air of indifference, she dropped Belethor onto the counter with a languid, "As you wish, my Thane," before stepping back.

Belethor landed with an "oof!" as the wind was knocked from him. He quickly righted himself, however, and hurriedly assured Marcus he never intended to cast doubts about his customer's integrity. There were scum out there, the Thane must know, who would not hesitate to deceive an honest merchant like himself. He kept glancing at Lydia as he spoke, and there was a flame of desire in his eyes. Marcus either didn't see it, or he ignored it, but Lydia saw and raised her chin in a clear act of defiance that only served to fan Belethor's inner flame.

In the end, Marcus sold only one set of bones to the Breton, feeling the need to get some fresh air.

"What a scumbag!" he muttered under his breath as they exited the shop. Lydia smiled in relief. Her Thane wasn't angry with her. "Next time, Lydia, I promise I won't stop you from beating the crap out of him," he grinned at her.

She cracked her knuckles and smiled back. "As you wish, my Thane," she smirked.

"Where else am I going to sell these bones and scales, though?" Marcus asked, worried. The damn things were heavy, and he had no place to call his own. He still wanted to check out Jorrvaskr, but right now it appeared he had to go to High Hrothgar first. And he sure as hell wasn't going to lug dragon bones and scales up seven thousand steps.

"We could talk to Arcadia," Lydia suggested. "She's at the alchemy shop right over there. She might be interested in them."

Arcadia, as it turned out, was very interested in them, and bought everything he had. She seemed to have a fixation on disease, though, as she constantly asked him if he was feeling alright. He purchased several more healing and stamina potions from the woman before he and Lydia left to start on their way to High Hrothgar.

"One moment, Thane," Lydia said as they passed Warmaiden's.

"What is it?" Marcus asked.

"Your cuirass," she said, stepping closer. "It could use some repair work."

Marcus mused. "Do we have time?"

Lydia smiled. "We have all the time in the world, my Thane," she answered. "We're not expected to arrive at High Hrothgar at a specific time."

"Good."

Marcus went over and spoke to Adrianne, who was working at the grinding wheel. After a short conversation and the purchase of a few supplies, she graciously allowed him the use of her workbench while she continued sharpening swords and axes.

It took longer than he expected to pound all the dents out of his armor. The cuirass seemed to have taken the worst of the damage, but there were dents in his helmet as well. When he finally finished, the sun was low in the sky.

"I guess we won't be going to High Hrothgar today," he told Lydia resignedly.

"No, my Thane, but you've accomplished a lot today, so don't feel bad."

"Yeah, and thanks for the tips on wearing the armor. It already feels better. Still heavy, though."

"You'll get used to it," she assured him as they headed back to the Bannered Mare. Lydia waved at Carlotta, the woman who ran the produce stand in the market.

"How are you today, Carlotta?" Lydia called.

"Oh, alright, I guess," the woman replied, but she certainly didn't sound like it.

"Something wrong?" Lydia asked, grateful to see her Thane had paused. Carlotta Valentia was a good friend of hers, and if the woman was in trouble, she wanted to help.

"You know, life is hard enough without all these men propositioning me," Carlotta sighed. "But that bard is the worst!"

"Mikael?" Lydia exclaimed. "What's he done now?"

"Someone giving you trouble?" Marcus rumbled dangerously. Carlotta seemed older than the daughters he'd left behind, but if anyone had insulted his girls, Marcus would have gone into full-blown "Dad mode", as his daughter Kelly called it.

"I overheard him bragging at the Bannered Mare the other day," Carlotta said, irritated. "He said he'd 'conquer me as a true Nord conquers any wild animal'! Pfah!" She snorted. "They'll never understand that right now the only thing that matters to me is raising my daughter."

Marcus could understand that. And he felt a sense of outrage towards this Mikael person for spreading that kind of gossip about a woman just trying to make it through one day at a time.

"How about if I talk to him for you?" he offered.

"You can try," Carlotta said dubiously. "But I don't think anything will get through that thick head of his."

