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Skyrim Spartan

Chapter Twenty-Three

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They followed the White River south, with the Throat of the World to their left and the White River to their right, keeping to the highway that had been cleared of snow thanks to the efforts of the hold guards. Beyond the edges of the highway, snow still covered much of the terrain, but at least their path was clear and easy now. They would make good time if the rest of the roads and paths ahead were likewise cleared.

Kratos set a hard pace after they crossed the bridge, and their horses were wheezing by the time he slowed his horse to a walk. They had traveled many miles by then, and the sun was well past the highpoint of the day when he finally called for a rest.

Anske, Lydia, and Uthgerd followed after him closely, while the twelve guardsmen who had been ordered to accompany them kept a respectful gap in between the two groups.

"My entire lower body hurts," Anske groaned as she gingerly dismounted from her horse. "I don't know how people can ride all day without becoming injured or crippled. It feels as if my legs might fall off at any moment."

Lydia nodded in agreement, grimacing as she moved to pat her horse, which was still breathing heavily. "My legs are sore as well. It's been a long time since I've ridden for that long without stopping. And never at this pace."

Uthgerd laughed, "If you think this is bad, try riding a camel across the sands of the Alik'r for seven straight days while desperately on the run from a band of mercenaries out for your blood."

Anske whipped her head around. "You've been to Hammerfell?"

"Once upon a time," Uthgerd said with a grin. Her eyes took on a wistful look, as if remembering fond times long past.

"I would like to travel there some day and see it for myself," Anske said with a longing sigh. "I'd like to travel to all the other provinces, actually." She winced from the soreness in her legs as she led her horse to the side of the highway, where it proceeded to eat up some of the snow with loud crunching sounds while its breathing slowly began to even out.

They would have the horses drink from the river later once they made camp for the evening, but for now it was too much of a hassle to trudge through the waist-deep snow to get to the riverbank. Snow would suffice for the moment.

"It's good for a warrior to broaden their horizons and seek new enemies and fields of battle," Uthgerd said approvingly as she brought her armored horse next to Anske's.

"This is the furthest I've ever traveled from home," Anske told them, glancing around and then looking up at the colossal mountain that towered high above them. The Throat of the World. Somewhere near its peak, veiled behind a constant girdle of thick clouds, was High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards who waited for her arrival.

"I have yet to step foot beyond the borders of Whiterun Hold," Lydia admitted.

Uthgerd glanced at both of them. "You both are still so young. There are many more journeys and adventures for you to experience by the time you get to my age. I may not look it, but I am at least twice your age Lydia, and perhaps three times that of Anske."

"You don't look that much older than Lydia," Anske remarked, peering closer at the big warrior woman.

Indeed, Uthgerd's face was gently creased with age and was slightly weathered from many decades in harsh elements. There were several faded pale streaks on her skin that marked scars from battles long past. She was no great beauty, but she was certainly not ugly either—it would be fair to say that she had average Nordic looks. She certainly looked younger than her actual age if her words were to be believed.

While her physical appearance did not reflect her true age, the way she moved and held herself was different than the two younger women of the group. She may speak loudly, even belligerently at times, and seem rude and uncultured. But there was a sureness of movement and a sharpness of instinct that not even the trained and disciplined Lydia possessed.

"I thought you to be no more than five or ten years my senior," Lydia said.

Uthgerd grinned toothily. "Ah, careful now. You're making this old woman blush with your compliments."

"Old woman?" Lydia muttered with a snort.

Uthgerd shrugged. "I might be the oldest one here, you know."

Both Lydia and Anske looked to Kratos. He did not appear to be listening as he quietly adjusted the saddle of his horse, but he would have to be deaf not to hear their conversation. Still, neither of them dared to ask his age as they contemplated the answer within their heads in silence.

"So, what can you tell me about Hammerfell?" asked Anske, changing the subject.

"Hmm." Uthgerd rubbed her chin in thought. "Well, Hammerfell is a large province, larger I think than even Skyrim. But I don't know that for sure. The best part about it is the different landscapes you'll get to see," Uthgerd told her. "There are beaches and mountains, jungles and forests, swamps and grasslands, and of course, there's the famous Alik'r Desert. It's a wonder that all of those places are in one province, I tell you."

"That sounds amazing. Far more interesting than the cold tundra and snowy mountains and forests of Skyrim," Anske said, then she cocked her head to the side. "What's a desert like, anyway?"

Uthgerd's lips parted to show surprisingly well-kept white teeth as her grin widened. Though one of her teeth appeared to be made of silver, the metal catching in the sunlight.

"The Alik'r isn't some normal desert. Imagine a seemingly endless sea of shifting sand crawling with dangerous beasts, deadly critters, and countless bandits… where the sun blazes mercilessly on cloudless days and the nights can chill you to the bone if you're not prepared. Water is difficult to come by, and if you're not killed by the many dangers that roam the dunes above and beneath the sand, then you're just as likely to die from thirst and hunger."

Anske's mouth was agape as she tried to picture such a place. She looked incredulously towards the big Nord woman—Uthgerd was over six feet tall and sturdily built for a woman—and could not think of a logical reason why anyone would visit such a place, let alone actually live there.

"And you went there on purpose?"

Uthgerd threw her head back as she laughed, her hands at her hips and elbows flared to the side. "Aye, that I did. Like I said, it's good for a warrior to test their mettle against new foes and across different battlefields. In the end, while I did not die a glorious and honorable death to send me to Sovngarde, I managed to fight in many worthwhile battles and learned much from my time there. For instance," Uthgerd paused for effect, leaning closer to Anske with eyes sparkling with excitement, "Did you know that many of the warriors in Hammerfell use curved swords?"

Anske actually did know that. She had heard about it from the travelers that passed through her father's inn, though she never did find out why their swords were curved. She also knew that the Redguards who were the local inhabitants of Hammerfell, much like the Nords were to Skyrim, were generally regarded as some of the best melee fighters in all of Tamriel. The average Redguard's skill with a sword, in particular, was far above most other races.

"Even I know that much," Lydia said. "I have seen a few of those curved swords with my own eyes at weapons shops around the city. And there have been a rare few Redguards who have visited the city before."

Anske was about to ask more about curved swords when her mind randomly remembered something Uthgerd had said earlier that she had wanted to ask about.

"What's a camel?"

Uthgerd grinned again as she turned to Anske. "They are like horses, but with a big hump on their back. Sometimes they have two humps even. They have smaller heads and longer necks, and they are much taller than horses, because of their longer legs and their humps."

While Anske processed that information and tried to imagine them in her head, Lydia decided to ask a burning question of her own.

"Why were those mercenaries after you?" Lydia looked intently towards Uthgerd. "You mentioned you were chased for seven days across the desert. Surely, there must have been a reason for such a relentless pursuit. I doubt anyone would chase someone for that far and for that long only to try to rob you or merely to kill you."

At that Uthgerd looked away and rubbed the back of her neck. "Ah, well you see… I may have accidentally killed an heir of one of the bigger bandit clans of the northwest region of Hammerfell. The favorite son of their chief if what they said is true. They of course did not like that I had killed the boy, so they chased after me with a formidable force."

Anske raised an eyebrow. "Accidentally? How?"

Uthgerd grimaced, looking as if she didn't really want to explain the details, but then she shook her head at some internal debate and then glanced first to Anske and then to Lydia. "The lad had seen me fight against some beasts before and he became… interested in me. The courtship lasted for a few months, and when we finally made love, I may have… in the throes of pleasure… crushed his head on accident. With my thighs."

Anske stared at her in disbelief that slowly turned into disgust as she involuntarily imagined the scene. She shivered at the thought. "By the Eight," she breathed. What a terrible way to die.

