Skyrim: A Tale of Two Dragons

Chapter 4: Family Feuding

Harald, one of many Whiterun's many guardsmen, was just starting his patrol for the night. He had been on extra high alert with talk of what had happened at Helgen weighing on him. The fact that Jarl Balgruuf had ordered extra patrols and doubled watch tower units didn't exactly help his nerves.

It took all of his focus to keep his eye fixated on the shadows. He was patrolling the Plains district, up near the water way of the front gate by Warmaiden's. The water ways were a favorite place for local vermin to flock to at night. Local thugs and bandits, once a very real threat to him suddenly seemed much less formidable. They were men, or close enough to men for Harald. Bandit were something he could deal with. Something normal.

'Still…that dragon burnt all of Helgen to the ground.' The man thought as his eyes slowly drifted towards the night sky again.

The shattering of glass nearly had the guardsmen jump out of his skin. He spun to see a body bouncing down the stone walkway of the Drunken Huntsmen. With a sharp whistle to alert the other nearby guardsman, Harald raced over to the body. A quick check found the man unconscious but mostly uninjured. A broken rib or two and some small cuts, but that was about it.

The now shattered window allowed noise of the chaos inside the tavern to trickle outside. Clearly the mother of all bar fights was going down.

Tossing his torch in the nearby stream, Harald made his way up to the tavern. Two other guards met him at the door, opening it together.

Inside was pandemonium. Multiple tables had been flipped and chairs were strewn across the floor with one of them currently burning in the room's fire pit. Elrindir was huddled behind the bar, looking distraught at the damage. From the second-floor overlook, Harald could hear that fool Nazeem shouting something about the Jarl and executions. Jenassa, the Dark Elf mercenary, was casually sitting in the corner sipping her drink with a large smirk on her face.

Backed up near one of the far walls was a massive Nord with blood running down his face and wielding a small table like a shield. He was surrounded by at least five other men, including Idolaf Battle-Born. The proud Empire supporter was holding a broken sword hilt for some reason and screaming obscenities.

Just as Harald tried to bring a stop to the fight, one of the men lunged at the larger man with a dagger. With a casual ferocity, the massive man swatted him away with the table into a nearby wall. With a sickening thump, the man dropped to the ground unconscious.

"You no good bastard fool!" Idolaf roared. "My family was humiliated because of you! How dare you show your face in Whiterun after what your father did, the coward!"

"Don't say another word about my family, you boot-licking jackass!" the table-wielding Nord swore back.

"Stop this at once!" Harald had seen enough of this. "By order of the Jarl, you are to drop your weapons and come quietly. You will be held in the prison overnight until he decides your fate!"

Idolaf looks furious but tossed the broken sword aside. Idolaf's men followed his lead, either sheathing their weapons or outright dropping them to the floor. With an unsure glance at the guardsmen, the large Nord slowly set the table down while keeping a wary eye on the men surrounding him.

Harald, along with two other guards, moved quickly to secure the men. Within minutes, all seven of them had their wrists bound in front of them, though the man who had been hit by the table was still unconscious. They were just getting ready to march them out the door when an older man appeared in the doorway.

He was dressed in an elaborate green vest and coat with finely tailored brown pants. Thick brown bear fur lined the cuff of his polished boots, matching the furred cape around his shoulders. He was adorned with two long gold chains, one ending with a diamond pendant and the other a teardrop ruby.

His hair was faded brown with a few streaks of silver beginning to creep in, neatly combed with two braids extending from his temples. His face was slightly withered but his strong jawline beguiled his age, mouth set in a heavy frown.

Harald immediately recognized the man as one of the most powerful men in Whiterun, possibly second only to Jarl Balgruuf himself.

Olfrid Battle-Born, magnate and the patriarch of the entire Battle-Born clan.

"Tell me, Harald." Olfrid spoke calmly, voice raspy but carrying an air of authority. "What has happened here?"

Harald glanced at his fellow guardsmen, but them all seemed as unsure as he was. "There a large bar fight here, sir. We are escorting the two parties to the prison right now until the Jarl is able to deal with them."

Olfrid glanced around Harald, taking in the damage to the tavern as well as the bound men. "I see. Perhaps I can be of some assistance here."

Before Harald could answer, Olfrid walked past him towards the bar. Elrindir was slowly sweeping up bits of broken bottle and splintered remains on what might have once been a chair. He nearly dropped the broom as Olfrid approached.