"We'll see about that," Marcus promised, turning back toward the Bannered Mare. Lydia practically skipped to keep up with him, her heart soaring. She knew he was a good man!

The inn was crowded again as more and more people came in after their long work day ended, intending to enjoy a meal, some music and the camaraderie of their fellow citizens. The fire blazed brightly in the pit in the center of the room, and above the din of scores of voices, Marcus heard the innkeeper, Hulda, telling him to find a place to sit and she'd be with him shortly. Saadia, the dark-skinned girl – Redguard, Lydia murmured to him when he asked – was rushing around filling food and drink orders, and even more than the previous night, when it had been fairly quiet, the Mare reminded Marcus of any bar he'd ever been in back home.

At the far end of the room, on the other side of the fire pit, was the bard, Mikael. He was leering after several of the pretty young girls, and that alone clinched it for the Dragonborn. He strode over and tapped the man on his shoulder.

"Oh! What can I do for you?" the minstrel asked brightly. "A song perhaps? Or an epic tale of adventure and…romance…" His voice dropped seductively as he caught sight of Lydia standing respectfully behind her Thane.

What a pathetic fop, Marcus thought. This guy thinks he's God's gift to women.

"You need to leave Carlotta alone," he said bluntly.

"What?" Mikael blinked. Then his brow furrowed and he smiled slyly. "Carlotta put you up to this, didn't she?" He smirked. "I'm sorry, but that fiery widow is mine. She just doesn't know it yet!"

"She's not yours," Marcus said, losing patience. "You need to stop this foolishness right now." There was a warning edge to his voice, but clearly, Mikael never heard it.

"What's that?" he grinned. "Do I detect a note of jealousy? Sorry, friend. You can have her when I'm done. But I wouldn't hold your breath. Once Mikael gets them, they stay gotten."

"That's it." Marcus never remembered if he said the words or just thought them. All he remembered was drawing his fist back and making it connect with as much force as possible with the bard's jaw.

Mikael staggered, but despite his lean frame and somewhat leisurely lifestyle, he was a Nord through and through. "So that's the way it's going to be, eh?" He carefully set down his lute and turned to face Marcus.

"Winner gets Carlotta!" he grinned.

"She's not a prize to be won, idiot," Marcus growled. "Carlotta is her own person, and you need to stop spreading lies about her!"

Several of the women in the crowd cheered at that, and Mikael looked a bit less sure of himself, but he'd gone too far to back out. He threw a punch that Marcus easily side-stepped, but followed it up quickly with a sweep of his foot that kicked Marcus' legs out from under him. Heavier in his armor than Mikael, who wasn't wearing any, Marcus crashed to the floor and suddenly the minstrel was on top of him, pummeling him with his fist.

"Are you just going to lie there and take that?" Lydia yelled. "Get up and punch him again!"

Whatever happened to 'I will protect you with my life'? Marcus thought grimly, but to be fair, he knew he was in very little danger from the bard. His face might get battered, but there was no way Mikael would be able to hurt him through the heavy steel armor. He just needed to get up. He felt like an upturned turtle.

Fortunately, this body he was now in was a lot younger, stronger and more agile than the one he'd left behind. He managed to get his knees up and thrust, kicking the young Nord off him. Mikael sprawled over his head and crashed against the bar, but to his credit, he got right up again.

A hand grabbed Marcus' gauntleted fist and dragged him to his feet. He straightened up and looked straight into Lydia's brown eyes.

"Unprotected midsection," she murmured. He grinned in comprehension and gave a short nod.

Mikael looked ready again, and the crowd was shouting encouragement from all quarters.

"Ten septims on Mikael!" one voice called out.

"I'll take that," said a woman near the bar.

"Show that pompous oaf no mercy!" a woman in plated steel urged him.

"Come on, Mikael, you can take him!" a gravely-voiced man said.

Now the punches flew in earnest as each man tried to drive the other into the floorboards. Marcus blocked the punches he saw coming and endured the ones he didn't. He tried not to think too long about where to hit his opponent; just landing a blow was enough. He was lucky that a lot of them were landing. He could see Mikael was wearing out, and knew that he was, too. It was time to take this fight to the next level and end it.