Lydia seemed somewhat disgusted as well, and wisely did not ask any more details about the man's death. "And after seven days, they just… gave up?"

Uthgerd shrugged and gave her a bitter smile. "They didn't have much choice. In the middle of fighting for my life as they caught up to me, we were attacked by a horde of dunerippers, and in the ensuing fight the carnage attracted other beasts as well. Somehow, I managed to barely slip away with my life. Never saw them at my back again, so the ones who chased me either all died, or they retreated to their desert stronghold."

It was at this point that one of the guardsmen, the one who had stepped up to greet them earlier, walked over to them. With a salute—head bowed and right fist over left breast—he addressed Kratos. "Honored Thane, if I may ask, are we making camp somewhere nearby?"

Kratos did not turn around when he answered the guard. "Not yet."

"Very well. We'll be ready to move at your command, Thane," said the guard. He turned around to go back to the group of guardsmen resting about fifty feet away when Lydia stopped him.

"Excuse me," she said, "Since we'll be traveling together for some time, I think it would be best to at least know your name. I'm Lydia, housecarl to Thane Kratos."

The guard blinked in surprise and then inclined his head respectfully. "Apologies. I realize I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Carsis, a sergeant in the Whiterun Guard. I'm at your service."

Carsis was of the same height as Anske, and though his face was covered by his full helm, he sounded like a Nord and his blue eyes seemed Nordic enough. He carried with him the standard travel gear of a Whiterun Guardsman: chainmail with a yellow cloak; a shortbow and a quiver of arrows, good for ranged attacks and for hunting; a steel sword and a wooden shield ringed with iron and with the Whiterun crest emblazoned on a yellow field on its face; and thick fur-lined leather boots that were brown in color.

"My name's Uthgerd. Second housecarl to Thane Kratos," Uthgerd declared proudly.

Lydia raised an eyebrow at Uthgerd's proclaimed title. Technically, the woman had not been accepted by Kratos as a servant, let alone a housecarl. But Lydia didn't say anything.

"And I'm Anske."

The sergeant nodded to each of them in turn, then he looked to Lydia. "I remember your face," he said hesitantly. "You were a guardsman too, were you not?"

"I was. Until the jarl honored me with the chance to become housecarl to Thane Kratos," Lydia answered him.

Carsis turned to where Kratos stood fixing the packs on his horse. "You are honored, indeed. We were all told of his new status as Thane, and what prompted the jarl to bestow the title upon him. A feat worthy of song and legend. When I look at him, I cannot help but think he is a hero from books and stories made flesh."

"He's as strong as he looks," Uthgerd said honestly. "Perhaps even stronger than that."

"I know you as well," the sergeant's gaze drifted to her. "Uthgerd the Unbroken, they call you. 133 straight victories in fistfights at The Bannered Mare. They say your warhammer can crack a steel shield in one blow. And crush a man's head just as easily."

"134 straight victories," Uthgerd corrected him with a grin as she glanced sideways at Lydia, who crossed her arms and looked away with the slightest trace of annoyance. "But that streak is broken now. I lost to Thane Kratos in one move."

Carsis stepped back in shock. "He defeated you with one move?!"

Uthgerd nodded once. "Aye. Knocked me out in an instant, he did. He probably could've killed me if he hadn't held back, for which I'm grateful, of course." She chuckled to herself. "No honor in dying in a tavern brawl, after all. That's why I'm here now. Who better to follow into glorious battle than someone who could knock you flat on your ass in one go, am I right?"

Anske and Carsis smiled at her words, and even Lydia covered up a smile of her own.

"And you? What's your story?" Carsis said, turning finally to Anske. "Forgive me if I don't recognize you. I grew up in Whiterun city and have barely traveled beyond its outskirts."

Anske shook her head. "It's no problem at all. I'm nobody, really. I'm just a poor, clueless girl from Rorikstead who's way in over her head."

"A survivor of Rorikstead? I'm sorry for what happened." Carsis actually looked genuinely saddened. "We heard the jarl mobilized the Guard en force to secure the western border and drive out all the Forsworn. What happened at Rorikstead… it will be avenged, and your home reclaimed and rebuilt, I assure you." Carsis raised a fist to emphasize his words.

Anske smiled sadly. Unsure of what else to say, she said, "Thank you. I'm sure it will."

Uthgerd spoke up unexpectedly. "Come now, give yourself more credit, girl! If you're from Rorikstead, then you've known Thane Kratos the longest out of all of us. And the fact that you're here means you're important enough to accompany him. Anyone he deems worthy to keep in his company is someone noteworthy indeed. No need to be so humble."

Carsis nodded in agreement. "Aye, I think you speak true, Lady Uthgerd."

"Lady?!" Uthgerd spluttered. "I am no noble lady! I'm a Nord warrior, you hear me? So, stop with that lady nonsense."

Carsis flinched as the taller Nord warrior shook her fist at him. "R-Right. My apologies, Uthgerd. I meant no offense."

Before anyone could say anything else, Kratos jumped on his horse in one smooth motion, his sudden movement catching their attention. He then turned to regard them with a gaze as heavy as a mountain.

"We ride until sundown," he declared, and then he was off, leaving them scrambling to follow in his wake.

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The golden goblet flew across the room, spilling precious red wine in its wake. When it smacked into the wall and bounced off, falling to the floor loudly, the servants present all flinched in fear. But then one of them quickly moved to pick up the goblet and clean the mess while another filled a new goblet with more of the same wine, ready to serve it to their master when an opening presented itself.

Nazeem was furious. No, he was beyond furious. He was absolutely seething, eyes seeing red.

"What do you mean the girl is not among them?!" he yelled at his steward, who cowered before him.

The steward, a middle-aged man from Cyrodiil, was on his knees with his body prostrated towards his master. He was shaking, afraid that he might be punished for delivering bad news. It wouldn't be the first time. And as long as he held the position of steward, it likely wouldn't be the last either.

He had heard from the other servants that his master's stewards rarely lasted more than a year. And he was only in his third month of service to the master. He wondered if he might last six months.

Nazeem glared at his steward. "Well? Speak, damn you! I asked you a question!"

"Apologies, master. This one begs for forgiveness, but this one did not find the girl you described. When this one listed the names of all the new arrivals, her name was not there. And when this one… when this one asked about the girl, this one learned that she was not among them. Has not been among them for a while, they said."

"What?" Nazeem reached down to pull the steward up by the hair, eliciting a cry of pain and surprise from the man. "You're telling me that the girl hasn't been with them? But I saw her at the feast! She was sitting there with them! They must be lying!"

"Th-This one doesn't think they're lying, master!" And afraid that he might be reprimanded for speaking such words to his master, he quickly continued on. "When this one asked more questions, they said that the girl did not live with them in the camp outside the city. That she lived within the city. Within Dragonsreach. A special guest of the jarl."

"Impossible." Nazeem scoffed, letting go of the man's hair and eliciting a sigh of relief from the steward. "The girl was wearing the clothes of a commoner. And the way she acted was definitely the ways of a commoner. Other than her beauty, there was nothing else remarkable about her. There is no way the jarl would consider a commoner like her a special guest!"

"Forgiveness. This one thought to investigate without permission, master…"

"Hmph. Perhaps you have some brains after all," Nazeem said. "And? What did your investigation turn up? Something useful, I hope. For your sake."

The man shuddered with fear but collected himself enough to speak again. "This one found truth to their words, master. This one heard of a girl matching the description the master gave. The girl resided in Dragonsreach for several days, and was in the company of the new Thane, master. She… appears to be close to him."