"I'm so sorry Olfrid but we aren't open tonig-"

Olfrid raised a hand to cut him off. "Nonsense Elrindir. No need to close for such a small amount of damage. In fact, seeing as my son was involved, I'd be happy to pay for the damages."

Now Elrindir did drop his broom. "Olfrid, sir, you wouldn't be so kind as to do that!"

Olfrid waved him off as he set a large purse of coins on the bar top. "Just keep a steady flow of that darker ale you get from Honningbrew and we'll call it good. I trust though that you're willing to overlook tonight's little scrum as well."

Elrindir looked uncertain for a moment, eyes darting over to the guards and prisoners, before nodding. "Of course, sir."

"Excellent to hear!" Olfrid said with a wide smile. "This always was my favorite place to grab a drink. Now then, Harald. If the bar owner doesn't want to pursue this any further and the damages have been paid in full, there shouldn't be any need for the prison tonight."

Harald felt his molars grinding even as he kept his expression affable. To wield your wealth like a weapon all to avoid the Jarl's judgments was near treasonous, but Harald knew that the matter was already a lost cause. Olfrid himself was a regular patron at the Drunken Huntsmen and Elrindir would stand to lose a substantial client base if all of the Battle-Born clan suddenly began to go to his competitors.

So instead, Harald nodded. "It would seem so. Let's release these men."

Slight frowns matching his own, the two other guardsmen began cutting the bindings off prisoners. Harald himself made way to cut through the binding on the large stranger when Olfrid cleared his throat.

"Harald, I don't believe that man should go unpunished. It seems to me that he caused quite a bit of damage here and I'm certainly not covering his portion."

Harald gave a slight shrug as he cut through the man's bindings. It took extra effort as they'd had to nearly double the amount of rope to secure his wrists. "Sorry Olfrid but like you said, no needs to be imprisoned over this and Elrindir has already decided that all debts have been settled."

The Battle-Born patriarch looked like he taken a bite out a particularly sour lemon. "I see."

Finally, Harald managed to slice through the ropes binding the man. The large Nord thanked him quietly and Harald nodded. "I don't know who you are stranger, but try to keep out of trouble for the rest of your stay here."

Deliberately ignoring Olfrid, Harald turned to find the other guardsmen had already finished. With a curt nod to them, the trio made their way to the exit.

"You lot try and be on your best behavior from here on out! If we have to come back, everyone will be spending the night in the city's cellars! Understand?"

There were a few disingenuous mumbles of understanding. With one last look, Harald and the guardsmen stepped back out into the night, pulling the door shut behind them.

Wulfric watched the town's guardsmen leave before turning an eye on the older man in the fine clothes. He was clearly someone of importance and had claimed to be the braggart Idolaf's father, which would make the man his uncle.

That was something that was still running through Wulfric's head, making his head throb just as badly as the cut from the wine bottle. He had always known his father to be a brave and honorable man, if a bit ruthless when push came to shove. One didn't become Blood-Kin with various Orc strongholds by being soft after all.

But to steal away a woman and flee the city…

'By the Eight, father, just what did you do?'

The older man – Olfrid, they had called him – looked up at him like he was something to be scrapped off a boot before moving on to speak to his son.

"This is my favorite tavern, Idolaf." Olfrid said in an even tone. "What would possess you to start a brawl here of all places?"

Idolaf looked down ashamed but his clenched fists betrayed his frustrations. "I apologize father. My actions were just but have lessened the name Battle-Born tonight."

Olfrid nodded. "Indeed, they have. You'll be working the field rather fiercely to pay off the coin I just laid down." He ignored his son's grimace at his punishment. "I'm sure your wife will appreciate you taking up extra duties though. Now then, what exactly happened here?"

Idolaf stared past his father to glare at Wulfric. The larger man returned to tenfold, trying to ignite the man with his mind. Luckily for Idolaf, he was terrible with Destruction magic.

"That bastard over there snapped my new sword." Idolaf spat. "You won't believe who he is, father! He claims to be the son of Vulwulf Yellow-Trail!"

Wulfric saw the old man tense for a split second. "What was that?"

"You heard me father, the man claims to be the son of Vulwulf, the man who ran away with your sister!"

"I see," Olfrid said, turning away from his son to face Wulfric. "That is certainly quite a story."

Olfrid approached the large man, maintain a calm posture the entire time. Wulfric wasn't entirely sure what to make of the man.

"So, if you are indeed the son of Vulwulf, is it safe to assume that your mother is Sonir?"