Most of the fighting he'd seen so far had been a typical bar room brawl style: a lot of punching. Marcus didn't think any of the Mare's patrons knew about martial arts, and while his days of karate and tae kwon do were long behind him, he still remembered the moves. All he needed was an opening, and the foolish bard was kind enough to give him one.

Clearly feeling that it was time to end the fight as well, Mikael opted for brute force and bull-rushed Marcus, who neatly side-stepped him once more and clotheslined him across the mid-section. With a whoosh of escaping breath, Mikael went down to his knees, gasping for air.

"Do you yield?" Marcus demanded.

"Not yet!" Mikael snapped, sweeping his leg out again, but this time Marcus was prepared. He caught the leg as it came at him and used the momentum to propel the bard backwards across the benches.

"Do you yield?" the Dragonborn ground out, breathing a bit harder.

"I'll never yield!" Mikael shouted, leaping to his feet and grabbing the first thing to come into his hands. To everyone's surprise, the heavy wooden bench lifted off the floor as Mikael swung it around directly at Marcus' head. Gasps of outrage filled the room. Mikael had clearly broken some unwritten law about bar room brawls.

Marcus dropped to the floor and let momentum work for him again. This time, it was the bench's momentum that carried Mikael around, staggering as it connected with the support pillar. The bench was ripped from the bard's hands, and Mikael spun into the fire pit.

A shriek higher than any note the bard had ever sung filled the room as he lunged out, clothing ignited and hair smoldering. Leaping to his feet, Marcus grabbed the rug off the floor and tackled the bard, patting the flames down and smothering them. While he would have liked to do the same to the bard, he was glad to see he still had some restraint.

Another gasp filled the room, but this one was an audible sigh of relief as everyone realized a potential crisis had been averted.

Marcus helped Mikael sit up and gave him a healing potion that Lydia handed off to him. The young Nord drank it gratefully and nodded his thanks.

"Well?" Marcus asked. Mikael knew to what his rival referred.

"On my honor," he breathed. "I won't bother Carlotta anymore."

Satisfied, Marcus stood and headed for the door, ignoring the congratulations of the crowd.

"Good man! Helping him like that, even if you were fighting."

"There goes an honorable man!"

"I wish someone would fight for me like that!"

Once outside, Marcus accepted a second potion from Lydia. His nose was bloodied and his lip was split, and he was all over bruises. He still didn't understand how the potion worked, healing everything to the way it was before instantaneously, but he decided he really didn't need to know how it worked, as long as it did.

They retraced their steps back to Carlotta's stall, where she was just packing up the produce that hadn't sold.

"Good news, Carlotta!" Lydia chirped. Marcus shot her a scowl, but smiled at the green-grocer.

"Mikael won't be bothering you anymore," he promised her.

"You're kidding!" the Imperial woman exclaimed. "You got that bard to leave me alone?" Her face split into a broad grin. "I'd thank the gods, but I'll settle for thanking you!" She pulled out a small pouch of coins and offered it to Marcus. "Here! It's not much, but take it anyway. And thanks!"

Marcus stared at the coin purse. He hadn't done it for the money. He wasn't a mercenary.

But if you join the Companions, that's exactly what you'll be, a little voice inside said. Still, this was a matter of principle.

"Keep it," he said, smiling to take the sting of rejection out of his words. "Buy your daughter a new dress or something with it." He turned and went back to the Bannered Mare to rent the room for another night. Lydia gave an apologetic grin and shrugged at her friend.

"He's new at this," she said.

"He's a good man," Carlotta smiled.

Lydia nodded. "I know."

It was some time before Marcus was able to climb the stairs to his room. Everyone kept wanted to buy him a drink – even Mikael, who seemed to hold no grudge against the man who had bested him. When it became known he was also the Dragonborn, and the new Thane of Whiterun on top of that, the wine and mead flowed freely all night long.