Nazeem frowned, standing up to his full height as he tucked his hands behind him. "The new Thane…" he said carefully, mind churning. "What do you mean by close? How did she appear to be close to him? What is their relationship? Is it romantic?" If so, that would be a problem. The Thane was a powerful warrior, and someone he could ill afford to offend. But if not, then perhaps there was still a chance.

Still, he could not move openly against the man or someone close to him, which meant he would have to deal with this matter from the shadows. That could be entertaining in its own right.

"Forgiveness. This one does not know their relationship precisely, master. What this one was told was that they appeared to be familiar with one another, but there does not seem to be any romantic feelings according to the witnesses that were questioned. This one can try to find out more if the master wishes."

"I do," Nazeem said, his voice still tinged with anger and irritation. "Find out where they are as well. Perhaps I can speak to the Thane directly on the matter."

The steward raised his head a fraction. "That will be difficult, master. This one has learned that they left the city this morning."

Nazeem, who had stepped away from the steward, suddenly whirled around. "They left the city? In what direction did they go?"

"South, master. They went south. But this one could not find out where they were going. Nobody seems to know."

"South?" Nazeem said thoughtfully. "There's not much to the south besides Riverwood and wilderness. Unless they mean to go all the way to Falkreath. Hmm. Even if they do plan to go that far, they will need to stop by Riverwood regardless. Perhaps then…"

Nazeem started to pace, and the servant who had filled the new goblet of wine came forward to offer it to him. He accepted it idly, his mind elsewhere. When he stopped pacing, he took a long drink of the wine, and let out a satisfied sigh. He swirled the wine by tilting his hand back and forth and then spoke.

"Bring me some mercenaries that specialize in stealth. And do it quickly." Nazeem tossed a bag of coins near the steward's head, and the man quickly grabbed it and put it away.

"This one will obey, master." The steward hesitated for a second before he said, "If this one may humbly ask, what does the master wish to do with the new workers? Since the girl is not among them…"

"It seems I hired those worthless refugees for nothing," Nazeem said with a sudden scowl, but then he shook his head and the anger cleared away slowly. "No… No. It was time to expand operations anyway," he told himself. "The labor will be needed. And besides, hiring them has curried me favor with the jarl, so it was no big loss." He nodded to himself, pleased.

The sudden change of attitude was so jarring one might think there were two different people inhabiting his body.

Nazeem then turned to his steward, who was still prostrated on the ground before him. "Hear my orders. Keep those refugees separate from the other workers as much as you can. Work them hard, but don't treat them as we normally would… the jarl keeps an eye on them, and we cannot rough them up too much. For now, at least."

"This one understands, master. This one will carry out your will." The man slowly dragged himself away, keeping himself on his hands and knees and with his head lowered.

"However," Nazeem added, causing the servant to freeze in place. "There are always many hazards when it comes to physical labor. Especially in the mines. It would be no surprise to lose a few miners here and there, wouldn't you agree?"

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Tarknir tapped his foot nervously. With Rorik and Jouane gone, he, Vors, and Reldith were supposed to take the lead in organizing and watching out for their fellow villagers. Now, Reldith had yet to return to camp and Vors was still drunk and passed out, leaving Tarknir to handle any official matters by himself.

Leesa was old and cranky, and when he asked her to help him, she flat out refused. Saying that she only concerned herself with cooking and caring for their fellow villagers, not with matters such as this. And what a strange matter it was.

A guardsman had come to the camp in search of whoever was 'in charge,' which in this case happened to be Tarknir. The guard had brought a message from the dungeons.

Apparently, the Shadowblood Bandits captain that they had captured, Ilfyha, wished to speak with him. Or at least, with someone in charge of the people that had beaten and captured her. The people of Rorikstead. Though technically, it was largely Kratos who had brought them victory over the bandits.

Tarknir did not know what that woman wanted, and he felt like he should simply ignore the request since the woman was either going to be imprisoned for a long time or put to the death, so it didn't really matter what she had to say. But a part of him was curious.

That part of him that had been awoken by the terrible tragedies that had befallen them. The part of him that he had long hidden away for a life of farming, but now was threatening to resurface. No, it had already resurfaced, and he was struggling to push it back down.

Tarknir had always wanted to be an adventurer. What Nord man honestly didn't? And his blood yearned for battle. Both in Rorikstead and the Hills of Shattered Stone, he was able to realize some of that longing for adventure, as well as the thrill of battle.

And so it was that Tarknir decided to foolishly accept the request. Now, he waited as his name was entered into the ledger that would mark his visit to the dungeons. The guard who wrote in the ledger moved his quill slowly, as if every letter needed to be perfectly written, and Tarknir wasn't sure if it was to test his patience or if the guard was simply a slow and precise writer.

Finally, the guard placed his quill to the side and leaned back from the ledger. He looked up at Tarknir, before turning to his side and addressing the other guard who manned the steel-reinforced door that led down into the depths of the dungeons of Dragonsreach—due to the danger and the importance of the prisoner, she could not be held in the regular dungeons beneath the city's guard barracks.

"Tarknir of Rorikstead, here to visit prisoner, Ilfyha of the Shadowblood Bandits," the seated guard declared.

The guard by the door moved to unlock the door, and with a grunt of effort, heaved it open. The door creaked and groaned heavily as it swung open, and the guard gestured for him to enter. There was another guard on the other side waiting for him.

"Follow me," said the guard, and they descended a long flight of dimly lit stairs.

Tarknir wondered if the dim lighting was part of the security of this place, making it easier for someone trying to escape or someone trying to break in to lose their footing and trip. Although that line of thinking then made him wonder if anyone had ever tried to break into the Dragonsreach dungeons. And if so, how many had succeeded?

The air was damp and colder down here below the surface. It was also somewhat stale, like the air was not as potent as it should be. The faint smell of garbage and refuse wafted through the air, making him crinkle his nose for a moment.

After passing a few equally dim passages, a pair of guards, and two more locked doors made of thick metal bars, they stopped in front of a thick wooden door reinforced with steel. The door had a small slit window at eye level that was barely large enough for someone's hand to pass through, though that was impossible considering the small bars that blocked the window so that nobody could actually reach through it.

The guard glanced inside and then pounded the door with a fist. "Wake up, prisoner! You have a visitor." He then moved to the side and motioned for Tarknir to step up to the door. "You have ten minutes," the guard declared before walking off, presumably to speak with one of the other guards they had passed to get there.

With a frown, Tarknir stepped forward, though he did not get too close to the door. Instead, he leaned forward to look into the dark cell. The smell of filth, body odor, and human refuse wafted through the window and he almost retched, forcing him to pinch his nose and breathe through his mouth.

The sound of clinking chains echoed from within, and he saw the shadows move in the pale light that reached into the cell.

"I don't know you," said a hoarse voice from beyond the door. It sounded weak and yet strong at the same time. Had he not already known the prisoner was a woman, he would not have easily guessed that from the voice he was hearing now.

Tarknir cleared his throat. "I'm from Rorikstead," he told her.

"I don't know you," the voice repeated.

He shook his head. Why had he come here? He shouldn't have come. But he was here now, and he might as well hear what the prisoner had to say. Assuming she had anything to say and wasn't just wasting his time, which she probably was now that he thought about it.

"Where is the half-giant?" asked the voice.

"You mean Kratos? He's gone."

"Kratos?" The voice echoed, as if hearing it for the first time. "The pale champion with the blood of giants. He had… a red marking on his body."

"Aye, that's him."

"Kratos…" the voice said the name again, like she was committing it to memory.

"Like I said, he's not here. And I don't know when he'll be back."