Wulfric, slightly confused at the line of questioning, nodded and Olfrid sighed deeply. "I suppose that you like to be about the right age and I guess that I must be grateful in some small way that the two of them did fine love."

"What are you getting at?" Wulfric asked in a low tone.

"I see that your parents chose to never tell you the truth about their pasts then. I can why they would do so, even if it has put you in serious risk by returning to Whiterun."

Olfrid looked Wulfric up and down like he was inspecting a horse before purchase. The larger man resisted the urge to shift under his gaze. Despite the fight from earlier, Wulfric was curious to hear what exactly the old man had to say.

"Your father was one of the Companions, though I'm sure you've at least been told that much. Vulwulf was as tenacious as they came and a shrew negotiator for all of Jorrvaskr. Some even had him pegged to be the Companion's next Harbinger until Kodlak got the nod.

"The problems began when Vulwuff's eye caught a beautiful young prestress at the Temple of Kynareth named Sonir, my younger sister. Sonir quickly became smitten with your father, but her marriage had already been arranged to another man who was currently fighting in the war. Despite knowing this, Vulwuff continued to pursue my sister going so far as to ask my father Odar to break the marriage contract and allow them to be married instead."

Olfrid's face twisted into a grimace, looking like he was remembering the taste of something foul. Wulfric remained silent, carefully watching the old man and taking in his words. For that matter, the rest of the bar had gone silent. Even Elrindir had stopped his sweeping to listen.

"Now of course my father laughed at such a foolish plea and sent the fool on his way." Olfrid slowly began to pace now. "Vulwuff, however, was not nearly the honorable man that he presented himself as. Instead of respecting her family's wishes, he continued to seduce my sister behind our backs. Sonir, naïve girl that she was, fell for his charms and laid with him."

Olfrid suddenly stopped pacing and glared at Wulfric, old angers resurfacing after years. "We didn't find out what was happening until a fellow priestess came to our family in the night, telling us that my sister was showing that she was with child...you, I'd imagine."

Wulfric felt a tightness in his hands and looked down to find them clenched into fists. "What are you implying, old man?"

"That your father seduced my sister, sullying her!" Olfrid roared. "My father had no choice but to break the marriage contract out of shame! Our family's name was run through the mud in every back alley in all of Whiterun Hold!

"We confronted him and the man hid behind my sister! She begged for peace between us, to let them be together. How she cried and cried to my father for forgiveness! Her wishes were as ignored as my father's had been and a duel was set for dawn the next morning. Vulwuff against the best warrior in the entire Battle-Born clan…me."

Wulfric snorted at that. "If that were true, you wouldn't be alive to tell me, old man. Hurry up and make your point."

Olfrid's glare would have killed an entire mammoth stone dead. Body taunt with decades worth of old anger, he continued his story.

"I arrived at dawn the next morning, waiting on the arrival of your father but he never came. We sent searchers out after an hour and found that he fled with my sister in the dead of night. You father brough dishonor to everything around him. That I should first meet his bastard spawn with his hands bound in a bar seems fitting."

A thousand thoughts raced through Wulfric's mind but each was drowned out by the rage boiling within him. He stormed over to the old man, towering over him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Idolaf gesturing to his men to flank around him.

"I will not have you sully my family's name again." The large Nord said through gritted teeth. "I have no proof of your stories, old man, and a lifetime of my parent's love that disputes whatever drivel you've spilled from your mouth."

Furious but not stupid, Wulfric pushed past the old Battle-Born and headed for the exit. Idolaf made a move to block his exit. Wulfric was prepared to just bowl the smaller man over and leave when Olfrid's raspy voice cut through the silence again.

"Like father like son, I suppose."

Wulfric stopped in his tracks. He knew when he was being baited. He delt with it enough growing up around Orcs.

"A true man, a true Nord, would face his father's crimes if he was so concerned about being dishonored." Olfrid continued. "Well, bastard nephew of mine, are you willing to face the fate that your father ran from?"

Damned if it didn't work though.

Wulfric had already turned around and was standing before the Battle-Born patriarch before he realized he was moving. "Name the time and place, old man."

"The night is growing later by the minute, so unfortunately dawn won't do this time. Be at the Battle-Born farm tomorrow just before dusk. A simple one-on-one fight under traditional Nordic law; fight until submission or death."

"Fine," Wulfric spat and he turned and strode towards the door. "Be prepared to build a pyre for one of your kin tomorrow, old man."

