AN: I've had at least one person wonder when the Dragonborn will show up, which is a fair question considering that the story is flagged to contain him/her. I wanted to place the emphasis of this story on Argis, and not the Dragonborn, because the Dragonborn has the entire game to have his/her story told while Argis has nothing. The chronology also presents a bit of a problem. The war to free the Reach took place 20 years before the return of the dragons, so I had to scale Argis' age back to ensure he's not too old when they do finally meet. Don't worry, I don't plan to write out the remaining 15 years in great detail. I plan to have the Dragonborn make his first appearance by the end of the chapter after this one, so hold on!
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Argis blinked groggily as the early morning light filtered in through the window. A moment of confusion washed through his head. Where was he? This wasn't his room. Last night suddenly came back to him and he quickly turned and saw Firjald on his other side, confirming that it had happened.
Rolling out of bed, Argis slowly began to dress himself. He nervously looked to Firjald, who stretched languidly on the bed. Argis nervously spoke up, "You're going to keep this quiet, right?" He quietly feared that the other man would try to build some sort of prestige on claiming he'd slept with the housecarl.
Stretching and gradually sliding out of bed, Firjald nodded reassuringly and replied, "Of course. I will be discreet about what happened." He flashed Argis a roguish grin and approached him, "Especially since I would like it to happen again." Argis flushed and reciprocated Firjald's kiss.
Firjald traced a fingertip across the right side of Argis' face and smiled at him before murmuring, "You should get a tattoo. It would help make you more distinct as a housecarl and a warrior."
Argis chuckled nervously and replied, "Those markings are only for the true warriors."
Firjald continued to brush his fingers across Argis' face and said, "I watched you fight, my love. No one would dispute your right to one. There's an artist near who owns a small shop in the one of the middle tiers, near the alchemist's shop, who could do it for you today." Argis wordlessly smiled and looked away, thoughtfully rubbing his face.
When both men were dressed, they quietly left the room and wandered down to the main room. The grimy windows barely let any light through and the place seemed as dimly lit as before. They both left the inn and separated to go their own ways. Before Argis went two steps Firjald called out, "Oh, hold on a moment. I forgot to mention that the Jarl wants to see you and Keldin at high noon."
The housecarl nodded quickly and walked the city's stone paths to his house. He entered his house and sat down on the bed, running his hands through his hair. He felt a curious mixture of fear and elation over last night. Would Firjald keep his promise and keep quiet or would he drunkenly brag about his lover? He shook his head and stood up. Things were already decided either way so moping over it was pointless. He combed his hair quickly and washed his face. Looking at himself in a small mirror he had spent a lot of his coin on, he was satisfied that his appearance did not look too slovenly for a meeting with the Jarl.
There was still plenty of time left in the morning, so he wandered to the market where he bought supplies for his household and then returned home with them. The mundane and routine nature of these actions helped calm him down and get his mind focused on the upcoming meeting. It was unlike the Jarl to call a meeting so shortly after a victory and it made Argis nervous. He shrugged to himself and quickly ate half a loaf of bread to assuage the hunger he was feeling. He had eaten sparingly at the feast and tried to drink moderately, and so he was famished by the time he had come home.
With high noon approaching, he donned his armour and marched to Understone Keep. Passing the guards at the door with a nod, he ascended the stairs to take him to the terrace with the throne room. He entered the throne room and saw Keldin standing discretely to the side, and the Jarl sitting on the throne. The jarl looked absolutely miserable and like a complete wreck. Evidently, he had let his party get the better of him. Waving his hand dismissively while massaging the bridge of his nose he muttered, "Thane, tell him why he has been summoned."
Nodding in his usual dispassionate way, Keldin announced, "Our scouts have reported the presence of a hagraven among the Forsworn of the wilds. As you may know, hagravens often assist in the empowerment of Forsworn into briarhearts and speed up the process. If we can eliminate this hagraven, then we can almost assuredly cripple their ability to train and empower new briarhearts. We've been tracking her appearances and we think we know where she'll appear next. The jarl wishes us to trap her in the small camp of Forsworn she will be visiting next and then to eliminate her."
Argis nodded at Keldin and asked, "When do we leave and how many men are we bringing with us?"