"And where is… Rorik?" the prisoner asked, pausing mid-sentence as if to recall the name.

Tarknir was surprised she knew Rorik's name, and he wondered when she learned of it. "He's not here. They both left the city."

The prisoner was silent for a while, and Tarknir could feel the minutes passing. They did not have much time left before the guard returned. There was a reason she was looking for someone to talk to. But maybe he did not qualify to hear what she had to say. Maybe only Kratos or Rorik was supposed to hear it.

"Look, you asked for someone to speak to," Tarknir said as he looked down the hallway towards where the guard had walked off to. "And now I am here. I know that I'm not Kratos, nor am I Rorik, but they are my… friends," he hesitated at that designation since Kratos most assuredly did not consider him a 'friend,' but Tarknir considered him one so that sort of counted. "And I can relay whatever message you might have for them, if it's worth relaying."

There was another bout of silence between them, and only the sounds of the dungeon around them could be heard. The low hum of moving air in an enclosed space, the unintelligible sounds of distant conversations, the sound of sobs and cries for mercy, and the echoing sound of slamming doors and squealing hinges.

It was strange. The longer Tarknir stayed, the more comfortable he seemed to get. He did not have much time to ponder on that as the woman spoke again.

"Did you fight?" asked Ilfyha. The sound of clinking chains and shuffling feet sounded again, and Tarknir had the distinct impression that she had walked closer to the door to peer at him.

Tarknir nodded. "I did." When he peered into the slit window, he saw the faint reflection of light against two eyes framed within a shadowed face. Seeing them made him shiver, and he had the urge to look away, but he held fast and stared right back at her.

They seemed to stare at each in silence for a long time.

"I offer a trade," Ilfyha finally said.

The sound of footsteps echoed from down the hall, growing louder with each step. The guard was returning, and their time was running out.

"What are you trading? Tell me." Tarknir burned with curiosity, and his heart beat faster.

"My life," she told him, suddenly pressing her scarred face up against the bars of the slit window. "My life… for the lives of my crew. The ones who lived. The ones who got away."

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Kratos sat with his legs bent in front of him, his arms wrapped around his knees as he leaned forward to stare into the crackling fire. They had set camp in the shelter of some trees halfway between the edge of the highway and the banks of the river by the time the sun had dipped below the horizon. The ground was damp and cold from the snow they had cleared away earlier, and what little of it remained began to melt from the campfire.

The sky above their heads had turned a shade of violet and the stars slowly began to appear while the western horizon yet burned with the red-orange glow of the setting sun.

Nearby, his companions rested in silence. They had traveled a great distance in one day, and though everyone was exhausted, their horses included, nobody complained about the pace. None dared to, for it was Kratos who led the way, and nobody was foolish enough to challenge him.

Lydia elected to cook a meal for them, bringing out a cooking pot from their packed supplies. She was now hard at work, the dragonbone dagger Kratos had gifted her being put to good use slicing up ingredients for the stew she was making.

Anske was practically half-asleep already, the young woman curled up by the fire with her head resting on her bedroll like it was a pillow.

Uthgerd, her warhammer resting across her lap, sat with her back against the trunk of a tree. Her eyes watched Lydia's practiced cooking with interest, as if she were taking notes.

Nearby, their horses were tied to some trees and were already fast asleep, having been pushed to their limits and genuinely exhausted.

A short distance away, at a separate fire, the guardsmen also made their evening meal. Four of them were keeping watch. Two by the road, looking north and south, with two more nearer to the camp and standing vigil over the perimeter. While the other eight had gone about setting up camp and then resting.

When they were finished eating—Lydia had made a decent beef and vegetable stew, of which Kratos had a little—Anske quickly went to bed since she was already halfway there to begin with.

Uthgerd said, to no one in particular, that she needed to stretch her legs first, and then she wandered off into the night, warhammer resting across her shoulder.

Lydia cleaned and packed the cooking materials she had used and set down her bedroll. She looked to Kratos, who had barely moved from his spot by the fire, his gaze still staring at the flickering flames.

"Is there something troubling you, master Kratos?" she ventured to ask.

Kratos stirred and glanced briefly over at his housecarl. He had been thinking of how best to balance giving Anske the experience she needed to get stronger with his own desire to get things done quickly and efficiently. In particular, he wanted to get the matter of the Dragonstone over with as soon as possible in order to rid themselves of the guardsmen that were tagging along. Their presence was trying his patience.

For one, with the guardsmen present, Anske could not openly practice her new dragonborn powers. The Thu'um, as it had been called. Not that he was sure the girl could even practice it, but she had at least once demonstrated that she could wield the power. So, having already done it once, Kratos was certain she could do it again.

He also was reluctant to train the girls with such an audience of outsiders present. While their current regimen was only the basic foundational techniques and exercises of Spartan soldier training, it was still special knowledge that only he could pass down, and he was not willing to share it with those he did not deem worthy.

Lastly, he was sure part of the mission of the guardsmen was to keep an eye on them and report back everything they witnessed to the jarl.

"It is nothing," he said to Lydia, who accepted the answer well enough.

Kratos got to his feet then, and Lydia once more watched him closely as he walked away in the direction of the river. He had taken a scant few steps away from the camp before she rushed over to follow him, keeping close by with her hand on the hilt of her new sword and her eyes squinting against the darkness around them.

"What are you doing?" Kratos asked.

"It is my duty as your housecarl to protect you, master Kratos," she answered easily enough. "The riverbank may have been clear of monsters earlier when we led the horses to drink, but there might be some monsters there now."

"Hmph." Kratos doubted there was anything in the river that could so much as harm him, but he did not tell her off, and they walked together in silence through the rough paths they had earlier carved through the snow.

It did not take them long to reach the riverbank. The waters of the White River were dark and mysterious so late at night, though where the light of the moons and the stars reflected across the moving surface of the river, Kratos found the sight of it to be beautiful. Each ripple and wave glinted in the moonlight.

There was a strong current in the middle of the river, further out from where they stood, but by the banks the water was shallow and lapped gently against the earth.

Next to him, Lydia tensed, sensing danger but unable to place where it would come from. Her eyes darted around, her sword coming unsheathed by an inch and ready to draw.

Behind them came the sounds of someone or something approaching. Lydia spun around, her sword halfway out of its sheath, when she recognized who it was and stopped.

It was Carsis.

"Forgive me, Lydia," Carsis said, noting her wariness and the half-drawn blade at her side. He raised his hands as if to emphasize that he was not looking for any violence tonight. "I saw you two walking here and thought I might join you. If that's alright with you, honored Thane."

Kratos let out a short grunt. He had sensed the man's approach and had judged him to be without hostile intent. Instead, the threat lay with the creatures ahead of them, burrowed in the shallow waters. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting for a moment to strike.

Carsis moved to stand beside Lydia, making sure that Kratos saw him saluting respectfully.

"What brings you to the riverbank?" asked the sergeant.

Lydia gestured wordlessly towards Kratos, who did not answer.

"Ah." Carsis looked out across the water, his own hand resting on the sword hilt at his side. He too felt something watching them.

Kratos took a step forward, his boots sploshing on the edge of the river and sinking into the mud. Without warning, something burst forth from the shallows, splashing water everywhere as it emerged and making Lydia and Carsis momentarily flinch.

The creature was only slightly smaller than a normal-sized horse, with two pincer claws and long legs. Moonlight bounced off its hard shell, and it looked almost as if a small boulder had come to life and sprouted legs and claws.

"Mud crabs!" Carsis shouted as he drew his sword, lowering his stance with eyes wide.

Lydia's sword was already out, but by the time she stepped forward to assist Kratos, the fight was already over.