"Of course," Olfrid said, voice light but full of venom. "Try not to make like your father and run away. It doesn't do to have a bastard of our prestigious clan running around after all."

Gritting his teeth, Wulfric pushed the door open and stormed out into the night, slamming it behind him.

Wulfric prowled around the darkened town, trying to burn off the excess energy from the night's confrontation. It had taken him nearly an hour of walking before he realized that he still had a cut across his temple from the wine bottle Idolaf smashed over his head.

With a grimace, Wulfric made his way towards the Temple of Kynareth for healing. He was too wound up himself to do it properly.

Despite all of his rage at Olfrid's words about his parentage, more and more doubts were slowly seeping into his thoughts, like a small crack in a blade that would eventually shatter it. It was true that neither of his parents spoke much of their past but Wulfric had never had much a reason to ask them about it.

Did they hold their tongues out of shame or were they just trying to move up from an unpleasant time in their lives? The closest either one of them had every mentioned about having family back in Whiterun was his father speaking of the Companions. His mother had told him of her time as a priestess in training but little else and certainly no mention of family.

Wulfric reached the temple after a few more minutes of restless walking. The temple was fairly tall with a multi-gabled roof that made it feel significant against several of the more standard buildings in Whiterun. Twin torches were lit beside the temple's double doors but everything else around it was dark.

Wulfric pushed one of the doors open and carefully close it behind him, not wanting to cause a commotion to any that might be recovering. He had no idea what the hour was at this point and exhaustion was slowly beginning to seep into his bones as his rage ebbed.

The room was dim, lit only by a few candles. Wulfric could make out a few bodies sprawled out on elevated stone platforms. People recovering from sickness or injury most likely. The center of the room had a unique tiled floor, two short stairs dropping down to create a design similar to a circular cross. If it was meant to symbolize something, Wulfric didn't know what.

At the head of the room, directly across from the entrance was the familiar Shine of Kynareth. It was oddly shaped, almost like a rounded diamond, with a beautiful purple hue. Despite his forging knowledge, Wulfric had no idea what it was actually made out of. Two glowing orbs shone from it's top – his mother had always told him those were Kynareth's eyes watching over man – and a large blue gemstone glittered in the center.

Wulfric approached it, offering a quiet prayer that his mother had taught him.

"Holiest Kyne, Mother of Men, blessings be upon thee. Grant me your blessings so that I may bring my enemies to fall to your grace."

"That is a prayer that I have not heard spoken aloud in the last few years."

Wulfric startled, spinning from the alter to find a priestess staring at him. Despite the late hour she did not seem surprised to see a newcomer in the temple. Her face was lined heavily in age but her blue eyes were bright and sharp, taking in Wulfric as though he were a child that had strayed too far from his mother.

"You know that it is frowned heavily upon by the Empire to address the Goddess Kynareth under any other name, especially Kyne. Tensions have been so tight since the war began that few have dared to do so."

Wulfric stared her down, uncertain at intention. Her words were sharp but the tone was more resigned than anything, leaving the large man to only guess at her motives.

"I apologize," Wulfric began. "For as long as I can remember, the two names have been practically intertwined. I recited the prayer the way it was taught to me."

The apology sounded half-hearted, even to him. He had enough on his plate though without an old priestess trying to have him arrested for calling a goddess by a different name.

The priestess waved him off. "I said I was surprised, not that I was upset. It was good to hear a warrior address the Goddess of Storms by her Nordic name. Too often are things made simple so that everyone can be included in a single basket."

She glanced at his head and frowned. "I assume that you are here for a healing then?"

"I am," Wulfric admitted. "Normally I would do it myself, but head injuries are rather tricky…"

"Say no more, boy, and have a seat while I fetch a few things." In a quiet bustle of robes she vanished into the darker corners of the temple.

Wulfric made his way over to one of the empty stone platforms and sat down. More and more the night was wearing on him. His rage had pushed him past his normal limits and it was catching up to him quickly. The silent calm of the temple put him more at ease and it became harder to resist falling asleep then and there.

The priestess returned a few minutes later with a small pail of water and some linen rags. She was silent as she dipped one of the rags in the water and pressed it to Wulfric's temple. He hissed lightly at the touch – there was some kind of purifier in that water that made the cut sting as through it were fresh – but the priestess ignored him.

"I do not believe I've seen you around here before?" the priestess asked as she swapped to a new rag.

"I'm not from Skyrim." Wulfric said, trying to keep still while the priestess worked.