Keldin paused at this question and seemed to muse aloud, "The Forsworn camp is only about fifteen men and women. The last camp we demolished had almost double that number, but due to the presence of the hagraven we will still bring ten soldiers, plus us. We will also take two horses to carry our supplies. We want to be able to move quickly. As to when we leave? We must leave tomorrow morning or we run the risk of losing the hagraven."
Argis opened his mouth to speak but his thane interrupted him, "Dismissed, housecarl. I will assemble the men. Prepare yourself for tomorrow and ensure everything is in order in terms of supplies for the men."
He quietly bristled at the insult, but Argis nodded and saluted both the hung over jarl and Keldin before leaving. He wandered the dwemer-hewn halls of Understone Keep as he made his way slowly to the quartermaster of the keep.
The man had a clean shaven head and a patch over one eye and was often miserable. Argis had always pitied the man for missing an eye, knowing how hard it was to fight without that depth perception. The bald man's remaining brown eye locked onto Argis and he sighed, knowing that the young Nord never came unless there was good reason. No one visited the quartermaster unless it was for business.
"Well, what do you want?" the man grunted at Argis as he straightened a stack of papers.
Having experienced the man's gruff demeanour before, Argis wasn't fazed by the man's coarse ways. He calmly replied, "We have another raid to go on tomorrow. We will need to supply and outfit ten men for a journey of approximately a week total. Please send the supplies to the stables with word that the thane needs two horses to carry them."
The quartermaster grumbled something about Argis being too good to carry his own food and wrote several things into his requisition forms before sighing and saying, "You'll have your food, arms, potions, and horses, lad." He turned back to his papers and resumed writing. Argis simply walked out, shaking his head to clear it of thoughts of the miserable man.
He stepped out of Understone Keep and looked at where the tattoo parlour must lie. He hesitated only for a moment before heading over to it.
He entered into a clean, tidy little shop with a wiry little man behind a counter. A single chair sat near a window and under a hanging lamp and dominated the center of the room. Argis approached the tattooist who looked up at him and smiled politely before asking, "Argis the Bulwark? I was wondering when you'd come into my shop. Here to finally inscribe your prowess for the world to see?" Argis nodded and shook the man's hand before he sat down on a nearby table to begin discussing colours and patterns. The wiry figure produced a large book with patterns and colour samples prattling aimlessly to himself. The shopkeep tried to make suggestions, and hummed and hawed quite a bit over the book. He muttered for Argis' benefit, "Blue for sailors, red for warriors, and black for those sneaky types. Obviously we would go with red for you..." he trailed off as Argis poured over designs.
Flipping pages casually, one design caught his eye. "I want this one," he declared, tapping the page. The tattooist nodded and said rapidly, "Yes, yes, a good choice. The inexorable wave. Good for you, yes, you who washes over opposition. Now, where do you want it?"
Argis remembered the tracing of Firjald's fingers on the right side of his face, and he smiled and patted his right cheek before stating, "Here will be fine." The little man nodded, gathered his tools and pigments and lay Argis down in the chair. The sting of the needle was painful, but trivial compared to the wounds he'd suffered before. The design was carefully done and finished in a few hours.
Leaning back to examine his work and nodding in approval the tattooist added, "I can make the healing process go much faster for a little extra. You would like that, yes?" Argis flipped the man the extra coin and felt a finger placed on his cheek. The little man chanted a spell and golden light bloomed on his hand and diffused into Argis. He felt physically refreshed from the magic and was glad his tattoo wouldn't bother him on the march. He thanked the man, paid him and left.
It was late afternoon by the time he arrived by at his house and he began to pack for the trip. He suddenly realized that he did not even know where they going to fight and he frowned sharply at the secrecy that Keldin seemed to foster. He winced a moment later as he realized he was mentally criticising and doubting his thane. He tried to dispel those thoughts by focussing on the preparations for the next day, but first he had to eat tonight.
He prepared for his dinner a simple meal of seared salmon, the other half of the loaf of bread, a few local vegetables, and two apples to round out the meal.