The mud crab had struck with one claw first, but Kratos reacted quickly, far quicker than his size should have allowed. He held each pincer of the claw in each of his hands, and before the mudcrab could strike him with its other claw, Kratos mustered his strength and pulled firmly on one of the pincers in his grip, ripping it off from the claw and tearing away some of the mudcrabs flesh in the process.

It let out a screech of pain, its entire body shuddering. Kratos then used the pincer he had ripped off as a weapon and, yanking with a grunt of effort on the remaining pincer of the creature's injured claw, he pulled the mudcrab closer to him. It tried in vain to wrench free from his grasp, its dark eyes helpless as they watched him swiftly plunge the taken pincer straight into the middle of its head.

There was a loud crack and a squelching sound as the pincer drove home, sinking deep into the creature. It loudly screeched one last time, and in its final death throes it thrust forward with its other claw in a desperate attempt to take its killer with it, but Kratos batted it aside with a swift backhand, his face face full of contempt at the feeble attack. And then the creature convulsed and died, its body slumping into the shallow muddy water with a heavy splosh.

"That's… a big one," Carsis remarked as they stared at the lifeless creature. "It is said that mudcrabs can only grow this large if they've tasted flesh. Normally, these creatures only eat fish and are but the size of large dogs. It would seem this one has feasted upon animals and men alike for some time."

Carsis and Lydia still had their weapons out, but there didn't appear to be any other immediate threats. Whether there were no other crabs nearby or the ones out there were now unwilling to attack after the swift death of this crab, they didn't know.

Lydia knew Kratos was a powerful and skilled warrior, and though killing a mudcrab, no matter how big, was not that impressive a feat, to do so in only a matter of seconds after a surprise attack was a testament to how truly formidable her master was. This was the first time she saw him in actual combat, though it was brief and he barely seemed to expend any effort.

"Are you alright, master Kratos?" she asked even though she already knew the answer.

Kratos responded with only a grunt.

"Your strength and skill as a warrior are truly a sight to behold, Thane Kratos," said Carsis with awe in his voice.

"Hmph." Kratos gestured towards the dead crab. "Can we make use of this?" he asked.

Lydia nodded her head. "Aye, master Kratos. The meat could surely be added to our supplies. As for the rest of it… perhaps we can sell it to a merchant or a craftsman?"

"Indeed, you can," Carsis said. "The shell of mudcrabs can be used to fashion armor of decent quality, or so I've heard. It can also be used to make other items, such as containers or shields. For a shell as big as this, I imagine you can make whatever you wish. It will sell for a good price on its own at the very least."

"The problem is hauling it around." Lydia frowned at the thought of lugging the crab's corpse around. Their pack horse was already laden with the heaviest of their supplies, and she was not sure if it could handle any more.

"At the pace we're going, Riverwood is only a few days away," Carsis said. "You will not have to carry it with you for long."

Kratos reached down and grabbed the dead crab's mangled claw. With ease, he proceeded to drag it behind him as he made his way back to their camp, much to the dismay of Lydia who thought it her duty to do such a menial task.

In the end, Carsis had some of the guardsmen help Lydia to carefully harvest the crab meat while doing as little damage to the shell as possible. For their efforts, Kratos said they could take half the meat for themselves, for which the guardsmen were grateful. Fresh crab meat was better than the dried meats and breads that they had brought with them for the journey.

They stayed up late to accomplish their task, and with the corpse disassembled, it was easier to tie it all up to be placed on their pack horse when they were ready to leave. By the time Lydia laid down on her bed, she was well and truly tired, and fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

With everyone asleep—Uthgerd had returned at some point and had fallen into her bed similarly exhausted—Kratos returned to the riverbank and waded into the water until he was waist deep. No other creatures dared to attack him, perhaps recognizing that it was he who had slain the big crab.

He proceeded to wash himself in the cool running water of the river. When he was finished, he stepped out onto the riverbank and let the wind dry him as he stared up into the starry night sky. It really was a beautiful sight, he had to admit.

After he was sufficiently dry, he returned to their camp, where he added more wood to the low-burning fire and dried himself further.

When dawn broke, and the dark night sky gradually gave way to the light of day, Kratos roused the others. They broke camp and saddled up, making their way back to the highway and proceeding farther south.

They had scarcely traveled more than a few miles when they encountered someone on the road who was headed in the opposite way. A lone rider galloped towards them, dressed in the way of an Imperial soldier. The rider slowed upon approaching them, and Kratos reined in his horse as well, allowing the others in his party to catch up to him.

Carsis galloped forward to join them, followed by two other guardsmen, while the rest of the guards stayed in reserve. He bowed his head to Kratos as he came to a halt abreast of him, and they waited to receive the rider.

The Imperial soldier stopped a few horse lengths away from them, casting an appraising eye across each one in their party. His gaze landed on Carsis.

"What news of Whiterun?" the stranger asked, worry lining his face. "Does the city still stand?"

Carsis seemed puzzled by the question, and answered, "Aye, Whiterun City still stands, soldier."

The soldier seemed to sag with relief, the tension in his shoulders dissipating somewhat. "I'm not too late," he said to himself, though loud enough that everyone heard him.

"What has happened? Why do you ask this question with such urgency? Do you bear a message from the Legion?" Carsis asked with growing concern.

"My name is Hadvar, and I bring grave tidings. I know the news might be difficult to hear, and you might think it impossible, but I assure you it is true," the soldier told them in a rush. Then with a slow intake of breath to calm himself, he said, "Dragons have returned to Skyrim. The fortress city of Helgen was destroyed in a dragon attack less than a week ago. Its power is terrible, and only a scant few of us survived. General Tullius himself commanded me to relay the message of Helgen's destruction to Jarl Balgruuf in the hopes that Whiterun Hold may be better prepared to fight the beast. If we—"

At this, Carsis raised a hand to quiet the man. "Hold, Hadvar of the Imperial Legion. We already know about the dragon you speak of. In fact, it has already been slain, and Whiterun stands safe and sound. The jarl has already moved to improve the defenses of all settlements in the Hold, especially in the city, in case there might be more dragons out there. So, rest assured, we will surely be ready to defend ourselves against any dragon who dares to attack us."

"The dragon… has been slain?" Hadvar was taken aback, disbelief clear in his eyes and in his voice. "You're not joking?"

"Aye. It is dead," Carsis said with all seriousness. He then drew attention to Kratos with a gesture of his arm. "Take note, soldier. You are now in the presence of the newest Thane of Whiterun, and the first Dovahkiin of Skyrim in centuries. It was he who took down the dragon on the plains west of the city several days ago."

As if the news of the dragon's defeat wasn't unbelievable enough, Hadvar's eyes grew almost impossibly wide as he stared in shock at the massive warrior upon his equally impressive steed.

"Dovahkiin?!"

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Hadvar decided to join their company temporarily since he had family in Riverwood, and he had barely spent any time there when he passed through a few days ago due to the urgency of the message he was to deliver. But now that the message was unnecessary, he could take some time for himself before returning to his duties with the Legion.

He welcomed the thought of resting his weary bones and spending a few more moments among his surviving family, especially after going through such a harrowing experience back in Helgen. Praise the Divines that he had managed to survive somehow.

The day passed quickly, and the dovahkiin, Kratos, set a punishing pace. Hadvar tried to guess what urgent reason compelled the powerful thane forward with such speed, but he had no answers. The company spoke very little while on the road, for the speed at which they traveled was hardly conducive to conversation.

Eventually, as the sun began to set and after traveling a great distance, Kratos slowed and then stopped, indicating that they were to make camp for the evening.

