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Skyrim Spartan
Chapter Eighteen
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The words from the giant warrior hung heavy in the air, and from his throne, Jarl Balgruuf tensed.
The way those words were so calmly said and in such a deep authoritative voice, it was as if the warrior had declared some immutable law that transcended all others. Like an undeniable truth that he dared anyone to be foolish enough to contradict.
It was difficult to know for sure whether the silence that followed was caused by the sheer shock that he would have the audacity to say such a thing, or because people were suddenly afraid to say anything.
Balgruuf's hands gripped the armrests of his throne tighter, fingers pressing hard against the wood as a deep feeling in his gut told him that this man was surely not someone to make an enemy of. Yet he could not simply let go of this brazen disrespect in his own hall, especially in front of some of his most influential subjects. Could he?
From the moment the towering warrior had appeared, Balgruuf's focus had been almost entirely on the half-giant. How could it not be? His size alone was enough to draw anyone's attention. Add to that his ashen pale skin, the large red spiral tattoo, and the numerous battle scars across his muscle-bound body, and anyone would find it difficult not to stare.
The massive broadsword strapped across the warrior's back seemed not to hinder him at all, and he carried himself with the air of someone of supreme authority, or at least appeared supremely sure of himself, which probably meant he was someone of importance and skill and was therefore not to be taken lightly.
The fact that the warrior was accompanying Rorik was already telling. Balgruuf was well aware of the situation now, having heard the information gathered from the refugees and guardsmen who had arrived ahead of them.
More importantly, if the reported sightings of a dragon were true, then that earthshaking moment yesterday could most likely be attributed to the giant of a man who now stood before him. The fact that this warrior not only survived such an epic and supremely dangerous encounter, but also appeared to have no injuries from it was as impressive as it was frightening. He needed to be careful dealing with this man.
Balgruuf's trusted housecarl, Irileth, broke the silence first. "It seems you are as brutish as you look, stranger. Perhaps you need a lesson in manners and showing proper respect."
"I don't think one lesson would be enough," said Proventus Avenicci, who stood to the jarl's right. The bald man was only a few years older than Balgruuf and had been serving him loyally for years as Steward.
Balgruuf's brother, Hrongar, who also served as one of his housecarls, suddenly brandished his axe at the pale warrior. "You listen here, you big oaf! Give my brother the respect he deserves as jarl, or I swear on my ancestors I will—"
"Be quiet, Hrongar!" Balgruuf erupted, surprising everyone. His brother most of all.
"But brother—"
"My jarl, he—" Irileth started to say.
"I said quiet! Both of you!" Balgruuf slammed the armrest of his throne with a fist and glared at his housecarls. The fools were likely about to challenge the warrior to a duel or something akin to that, and he could not allow that to happen.
Balgruuf loved his brother very much, but Hrongar was as hotheaded as they came for a Nord. He was a very skilled warrior and had no fear, which was generally a good thing, but sometimes that fearlessness coupled with his temper caused unnecessary trouble.
Irileth, meanwhile, could get quite riled up when it came to Balgruuf's safety as well as to observing proper protocols. She was an even deadlier fighter than Hrongar, despite her smaller size, but she was at least not quite as hot-tempered as his brother. She had served with Balgruuf in the Legion for many years, and when they retired from that life and Balgruuf took up the crown as Jarl of Whiterun, Irileth had insisted on becoming his housecarl, which he was grateful for.
Hrongar looked back and forth between the strange warrior and his jarl, before finally taking a step back and lowering his axe. The anger in his eyes never left as he glared at the warrior and kept quiet as he was ordered to, though the axe in his hand remained at his side, ready to be put to use at a moment's notice.
Not that the pale warrior seemed to mind any of the hostility in the slightest. He stood unmoved like a mountain against a raging storm. Yet another man without fear, apparently.
"Jarl Balgruuf, if I may…" Rorik said, breaking the uneasy silence.
Balgruuf gave the man a nod to proceed, silently thanking him for finally speaking up.
"While I may not quite agree with the actions of my friend here just now, if there was anyone who has earned the right not to bow before anyone, it would be him. Because all the survivors of Rorikstead, and in fact, many of our lives here today, are now owed to him."