After finishing the meal, he again ensured all his equipment and items were in place in preparation for tomorrow. He had done this simple routine many times throughout the years as he had helped to try to make the Reach safer. He looked over his old, but well maintained, steel sword and shield and grinned softly. He gently traced his fingers down the flat of the blade and around the notched rim of the shield as me murmured, "Just another fight, eh? We've been through so many before – what's one more?"
He laughed at himself, feeling absurd for talking to his armaments like that and thought of Firjald. Argis was strongly tempted to seek him out and be with him for another night, but he sighed and thought better of it. He needed to be fresh and alert when tomorrow came and he couldn't afford to be late. Besides, they could always celebrate together after their victory.
Still worrying, he picked up a small, red bottle and slipped it into his pack. He had invested in the healing potion as a precaution but he tried to tell himself that he wouldn't need it.
With the setting sun's later rays fading, he retired to his own bed which felt cold and empty after last night.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Argis rose just before the sun and briskly prepared himself for the coming day. He ate well, not wanting to be exhausted in the march, and then went to the stables.
He nodded approvingly as he found the stable master holding the bridles of two well laden horses. The stable master was a jovial man with sandy hair which he often kept pulled back into a ponytail on the back of his head. He was often ribbed by his fellow stable hands that he was part horse over his hair, but he never took it badly. He raised a hand to signal Argis and called out, "Good to see you, Argis. Hopefully your raid against the Forsworn will see success as always."
Argis mirrored the man's grin and nodded his head, "We're going to kill a hagraven. So I hope we have no complications."
The stable master laughed and said, "Next time I see you, you'll be coming back with great glory then! Maybe the Jarl will make you a thane in your own right. Ah, but I must attend to my own duties now. Good luck, friend!" He passed the bridles of the horses to Argis before the two parted ways.
While he waited for the rest of his companions to arrive, Argis familiarized himself with the horses and their burden and allowed the horses to get to know him. They were solid, tranquil beasts who only snorted slightly upon encountering him. He checked through their supplies to ensure that everything was in order and frowned slightly in annoyance. The quartermaster had given them thin meat rations – didn't he know they needed strength to fight? He would speak with the man on his return.
By now, the rest of the soldiers were arriving together from the barracks and boisterously joked with each other. Argis smiled, reassured to see their good spirits and tried to subtly look through their faces for Firjald. He spotted the man at the back of the group and caught his eye, eliciting a grin and a nod of approval at the sight of his tattoo. Keldin marched briskly down from the gates, his face flat and businesslike. The men quickly sobered at his approach as Keldin moved to stand next to Argis.
Wordlessly snagging the bridles from Argis, Keldin announced to the men, "Today we begin another raid. Hopefully, this one will have a lasting impact on the region because we do not pursue just a briarheart but a hagraven herself. She has allowed herself to become predictable and we will exploit that weakness. Without her aid, the Forsworn will find it nearly impossible to train or empower more of them to become briarhearts. We move quickly and strike hard."
Keldin turned quickly, handed Argis one bridle, and began to march, leading the platoon. Argis rolled his eyes at Keldin's back, because the man showed no idea how to make speeches or lead the men.
During the march, they skirted a pair of giants and their mammoths, but they otherwise encountered nothing as they followed Keldin as he led them north. After three days' rapid, exhausting march, Keldin called a halt on the last night near a small overhang of rock. He declared in his very flat tones, "Over the next hill lies a single terraced hill. The hagraven should already be ensconced in there, performing whatever rituals she does. As before, we will strike just as the dawn breaks to give us the maximum advantage."
Nodding silently with the rest of the men, Argis winced internally. This "ambush at dawn" tactic seemed to be the only one he knew or used. Hadn't he been the one to criticise the hagraven for getting predictable? Besides, they would be charging north, not west, and they wouldn't be able to benefit from the sun at their backs. He almost said something, but stopped himself. Keldin was his thane and had been appointed to that position by the jarl for his success. He would not question him, especially not on the eve of a battle and in front of his soldiers. Besides, they almost always wiped out all of the Forsworn, so how would other tribes know how their comrades perished?
Argis unpacked his bedroll and drifted off to sleep as he watched their small fire burn under the shelter of the rock overhang. He mentally ran over sentry duties, and knew he would rise for last watch in the morning.