Hadvar was hesitant to join the camp of the seemingly cold and intimidating dovahkiin, so he settled in with the guardsmen. But doubt and curiosity gnawed at him through the evening, and he soon found himself walking over to the dovahkiin's camp after supper.

"Excuse me, Thane. Please forgive me for the intrusion," Hadvar said as politely and respectfully as he could once he was within earshot of the giant warrior.

Kratos was sitting by the fire, his black fur-lined coat wrapped around his massive shoulders. His jaw was beginning to show signs of stubble, the early signs of a growing beard, though he already had a black goatee on his chin that was short and pointy.

His expression was severe, as was usually the case, and his hardened hazel eyes stared out into the world with an intensity that was difficult for most people to endure for long. It was as if nothing could faze him, and more than that, it was as if he could see through to your very soul and judge your worth with but a glance.

A massive great sword with a blade as wide as Hadvar's body and nearly as tall, rested against a tree nearby. Hadvar had seen it across the dovhakiin's back, and he marveled at the strength that was required to wield such a monstrous weapon.

Two of the thane's companions were seated on their bedrolls by the fire. One, a thin, young blonde woman with Nordic features, eyed Hadvar curiously while the other, a large Nord warrior woman in plate armor seemed more interested in polishing her warhammer than whatever Hadvar's business was.

The third companion, another Nord warrior woman, with dark hair and matching eyes, stood by their horses and appeared to be busy doing something that Hadvar could not quite make out.

Sergeant Carsis had told Hadvar their names. Anske, Uthgerd, and Lydia respectively. With the latter two apparently housecarls for the new thane.

Kratos did not look at Hadvar when he finally spoke, his voice rumbling low and deep from his chest.

"What do you want?"

Hadvar shifted uneasily on his feet. It felt like he was addressing a mountain, and one wrong move might send an avalanche down upon his head and leave him crushed to dust. Swallowing hard, he kept his gaze lowered and his head bowed, fearful that anything less than absolute respect and deference might offend the dovahkiin.

He had heard tales of their great and terrible power. Talos himself had been a dovahkiin, and for a brief moment he idly wondered if this dovahkiin might some day become Emperor of all of Tamriel. But then he shrugged off that thought. It was not relevant to the conversation he was trying to have right at that moment.

"Forgive me, Thane…" Hadvar repeated.

"You've already said that," Uthgerd blurted out, apparently listening in. It was hard not to, seeing how they were seated so close. "Shor's bones, just get on with whatever you came over here for already! You're not a milk drinker, are you? So, out with it!"

Hadvar winced at her outburst, but then nodded. More to himself than to anyone else. She was right.

"Did you really kill the dragon? Is it truly dead?" he asked at last.

Kratos finally turned to stare at him, and the look he gave was as if to say how dare he have doubts about it.

Hadvar lowered his head, feeling the slightest shiver of fear course through him. "Forgive me, honored Thane. I meant no offense, I just…" He sighed, his gaze still directed downward. "I was there when the dragon attacked Helgen. I saw with my own eyes the devastating power of that dragon. Thousands of people died, hundreds of them strong and experienced soldiers of the Empire. It was as if the whole world was burning then. Even the sky had blackened and rained fire down upon us. So, I want to be absolutely sure that the dragon was slain. I will have to report to my superiors in the Legion, after all, and if it is still out there…"

"I killed a dragon," Kratos told him with a tone that brooked no argument.

"Ah… well," Hadvar found himself saying with a nervous chuckle, "I suppose that's that then. The dragon really is dead. Thank you for indulging me. I imagine it was no easy feat to slay that terrible beast, but I'm glad you were able to accomplish it. On behalf of all those who perished from the attack, and all those who survived, I thank you."

Hadvar turned around and had taken but a few steps before Kratos' deep voice reached his ears unexpectedly, and when he spoke, the night around them seemed to grow still and quiet save for the soft crackling of the fire.

"What color?"

Hadvar blinked, spinning back around slowly to face the seated warrior. "Uh… color, Thane? I don't understand."

"The dragon. What color was it?" Kratos was staring so intently at him that Hadvar immediately looked away when their eyes met.

"It was black," Hadvar answered him after thinking about it. "Black as night. It was like the beast was made out of ebony ore, with sharp and jagged spikes all over. Like a beast more likely to be found in Oblivion than here in Nirn."

The edges of Kratos' lips turned downward ever so slightly. "How big?"

"I do not know." Hadvar shook his head as he pictured the dark beast in his mind. "It was immense. Larger than any living thing I've ever seen."

"Be more specific," Kratos said, sounding slightly annoyed. "Was it the size of a house? Or a barn?"

This time it was Hadvar who frowned. Again, he shook his head. "Bigger than both, I think," he said. "Much bigger. It was truly massive, Thane. Larger than most of the buildings in Helgen. Larger even than the castle keep of the city. Even its roar seemed to make the ground quake in fear of its wrath."

Uthgerd and Anske were staring at them intently now. Lydia too had returned in time to hear their last exchange, and she had a worried look on her face.

The words Kratos said next struck Hadvar to his core.

"The dragon I killed had scales of silver-gray. Its torso was no bigger than a barn."

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Anske squinted against the wind rushing over her face as she stared at Kratos' broad back, covered now by his black fur coat. His wide broad sword was kept above the cape for easy access, which also secured the cape against his back even as the wind made its edges flutter.

Anske followed closest behind Kratos as they continued their journey the next day, with Lydia only a half-length away on her own horse right after her. Uthgerd took up the rear, with the guardsmen and Hadvar several lengths behind her.

The mood of everyone was subdued after the revelation that there were indeed more dragons out there. What was particularly worrying was that the dragon that had destroyed Helgen was apparently several times larger than the one Kratos had killed. And if there had been two dragons on the loose out there, there was likely to be even more. Though everyone hoped that wasn't the case.

Carsis was deeply troubled and even sent one of his men back to Whiterun City to let the jarl know so that they may be better prepared. The guardsmen, and even Hadvar, Uthgerd, and Lydia, found themselves occasionally glancing up at the sky with worry as if the dragon might appear all of a sudden.

Kratos did not outwardly react in as obvious a manner as everyone else to the news, but Anske had been with him long enough that she could tell it had affected him, even if only a little.

In what way it affected him, however, she wasn't entirely sure. Was he upset at the news? Excited? Worried? Afraid even? No. She doubted that last part. If there was anything she was entirely sure of besides Kratos' immense power, it was that he was utterly fearless.

Every danger they had faced, he had stepped forward without hesitation, putting himself in harm's way willingly. And the way he moved, spoke, and even looked in those moments belied a confidence and fearlessness that was absolute. As if the very thought of defeat was an impossibility that he had never considered.

Anske, for her part, could not stop thinking about the threat of such a terrifying dragon. The one they had faced was smaller and thus weaker in comparison, and yet it had still managed to cause great damage and destruction. Were it not for Kratos, she shuddered to think of the casualties and damage it would have wrought as it roamed across Whiterun until a force strong enough to take it down was assembled.

How was she expected to fight such powerful entities, let alone defeat them? Why was she chosen as the dragonborn, and not someone like Kratos? She was far too weak and inexperienced. Too pitiful of an existence to waste such a gift on. Yet here she was with the power of the thu'um within her instead of Kratos.

Well, it's not like he really needs to use the thu'um to take down a dragon anyway, she thought to herself. But for someone like me…

Anske gripped the reins of her horse tighter, her legs squeezing her mount to keep herself steady as her horse hurtled down the highway. If only she could start learning more about the thu'um and start practicing its use already. Lately, she had been afraid to even think about it for too long, lest she accidentally release a dragon shout because of her inexperience.