"Well then, I'm sorry you have to see it under such circumstances. The whole country is going to Oblivion with this war right now. Brother against brother, friend against friend while the country suffers."

Wulfric made a non-committal noise of acknowledgement.

"You do look familiar though," the priestess continued. "Do you have family from around Whiterun?"

Well, that was certainly a loaded question after tonight.

"My parents were from here. They moved before I was born." Best to keep everything about the Battle-Born's to himself.

"You're Vulwulf and Sonir's child, aren't you?"

The question rocked Wulfric like a punch to the gut. He sat stunned for a moment before pushing the priestess' hand from his temple and turned to face her. "How did you know that?"

The priestess gave a small chuckle. "I am Dagny Clear-Water. I was the head priestess at the temple while your mother learned here and when she met Vulwulff. You look just like the both of them. Your jawline and brow are all your fathers, while you have your mother's eyes and nose."

Wulfric wasn't once to overlook such a gifted opportunity. "My parent's never spoke much of their time in Whiterun. What can you tell me about them?"

"Let's see," Dagny pushed Wulfric's head to the side to get a better look at his cut. She made a noise of approval and set her rag aside before placing her hands over the cut. As a soft golden glow lit her hands, she continued.

"Your mother had been training here for about a year. She was rather bold for a priestess, but her healing skills were advanced for someone so young. She met your father when he dragged another wounded Companion into the temple in the dead of night – not that different from you.

"I remember her waking me for my assistance. The other Companion was near death but it mostly from accumulated blood loss. Your father had lesser wounds but severely poisoned. How he managed to carry Jergen all the way from the plains to the temple I'll never know."

The glow faded and the searing pain that Wulfric had been feeling ebbed away as well. "How did she heal him?"

"Sonir, in a rather stupid move honestly, poured all of her magic into Vulwuff's wounds. She simply overwhelmed the poison, which is nearly impossible to do. Poor girl passed out right on top of him from the effort.

"From that point, Vulwuff always went out of his way to visit her, claiming her owed her a life debt. Sonir always waved him off, but you could tell the two were smitten with each other even if they didn't want to admit it."

Wulfric sat in silence for a moment, digesting her words. His parents had never been overtly affectionate – at least not to his at-the-time young mind – but the was always a strong bond of love and trust. Dagny's words solidified that it wasn't some random tryst between two people that led to his making. Still though…

"I've heard that my mother was arranged to be married to someone else. Someone in the war."

Dagny nodded. "Aye, that much is true. I remember Lady Danica consoling her about that."

Wulfric frowned at her. "Consoling her from what?"

"Now this is all hearsay from nearly 30 years ago from an old woman, but I remember that your mother threw a fit about the marriage arrangement. It was said that she joined the temple as a priestess in an attempt to get out of the arrangement. Apparently, she was under the idea that priests and priestess were not allowed to be wed."

"Was the man she was supposed to marry that bad?"

"Hardly," Dagny answered. "As a matter of fact, he's the current Jarl of Whiterun Hold, Balgruuf the Greater. I can't say that I know him personally, but he is popular among his people and has a reputation as a great and thoughtful leader."

"I see…" Wulfric's mind raced a mile a minute at this revelation. It was probably for the best that he leave Whiterun as soon as possible. Balgruuf had been nothing but pleasant earlier that day but Talos only knew how he would receive information about Wulfric's origins.

Dagny had already picked up the bucket, it's water now a dull red, and was collecting the used rags from the floor.

"How did it happen?" Wulfric asked her, looking down at her. He hadn't realized that he stood up. "I have to know why they fled Whiterun and all of Skyrim."

Dagny sighed. "It was an unhappy time for us all back then. The war was waging still and the Empire looked like it might fall. Every day letters from the battle lines would arrive, relaying the deaths of more and more of our own. I think that heightened fear at the time drove both of your parents to make a mistake…sorry to word it that way."

Wulfric shrugged and she continued.

"Anyway, I believe that one night passion got the better of the both of them. When your mother discovered she was pregnant with you, I remember her fear and her joy so vividly at the same time. She tried to hide it but her mother realized fairly quickly what was going on.

"Her father stormed Jorrvaskr when he found out, demanding Vulwuff's life. Obviously, the Companions didn't take that well and a duel was arranged between Vulwuff and Olfrid Battle-Born."

Wulfric nodded. So far it seemed like everything Olfrid had told him was true. His mother had been in an arranged marriage – one to the future Jarl no less – and still his father had pursued her. Still though, what matter most to his was the story's end.