/\/\/\/\/\/\
Shaken awake for his watch as the previous sentry returned to his bedroll for what little sleep he could get, Argis rose and waited in the predawn stillness. He looked carefully for any signs of Forsworn scouts or other threats. The only signs of life he saw were a few butterflies flitting around and a sabercat in the distance. He didn't worry about the cat – it was smart enough to not try to take on the group of whole, but the men would have to be careful of doing anything alone. He shrugged to himself and dismissed it from his mind.
Doubts about the upcoming battle drifted through his mind and would not be dismissed as easily as the thoughts of the sabercat. None of the men, including Argis, had ever faced a hagraven in combat and he wondered if Keldin knew what he was getting into. The stories of the prowess of the once-witches were quite frightening, but they could be overblown tales to scare children and make the teller seem more fearsome. He nervously worried his lower lip and fingered the red bottle at his side while he watched the wilds and waited for the camp to rise.
The eastern sky was just beginning to lighten as the small camp broke and the men readied themselves for battle. They secured the two horses under the overhang, and took everything they would need with them. The men readied themselves for battle with speed and purpose, and stood ready to fight. The thane regarded the assembled troops with a critical eye before he nodded. Speaking softly in the predawn light he began, "The hagraven should have sequestered herself in their camp, and I believe she may have had time to raise another briarheart in the meanwhile. Because of this five of you will be wielding bows and the other five, as well as Argis and myself, will engage them in the front lines. Otherwise, we try for the same results. Go in quietly, kill whoever we can quietly, and then kill the rest in open combat." He singled out five warriors who took out their bows and nodded.
They approached the camp stealthily, but the sentry saw them and shouted something that Argis couldn't make out. Argis swore to himself and quietly damned Keldin. Attacking at dawn was most effective when the sun was at their backs, blinding their foes, not when they were attacking northward and it blinded no one!
With alarming speed, fully armed and armoured Forsworn poured out of the tents and took shelter when they saw the bows among the Nords. Two Forsworn drew their own bows and exchanged shots with the Nords, who began to charge towards the enemy lines. This Forsworn camp only had one small hill which was thankfully unoccupied, but Argis still worried about where the hagraven was.
"Briarheart!" screamed one of the archers as all five suddenly oriented on the rise. This briarheart wore a deer skull helmet like all the others that Argis had seen, but he didn't try to find cover as the archers snapped their shots at him.
Almost lazily the briarheart brought his hands up to form a shimmering barrier in front of him. Though it wavered slightly, the barrier held and the arrows bounced harmlessly off. Taking advantage of the distraction of the Briarheart, the two Forsworn archers took their shots at one Nord archer, who screamed wetly as arrows sunk into her chest and gut.
Argis had no time to mourn the lost soldier as he began to engage the Forsworn in melee combat. These warriors seemed too well prepared to have been ambushed, and three Forsworn died before one of the Nord warriors wheezed and fell over with a Forsworn sword through his lung.
"Two dead," streaked through his thoughts as he fought and disembowelled an axe wielding woman who died giving him the most hate filled look Argis had ever seen.
The crackle of lightning told Argis that the briarheart was not inactive. The whoosh of flame and an anguished cry from behind him told of another casualty. The briarheart suddenly bellowed in anger and slipped down behind a rock outcropping as an arrow took him in the shoulder. A flare of golden light from behind the rock indicated that he would not be out of the fight for long.
While the briarheart was safe, the remaining three Nord archers refocused on the Forsworn with bows and attempted to eliminate them. Amidst the clamour of the battle, Argis heard another scream from behind him. He slammed his shield into his opponent, and ran the man through. Taking advantage of the moment, he looked up at the Forsworn archer, who had fallen to the ground, giving a crimson smile to the world as the fletching of the arrow that had ended his life pointed skyward.
There were only four Forsworn left between Argis and the briarheart, and three Nord swordsmen in addition to Keldin and Argis. The hagraven, if she was present, still hadn't appeared. Fighting next to Keldin's right, Argis impaled a Forsworn on his sword, and the man screamed bloody spittle into his face before expiring.
Suddenly, two voices were chanting, one male and one female. The male voice finished and a large spear of ice shot out of the briarheart to impale one of the remaining archers who slid to the ground, with a glassy gaze, clutching uselessly at the spear of ice embedded in his chest.