The few times her mind did touch upon the power within her, she could tell she had knowledge of only one shout. The one that had burned in her mind and then unleashed right after absorbing the power of the dragon that they had killed.

Fus.

Pronounced foo-sss. On a deep level, she understood its meaning. Force. How or why she knew that was still a mystery to her, but she had a suspicion that at least some part of it had to do with the absorption of that dragon's power. Somehow, she had also gleaned some of its knowledge in the process.

Given what had happened that first and only time she had used Fus, she figured this specific shout became a tangible force in the world whenever it was unleashed.

How many other shouts were there? How many could she learn? How exactly could she learn them? Could she make her own shouts? Too many questions wound through her thoughts, but there were no answers forthcoming. At least not yet.

Anske's head turned so that she could look up once more at the tallest mountain in the world, its top half still obscured by clouds, as the highway they traveled on wrapped around the western base of it. She had the sinking feeling that she was going to need to use her dragon powers sooner than she wanted to.

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With the sure threat of another dragon to contend with, one that was larger and more powerful than the one he had faced, Kratos decided to allow Anske and Lydia to train again whenever they set up camp. The hours of hard riding would leave them with less energy, but they could waste no more time. Training while tired was nothing new to the girls anyway, and it would improve their strength and endurance even more as long as they didn't overdo it.

Besides training with swords and improving their physical fitness with calisthenics and stretching, Anske also practiced with her bow, and Kratos observed and gave her pointers. Even though she already knew how to use one, she still welcomed the warrior's teachings. She was not so skilled or proud that she would reject the tutelage of one far more experienced than her, especially since that person was Kratos.

Anske's old bow that Kratos had gotten from the Shadowblood Bandits had been given to Lydia, though the slightly older and more experienced young woman was already a decent archer. The bow and a simple leather quiver with two dozen iron arrows were packed up with her horse–she was primarily going to use it for hunting and so didn't need it on her.

With the last light of sunset on the third day since they left Whiterun City, Lydia and Uthgerd set up camp while Anske and Kratos used an old stump as a target for some archery practice.

They started from only a short distance, about thirty paces, mainly so she could get used to the new bow. It was surprisingly light despite the material used, and incredibly powerful. She didn't even have to draw fully in order to send the arrow whistling straight through the air and penetrating deep into the stump. That took some getting used to, and under Kratos' guidance she practiced for another hour before it was too dark for her to see.

Her arrows were all over the place, which would have seriously embarrassed her had she not already known she was going to do badly. The bow she was using was new and needed to be broken in, and it was also larger than she was used to. She had not picked up a bow in almost a year too. Add to that the pressure to perform under Kratos' watchful gaze, and her aim was quite atrocious.

Anske carefully retrieved her arrows and returned them to her quiver to ensure they weren't damaged. Thankfully, they were all intact—Eorlund's legendary craftsmanship proving its worth. Then she and Lydia went through an abbreviated version of the calisthenics and stretching regimen that Kratos had imparted upon them. Kratos observed and made a few comments to improve their form, but otherwise he was silent.

When their exercises were finished, Kratos had them run through some of the sword drills before allowing them the chance to eat.

Anske was showing slight improvement, but she was still far from being able to wield a sword well. Improving her shoulder, arm, and grip strength would go a long way towards improving her form.

Lydia had taken to the drills easily thanks to her prior experience and training with a blade, but she was excited to learn a few new drills that she had never seen before.

Uthgerd watched with interest, and at one point stood up to spend a few minutes swinging her war hammer around. She probably felt inspired by the sight of her new companions training. Kratos paid little attention to her.

For supper, Lydia prepared a meal of boiled crab legs with some carrots and potatoes. She had added salt and pepper with other spices too, and the meal was quite filling. They ate in weary silence, with only the roar of the wind and the crackle of the fire as background noise. Even Uthgerd was subdued and did not share any stories of her many adventures as she had the previous nights.

Sometime after supper had ended, Carsis and Hadvar walked over from the other campfire, informing Kratos and company that at their current pace they were only a little more than day's ride away from the town of Riverwood, the major settlement directly south of Whiterun City within the hold.

"We are making good time," Carsis said, with Hadvar nodding in agreement next to him. "Normally, this journey would take a full week. But we will get to Riverwood in just under five days."

"Have any of you been to Riverwood before?" Hadvar asked the group.

Anske and Lydia shook their heads, but Uthgerd actually nodded. Kratos, of course, said nothing. He sat near the fire with his back leaning against a large rock jutting out of the ground. He appeared to be dozing, his eyes closed with one leg bent up and the other flat on the ground.

"Aye. I've been to Riverwood a few times," Uthgerd answered. "Been a while since last I went though. Maybe a year or two now. A decent sized town with good, hardworking folk. Does Alvor still man the forge there?"

At that, Hadvar's thick eyebrows raised up a notch and a grin creased his face. "Aye, he does. You know my uncle?"

"Know him?" Uthgerd grinned back, eyes alight. She punched the air emphatically. "I knocked him right on his ass in a fight at one of the local inns once. I believe you don't really know a person 'til you've had a strong drink and a fistfight with 'em, so you could say I know him quite well. He's strong, on account of being a blacksmith and all, but he's no fighter. No offense."

Hadvar laughed. "None taken. Though I never would've imagined my uncle would dare to fight anyone, let alone someone like you. He's always been against any unnecessary violence, and he rarely drinks. He's not a typical Nord, but we love him all the same."

Uthgerd shrugged, still grinning. "Everyone was drunk, and it seemed like a good idea at the time." She snorted at a memory that she appeared to recall, shaking her head. "Well, there ain't no bad blood between us or anything. In fact, we became friends after that. He's a good man, your uncle. Good at his craft too."

"That he is," Hadvar agreed. Then his mood dampened slightly. "I'd offer you all a place to stay, but there's hardly any room at my uncle's as it is. He's got a wife and child. So you'll have to find some rooms elsewhere. I'd recommend the Sleeping Giant Inn. Delphine and Orgnar run the place and it's close to the center of town. They'll treat you well and treat you fairly, I can assure you."

"We'll be sure to check there first, then," Lydia spoke up from where she was sitting by the campfire closest to Kratos. "Thank you for the recommendation."

Kratos remained silent, though everyone was used to it by then. Even Hadvar, who had been warned by Carsis that the Thane was a man of few words, paid little heed to the lack of response from the big warrior. If the man had something to say, he would say it. Remaining quiet was not necessarily a bad sign. Or so they hoped.

Nobody said anything else, and the fire popped loudly as if to scold them for the silence.

"We'll leave you to your rest, then," Carsis said when it was clear the conversation was dead, beckoning for Hadvar to follow him. "Sleep well, everyone. See you in the morning."

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Tarknir knew that Jarl Balgruuf was a busy man. He had a whole city and an entire Hold to run, after all. But Tarknir was part of the Rorikstead group and an acquaintance of Thane Kratos, and so despite not ever having met the jarl before nor being someone of high station, his petition to meet with the jarl was approved faster than it should have been. Which is what he had hoped would happen.

He was, of course, subject to the jarl's schedule. And today, the jarl only had time after supper.

They met in a private room in the heart of Dragonsreach, with two guards keeping watch outside the door. When Tarknir stepped inside, he saw that the jarl was not alone. With him were Irileth and Proventus, the jarl's left and right hands respectively. The former eyed him with red eyes narrowed with suspicion and the latter gave him only a curious look.

The two advisors stood to either side of the seated jarl, and between them and Tarknir was a thick wooden table. A seat had been provided for him, though Tarknir made sure to first pay his respects.