To his credit, Marcus accepted the camaraderie graciously and allowed the citizens of his new hometown to celebrate him in their own way. He kept his head about him and didn't drink as much as he could have. He'd already learned that lesson to a painful cost.

As he climbed the rickety wooden stairs he saw a small shape huddled under them; a child, perhaps no more than seven or eight years old, watching the proceedings but not participating.

"Lydia," he said as they entered the rented room, "who is that little girl under the stairs?"

"Little girl?" Lydia yawned. "Was she wearing a green dress or a blue one?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "It was dark under there. I only saw her as we were climbing up here. Why? What difference does the color of her dress make?"

"Well, Carlotta was in here with her daughter, Mila, earlier, and Mila was wearing a blue dress today."

"Mila wears her hair tied back, doesn't she?" Marcus asked, remembering the child as he unfastened the buckles on the cuirass.

"Yes, my Thane," Lydia answered, working on the side straps for him.

"This little girl's hair was loose," he mused.

"Oh!" Lydia exclaimed. "That might be Lucia, then."

"Does she belong to Hulda?" Marcus inquired, wondering if there were any age restrictions in Skyrim that prevented underage children from entering bars.

"No, Thane," Lydia said. "Lucia's the little beggar girl that hangs around the park in the Wind District."

"What?" Marcus spun around, away from Lydia's grasping fingers. The Housecarl "tsk'd" exasperatedly as she reached again for the straps.

"Are you telling me there's a child begging in the streets and no one's doing anything about it?" he demanded.

Uh oh, Lydia thought. He's upset.

"Well," she hesitated, "it's just that with the war going on, there are all sorts of orphans across Skyrim, and there aren't enough resources to—"

"Bullshit!" Marcus scowled. "The Jarl ought to be ashamed of himself! Children are dependent on adults to take care of them. When that support is gone, the government needs to step in and provide for them!"

Lydia blinked at her Thane. She had no idea why the matter upset him so much. Children became orphaned all the time in Tamriel. They either managed to survive or they didn't. It was harsh, but that was just the way it was. She said as much – as diplomatically as she could – to her Thane.

"I'm going down there right now and find her," he muttered. Pulling away from Lydia, leaving the cuirass in her hands, he marched back down the stairs, but the child was gone.

"Where did she go?" he asked one of the revelers. "The little girl, Lucia. She was just over there a bit ago."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sinmir grumbled. "I don't pay attention to children. I'm more concerned about the security here in Whiterun. It's appalling, is what it is!"

Disgusted, Marcus tore himself away from the drunken man and went looking for Hulda.

"Where's Lucia?" he demanded when he found her. "The little girl who was in here earlier?"

"Lucia?" Hulda blinked. "The little beggar girl? She left about fifteen minutes ago. I don't know where she goes when she leaves here."

"You don't even know where she stays at night?" Marcus was horrified. Anything could happen to the child living on the streets late at night.

"I let her stay by the fire sometimes, when it gets cold," Hulda snapped, "but I've got far too many other things on my mind right now than worrying about a child to whom I'm no kin. Like stopping another fight—hey! You two there! Take it outside!" Hulda rushed over to where two patrons were escalating into another fistfight.

Funny, Marcus thought sourly, she didn't make any effort to stop my fight with Mikael. She was probably betting on the outcome.

Stepping outside briefly, Marcus scanned the quiet streets of the marketplace. The only people he saw were guards stationed at the corner near Arcadia's Cauldron and patrolling up the stairs towards the park. There was no sign of the child.

Dispirited and more concerned than he liked to admit, Marcus retreated back inside and headed up to his room. He said nothing to Lydia as he prepared for bed, and that young Nord woman exercised restraint of her own by saying nothing to him. In the morning he had to leave for High Hrothgar, but he drifted off to an uneasy sleep filled with dragons attacking children, and he was helpless to stop it because he'd forgotten his armor.

[Author's Note: Just because you've left a life behind doesn't mean it leaves you. Marcus will never forget where he came from, though in time those memories might dim a bit. He will learn quickly enough that this isn't his old world, and things he took for granted there no longer apply here. Especially where social reform is concerned.]