The second voice finished its chant and a brilliant bolt of fire shot out and slammed directly into Keldin. Argis only saw a bright flash and felt a brilliant pain on the left side of his body before he was hurtled away. He screamed and writhed at the pain the wracked his body. His sluggish, fragmented thoughts finally processed that a fireball had exploded next to him. A fireball had just slammed into Keldin, and if Argis was in this shape then how was his thane? This spurred him to try to stagger to his feet, but his head swam and his arms didn't seem to want to obey his head. Why couldn't he see out of his left eye?
He turned his head to see the remaining Forsworn and Keldin as little more than blackened skeletons on the floor. The hagraven stood a short distance away, hand's blazing with fire. She sacrificed the warriors to make a telling blow, he realized. He saw Firjald and another warrior charge the hagraven who threw a smaller bolt of fire at Firjald. He deftly side stepped it before forcing her on the defensive with his swinging sword. She screeched in his face and lashed out with her claws which he dodged by stepping back.
The briarheart heard her screeches and turned in a panic to help. He gestured and a soldier went down screaming in pain as he was engulfed in fire. The briarheart paid for his success with his life as the last archer, a grizzled veteran, placed an arrow in his throat. Smiling grimly at his triumph as the Forsworn spellcaster choked on blood and collapsed, the archer turned back to the hagraven who faced two men with swords.
Argis' thoughts fought through the pain and collected themselves enough to remind him of the red bottle he strapped to his side. Shaking fingers reached it and popped the cork. Sloshing some of it on himself, he downed the bottle. He felt the pain in his side recede and his face tingled as the burned skin regenerated. He knew it wouldn't be enough to completely heal him, but he would be able to rise soon.
He watched with pride as Firjald feinted with his sword, forcing the hag's claws to try to intercept the blade. Firjald whipped his sword up and cleanly decapitated the hagraven. He stepped back quickly to avoid the fountaining blood and barked at the other swordsman, "Put that head in salt and bag. We return with it to Markarth." He stomped over to Argis.
The archer declared as he examined Argis, "He had one healing potion, but he needs at least another from-"
"NO!" shouted Firjald who kicked Argis in the gut viciously. The grizzled archer quickly got up and pushed Firjald back. Firjald continued to shout at Argis, "You bastard! You let him die. You were supposed to protect him. You let my brother die!"
Staggering weakly to his feet, Argis confusedly asked, "Your brother?"
The archer held Firjald back while the man's anger ran its course. His face contorted into a mask of hatred, Firjald snarled, "Keldin was my brother. You were his housecarl – how could you fail him?" Spittle flew with his words while he spat his hateful words at Argis. The dark haired man seemed to sag in the archer's arms and nearly sobbed before collecting himself. He looked at the older man and nodded his head, indicating his control.
Cautiously releasing him, the older man quietly added, "He will permanently lose sight in his other eye without additional healing."
"Good," hissed Firjald, "Let him suffer for his failure and be permanently marked by it."
The shock of Firjald's words and wounds struck Argis like a hammer and he sunk to his knees. Firjald's blue eyes were as cold as the glaciers whose colour they shared and he declared, "We are returning to Markarth with the horses. Do not expect to return to the city with honour." He stormed away from Argis, who sat numbly in the dirt of the Forsworn camp, dumbstruck at how fast things had turned around. He silently watched Firjald and the two soldiers walk out of the camp. The old veteran cast a sympathetic glance back towards Argis before passing out of sight.
Argis dragged himself to his feet and first recovered his sword and shield, singed but little worse for wear, and then began to ransack the enemy camp for a healing potion or even just food. He swore as the former eluded him, but was relieved when he found the latter. The Forsworn had recently butchered a goat, and its cooked leg was stored near a few berries and some bread. He gathered some of their bread into a nearby pouch with him for the road. He grimly ate the meal in silence before deciding to return to the city – where else could he go? It was a very rare thing for a housecarl to outlive his thane, so Argis was unsure of what would happen to him.
He rose and staggered towards the entrance to the camp, stepping over the bloody bodies of the fallen Forsworn and soldiers alike. He hoped Firjald would send someone for the bodies.