That statement was of course met with yet another round of uproar. It took Balgruuf having to stand up from his throne abruptly, glaring at his subjects, for the hall to quiet down.
When he finally settled his gaze back onto Rorik, Balgruuf asked, "And why would you say that, Rorik?"
"Because, Jarl Balgruuf, Kratos single-handedly wiped out half of the Forsworn attack force that razed Rorikstead to the ground. When we fled across the plains, he then protected us from an attack by the bandits known as The Shadowblood Bandits. And…" Rorik hesitated for a moment, perhaps thinking of how best to say the next words, "He fought and slew a dragon that appeared at the Western Watchtower."
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and they all looked at Kratos in a new light. Murmurs broke out as the nobles and other important figures in the hold began to discuss Rorik's revelations.
Balgruuf sat back down on his throne. So, it was true. A dragon had reappeared in Skyrim after all this time. The news of the Forsworn attacking a settlement was bad enough, and he was well aware of the increased banditry in recent months due to the war, but now there was the potential problem of dragons returning to Skyrim. Troubling times indeed.
"Divines! A dragon! A real live dragon in Skyrim! The rumors were true! After all these years… What color were its scales? How large was it? Could it speak? How powerful was its magic? What was it like?" blurted out the hooded man in robes who stood next to Proventus. This was Farengar, Balgruuf's Court Wizard, the only man in the hall who seemed excited about the prospect of dragons returning to Skyrim.
"Farengar, get a hold of yourself!" Proventus said, rounding on the shorter man. "This isn't the time nor the place."
"But we're talking about a dragon, Proventus! Powerful beings of legend! The only knowledge we have of them are from books and from studying their bones. But now there is a real live dragon out there, which means there could be more," Farengar clapped his hands together in front of him like a gleeful child having been told of a new fun game to play.
"The dragon is dead," Rorik reminded them.
"Did you really have to kill it?" Farengar let out an annoyed sigh. "Well, no matter. I suppose studying its corpse will have to do."
"Farengar…" Balgruuf gave him a warning look.
The mage looked stricken for a moment, but then bowed his head. "Ah! Apologies, my jarl. My excitement got the better of me." Farengar laughed nervously.
"You slew a dragon?" Irileth asked with a frown. "A dragon of legend appeared out of nowhere and attacked you while you were camped out on the plains and not only did you survive the encounter, but you actually killed it?"
Rorik nodded. "That is correct."
"This is no time for jokes, Rorik." Proventus was apparently still unconvinced. "Bad enough that you claim a dragon has appeared in Skyrim for the first time in centuries. But now you say it's dead? And you killed it?"
"The dragon is very much real, and is unquestionably dead," Rorik said with confidence. "Kratos battled with the beast and slew it. Its remains are amongst the rubble of the watchtower if you want to take a look yourself. Again, there are more than enough witnesses who can attest to the battle, both from the people of Rorikstead and the guardsmen involved."
Apparently having anticipated the skeptical reaction of everyone present, Kratos reached for a sack that hung by his waist and opened it. Reaching into it, he pulled something out and then tossed it to the floor in view of everyone.
It was a large fang. Far larger than from any normal beast that had been seen in Whiterun for as long as Balgruuf had been alive. Given the context of the situation, this was evidently supposed to be a dragon fang.
"You expect us to believe this is a tooth from the dragon you slew? Perhaps you plucked this from a skeleton somewhere or bought this at a market instead." Proventus was clearly still reluctant to accept their story.
Farengar scrambled forward, much to everyone's surprise, as he dropped to all fours to examine the tooth up close. Within a few seconds, he nodded as excitement clearly shone on his face.
"This is a real dragon's fang!" declared the mage, who remained on all fours. His face was so close to the fang that he looked almost as if he would kiss it.
"That still doesn't prove he took it from the corpse of a dragon that he killed," Proventus said.
"What reason have we to lie about that?" Rorik asked with a sharp gesture of his hand.
"You really killed a dragon? By yourself?" asked Hrongar in disbelief as he stepped closer and peered at the large fang himself.
"I was not alone," Kratos finally spoke, his voice rumbling.