"Tell me," the large man asked. "What happened during this duel? Obviously, my father survived and I met Olfrid earlier today."

Dagny sighed, the lines on her face seemed to deepen, looking every bit of her old age.

"As I said it was not a pleasant time in Skyrim. There had already been so much death that your mother refused to allow the duel to happen. She would either lose a brother or her new love, no matter the outcome. How could she ever be satisfied with that result? When she saw that reason could not be had by either party, she came to me."

"To you?" Wulfric asked. "I understand that you were the head priestess back then, but what could you do to stop a duel?"

Dagny laughed lightly but with a bitter tone. "My boy, just because I am a priestess does not mean that I don't understand this world or have other skills. Your mother came to me for a poison."

Wulfric was briefly stunned into silence again. How was there not some stupid ballad by a bard about this whole incident by now? All the sudden twists were making his head spin.

"You see, before I studied under the Goddess Kynareth, I was an alchemist. Now these old hands aren't much for the mortar and pestle, but in my younger years I was fairly gifted. Your mother came to me for a poison, something strong enough to knock a man out for a few hours but weak enough to keep him from death."

"So, you made it for her then?"

"I refused at first," Dagny admitted. "But after she broke down sobbing in front of me, clutching at her stomach and begging for my help…I could not deny her wish. I made the poison and she gave it to your father the night before the duel. She used every last Septim she had earned, borrowed or stolen to pay a driver and a mercenary to hide your father's body in a carriage and flee in the dead of night."

Wulfric frowned at her, confused but relieved at the same time. "But couldn't my father just return to Whiterun when the poison wore off?"

Dagny nodded. "I told your mother as much. I imagine that the poison would have faded around the time they would be entering The Reach. I always expected Vulfwuff to return to duel Olfrid but Sonir must have been able to convince him to give it all up for a new life."

Wulfric slumped back down on the stone platform. The story of his origins had far more twists and turns than his life had ever had. His father hadn't run, but rather had been whisked away by his mother. She must have put enough distance between for his father to see her reasoning. While he hadn't seen either of them in a few years, Wulfric knew that they were still happily married so apparently his mother had been right in her decisions.

Now then, he would have to set the record straight with the Battle-Borns. He could certainly see why they believed the lies about his father and they even had a fair point about the disruption of an arranged marriage…but he had his own point to prove after tonight.

Wulfric stood again, dwarfing Dagny's small frame. He solemnly bowed his head to her. "Thank you for all the help you have given me tonight. Not only have you healed my wound, but you have cleared my mind for what is to come. Should you ever need a favor returned, just ask it."

The old priestess smiled at him. "You certainly have inherited your mother politeness. Tell me, does she still follow the teachings of Kynareth?"

Wulfric smiled at her and nodded. "She recites the prayer's to Kyne and Shor every morning, before praying to Ysmir every night."

Dagny's face split into a wide smile. "Bless her, she would have made an amazing priestess."

"She was an amazing mother," Wulfric assured her. "Now the night is late and I'll let you get back to your duties."

"You've been no burden at all, child." Dagny insisted. "It is good to know that everything worked out as it should. Give both of them my blessings when you next see them."

Wulfric nodded, bowed at the waist to the elderly woman and left the temple.

As he stepped into the cold twilight of a new day, Wulfric went reinvigorated. Ignoring his body's desires of sleep and hunger to the side, he immediately made his way to Jorrvaskr. He strode past two larger, dark haired men in armor at the front doors, ignoring their surprised looks, and made his way to the winding staircase that led to the Skyforge.

The steady clanging of a hammer on steel assured him that Eorlund was already there. He held back a grin as he reached the top of the plateau, the older man coming into view. Back hunched over an anvil, forging hammer steadily pounding the hot steel into shape.

As if sensing him, Eorlund stopped his work and turned to face him. He cocked his head in surprise, but smiled nonetheless. "I didn't not expect to see you back at the Skyforge so soon."

"I didn't expect to come back myself," Wulfric admitted. "But I need your help."

Eorlund frowned and stood, leaving his work behind him as he walked over to Wulfric. "What do you mean?"

"I have a duel tonight at dusk," Wulfric explained. "I need a weapon that I can trust."

Eorlund nodded. "Aye, been here a day and already in a duel? Against who?"

Wulfric grinned fiercely. "The Battle-Born clan."

Erolund's thick ash-covered beard split into an even fiercer grin. "Let's get to work then."