He decided to double check the overhang they had originally sheltered in, hoping that they had forgotten something he could use. It initially appeared to be stripped bare, but he looked closely in hope. Hidden out of plain sight, but not hidden from a careful searcher, was another healing potion. He grinned and quietly thanked the man, likely the old veteran, who had left it for him. He downed this potion and felt strength and vigour return to him. He bit his lip in hope that his eye would show improvement and that he would regain sight, but it remained blind.
The gravity of his situation seemed to crash in on him and he wanted to give in to despair. He was destined to live a life of dishonour, so what was the point of even trying to return? He scrubbed his face with his hands and remembered his tattoo. He had earned it by overcoming obstacles, hadn't he? This one would not drive him down either.
He grimly began the long march back to Markarth with the sack of food pillaged from the camp of Forsworn. The first night passed in silence and stillness, but the second day worried Argis. He saw a bulky shadow constantly trailing him on the horizon. He grimaced, recognizing its loping gait for that of a sabercat, and it was probably the one who he had seen before the attack. He made sure to build a large fire every night in the hopes of warding it off and it worked for another day and night. On the third night, it struck.
Argis was just drifting off to sleep when the shadows in the grass moved against the wind. He snapped awake and scrambled to his feet as the creature charged him. His side stepped rapidly to put the fire between him and the great cat. He bellowed a fierce cry at it and swung his sword wildly, hoping to scare it off. The beast merely flattened its ears at him and rumbled low in its chest at him. It lunged at him, claws extended, and he tried to raise his shield and side step to avoid the attack. His lost depth perception spoiled his defence and the cat's claws raked down his blind side.
The sharp agony of his face was balanced by his relief that it was only his blind side that was hit. The cat lunged again, and he caught its fangs on his shield and the metal shattered the creature's teeth. Roaring in agony, it clawed at him once more and he solidly took the blow to his shield before driving his blade into the surprised cat's throat.
It collapsed, copious amounts of blood gushed out of its throat. Argis immediately tore a swathe of his shirt off and pressed it to his face to try to stop the bleeding. He frantically sucked on the empty healing potion bottles and felt a tiny drop of liquid vitality slide down his throat. It didn't stop the bleeding, but it stalled it to the point where it clotted normally. Shivering from the sudden loss of adrenaline, he sat down close to his fire and tried to eat some of his remaining rations.
He woke the next morning feeling ill and with a burning forehead. The rest of his march to Markarth was a fevered dream made of fragmented memories. He recalled staggering past the horrified face of the sandy haired stable master, then stumbling into the temple of Dibella and hoarsely pleading, "Mercy" before passing out.
/\/\/\/\/\
Argis awoke the next morning to a concerned Nord face hovering over his. He gasped in alarm, but she cooed softly, "It's alright. We purged the fever, but our healing was unable to completely repair the damage to your face and eye." She held up a mirror for him to see. He winced as he saw one side of his face with the swirling, blood red tattoo, but the other side held a milky eye and a series of vertical scars from the claws of the cat. She hesitated a moment when she saw his reaction but continued, "You're Argis the Bulwark, correct? You should see the jarl when you're ready."
/\/\/\/\/\
Though Argis felt physically renewed by the healing spells, the lack of depth perception took him time to get used to. He march up to Understone Keep with a heavy heart, fearing what was to come. The guards looked straight ahead and did not acknowledge him as he passed them and went into the throne room.
Firjald stood near the jarl in the place his brother had occupied, and the Jarl himself glowered at the housecarl. Argis stood before the jarl with ramrod straight posture and an impassive face, prepared to stoically bear his punishment. The jarl's low voice was filled with anger as he declaimed, "Argis the Bulwark. You have failed to protect your thane even to the point of letting him die. You further failed to avenge his murderer and left it to others. Your weakness failed the previous thane, and I have appointed his brother as his successor. He slew the hagraven with the aid of another soldier and succeeded where you failed." The jarl rose from his throne before continuing, "You have brought shame to our hold, and I will not risk you further sullying our honour. I will appoint a new housecarl to Thane Firjald. You are dismissed, Argis."
Nodding wordlessly, Argis departed Understone keep with the knowledge that the jarl would likely never call on him again.