"Greetings, Jarl Balgruuf. Steward Avenicci. Commander Irileth," Tarknir said with a deep bow. "My name is Tarknir of Rorikstead. Thank you for allowing me to meet with you this evening."

"It seems this one has manners," Irileth drawled, her voice laced with some minor contempt.

"Now, now. Be nice, Irileth," Proventus said with a chuckle.

Tarknir tried not to frown. Why did it feel like they were about to interrogate him instead of him coming to petition the jarl for something?

Jarl Balgruuf finally stirred after studying Tarknir for a few seconds. "Well met, Tarknir of Rorikstead. You may take a seat."

"Thank you, my jarl."

The wooden chair was not as comfortable as he hoped, but he was not going to stay too long so it didn't matter. He tried not to fidget beneath the gazes of three of the most powerful people in the city. In the entire Hold, actually.

"What brings you here tonight, Tarknir of Rorikstead?" asked the steward almost as soon as Tarknir had settled into his seat. Straight to business was the order of the evening, apparently. Not that Tarknir minded.

"I wished to make a humble but urgent request, Steward Avenicci," Tarknir answered.

The steward glanced at Irileth, then at his jarl, who nodded, before looking back to Tarknir. "You may state your request."

"I would request that the prisoner named Ilfyha be released from imprisonment on condition that she will lead myself and, I hope you'd allow it, a group of guardsmen to the hideout of the Shadowblood Bandits so that we may scour those wretched bandits from Whiterun forever."

Proventus frowned while the jarl didn't react at all. Irileth, on the other hand, stepped forward abruptly, placing her hands on the table as she leaned forward to stare closely into Tarknir's eyes.

"You spoke with her?" Irileth said. "She has refused to say so much as a word to us. Even when we tried some more… enticing methods to get her to talk."

Tarknir swallowed and gave her a nod. He could almost feel the pressure of her doubts weighing on him. "Aye. We spoke. She made an offer, and I thought it would be wise to take her up on it."

The Dunmer's red eyes narrowed even further, searching for even the barest hint of a lie. But Tarknir wasn't lying.

"You speak truth," she declared finally, stepping back to her original place next to the jarl. "Or at least… you believe you do."

"I'm telling the truth," Tarknir declared as confidently as he could convey the words.

Proventus turned to the jarl. "The woman is one of the captains of the Shadowblood Bandits, my jarl. She's dangerous, and she's caused us no small amount of problems. But as one of their leaders, she does indeed know the exact location of their hideout."

"Assuming she actually follows through and takes him there," Irileth said with understandable skepticism. "For all we know, she's setting him up for an ambush. Perhaps they're already waiting somewhere outside the walls for the chance to spring her free and take her back. Or if not there, then wherever else she leads them."

"She'll be in chains, of course," Tarknir said. "We're not freeing her from those chains until we get to their hideout and clear it out. And if you send some of the Guard with me, we can handle her and whatever they throw at us. If you can't trust me, surely you trust in the strength and skill of your guardsmen?"

"And do you intend to keep watch over her and fight what remains of the bandits with only that poor dagger of yours?" Irileth pointed to the crude iron dagger that was sheathed in faded leather on his hip.

Tarknir flushed with embarrassment. He really did need to find a proper weapon before he could even hope to go on this quest. He shook his head, and, in a moment of madness, he bluffed, cracking a smile as if the deadly Dunmer were merely jesting.

"Of course not! I left my weapon back at camp. After all, Whiterun is safe and Dragonsreach even safer. There's no need for me to walk around fully armed with all these skilled guardsmen around. Especially since you're here, Commander Irileth."

Irileth glared at him. "You presumptuous little—"

Jarl Balgruuf gestured for his housecarl to be quiet, and she immediately obeyed, though her eyes still glared at Tarknir.

"What you ask is no simple thing, Tarknir of Rorikstead," the jarl said. "I do not know you. I do not know the type of man you are, or what skills you may have. But I have heard your name, if only in passing, from Rorik. Which is why you have gotten this far." Jarl Balgruuf shifted in his chair, going from leaning on the right armrest to now leaning more on the left.

"I do not know if you are very brave or very foolish for attempting such a dangerous quest such as this," the jarl continued. "But I will admit that the thought of burning away the rot of the Shadowblood Bandits from my lands is tempting."

"Does that mean you'll allow it?" Tarknir asked hopefully.

At this, the jarl chuckled. "As I said, this is no simple request. I must first discuss with my advisors and think on the matter. Return tomorrow at sunset, and I will give you an answer."

Tarknir sighed. He had a feeling he was going to be denied. "I understand, my jarl. Thank you again for letting me speak to you tonight."

He got up and bowed before he left, aware of three sets of eyes watching him the entire time until he walked through the door.

As he navigated through the halls and passages of Dragonsreach, he tried to come up with a solution to his weapon problem. He needed to show up with it tomorrow to show that he was serious, and more importantly, that he was competent.

Suddenly, as he rounded a corner, Tarkner noticed someone standing right in his path. He stopped and saw to his surprise a dark-haired and dark-eyed young boy with pale skin that looked as if he hadn't seen the sun in months. The boy was staring straight at him and had yet to say a word as he stood almost as still as a statue.

As Tarknir continued to study the boy, he could not help the growing sense of unease within him. The air seemed colder around the child, and the light seemed dimmer, like some invisible otherworldly shadow followed the boy. Or maybe it was a trick of the light and the fact that he wasn't wearing a coat.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, little one?" Tarknir said with a smile, trying to be friendly.

The boy tilted his head. "She might end up killing you."

Tarknir's smile evaporated faster than a snake could strike. His hand hovered over the handle of his knife as his eyes darted around the narrow hallway. "What are you talking about?"

"The woman locked up in the dungeons, of course," the boy said as if Tarknir was slow in the head. "The one with all the scars."

Tarknir cleared his throat. "Shor's blood this boy is weird..." Tarknir muttered to himself. Then louder he said, "Who told you about all this? Is this some kind of joke?" He looked around again, expecting someone to appear and tell him that he was being messed with. But nobody did.

"I know lots of things," the boy said as he continued to stand unnaturally still in the middle of the hallway, his hands at his sides. "I know more than anyone might think."

Tarknir decided to keep the kid talking as he tried to figure out what exactly was going on. Perhaps something the kid said would give him a clue, because he was sure that this wasn't anywhere close to normal childlike behavior.

"Oh yeah? What other things do you know?" he said.

The boy smiled eagerly, as if he had been waiting for Tarknir to ask that question. His smile felt off though, and Tarknir tried not to look at the boy too closely.

"I know my father still worships Talos," the boy answered. "I know that he hates the Thalmor almost as much as the Stormcloaks do, but that he worries that the Empire collapsing might be bad for everyone."

Tarknir shook his head. "That's not something a child should be worrying about, you know."

The boy continued on as if he didn't hear. "I know that Farengar wants to capture and tame a dragon. I know that Proventus sends secret letters to the Legion. I know that Irileth brings women to her bed. I know that father worries about being chased from Whiterun. I know that he… that I'm… that I don't have the same mother as my brother and sister."

Tarknir gaped at that revelation. Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, the noble and honorable leader of Whiterun Hold, was an adulterer? It wasn't anything that would have him condemned, but if such a thing were to come to light, it would surely taint his public image.

"And," the boy paused, tilting his head the other way. "I know you're looking for a weapon."

Tarknir took a step back. "How could you know that?" His hand was on the hilt of his dagger now. Not that he could ever draw his dagger on a child. Could he?

With an eerie smile and dark eyes that seemed to peer into his very soul, the child spoke.

"The Whispering Lady told me. Do you want to meet her?"

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