"But he did most of the fighting," Rorik quickly added. "Again, you can ask any who were there. Even your guardsmen would say the same."
Farengar raised his head to look at Kratos, his face scrunched up for a moment before his eyes lit up with realization. "Then the Greybeards… What happened earlier… that was meant for you, wasn't it? You must be the dovahkiin they spoke of. You are dragonborn!"
Balgruuf frowned, having just connected the dots himself and arriving at the same conclusion. That would certainly explain why this warrior was strong enough and skilled enough to slay a dragon. The dragonborn was a natural dragon slayer after all. To be honest, he certainly looked the part. Several times over, in fact.
"Dovahkiin…" several people said aloud, looking at Kratos with a mixture of wonder, curiosity, and unease.
Everyone there had heard the thunderous call of the Greybeards from atop the Throat of the World. None could dispute that. Never before had such a thing happened for as far back as anyone could remember, and it further reinforced the truth of Rorik's story. Why else would the Greybeards suddenly stir from their seclusion in so dramatic a fashion?
The young girl who was with Rorik and Kratos seemed to flinch at the word dovahkiin, although Balgruuf thought he might have imagined it. Who was that girl anyway? Rorik had failed to introduce her. She did not look like much. Though she wore some armor and had a sword at her side, and her age aside, she was clearly not a veteran warrior.
Rorik sighed and opened his mouth to speak. "Well, actually—"
"Yes." Kratos suddenly said, placing a hand on Rorik's shoulder to stop him from saying anything more. "I am the dragonborn."
Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω
"What was that back there, Kratos? Why did you say that you were the dragonborn?" Rorik said incredulously.
The jarl had dismissed the court for the day and disappeared with his council to discuss matters, although he mentioned having a welcome feast later in the evening for the new arrivals. That was a good sign. At the very least it seemed the matter of Kratos not bowing had been resolved peacefully. Or at least, forgotten amidst the other more pressing matters to deal with.
Rorik and Kratos were in Rorik's quarters—all three had been given rooms in Dragonsreach for the duration of their stay in Whiterun—and Rorik was pacing back and forth while Kratos was leaning against the wall by the door with his arms crossed.
Anske had locked herself in her room, and they had decided to give the girl some space and a chance to rest. A lot had happened to her, to all of them, in the past week. No doubt she needed some time alone to process everything.
Rorik spoke again, feeling restless and not waiting for Kratos to respond. "They're going to find out eventually, you know. They'll realize that you're not actually the dragonborn, and who knows how they'll react to that. Some of them are already suspicious of you, and the jarl and his court were clearly not pleased with your complete lack of decorum. Lying to their faces like this after having already antagonized them… my gut tells me it can't end well."
Kratos merely grunted, clearly uninterested and unfazed.
Rorik stopped pacing for a moment to stare at him. "You may not be afraid, Kratos, but I am. I have people I'm responsible for. People I need to protect and take care of. And you and I… and the people of Rorikstead, we're inextricably linked. You're one of us now. They may not be able to do something to you, but they could retaliate on us instead. Don't you see that?"
"Then perhaps it is time for us to part ways."
Rorik blinked in surprise. "You would leave?"
"I do not wish to stay here for long."
Being in a bustling city again felt surreal after spending so many years of his life journeying alone or fighting with an army out in the field. The sight of so many people living fairly peaceful lives in the city reminded him of days long past. Memories that surfaced and made him sad. Memories that had him longing for simpler times.
"Where would you go?"
Kratos had no answer and kept silent.
"They might still take their anger out on us even without you here," Rorik said with a frown.
"Then speak to this jarl of yours."
Rorik let out a tired sigh. "That may not be enough."
"Then I will speak with him." Kratos stood up straight and moved to the door.
In a panic, Rorik gaped at him. "W-Wait! Kratos!" But Kratos was already through the door and out of sight.
The guards stationed in the hallway outside tensed at his sudden appearance, though they made no move to stop him. Not that they could even if they tried, but it was a good sign at least that they weren't being treated like prisoners or anything of the sort.
"Kratos, wait! Please!" Rorik called out to him when he was already several steps down the hall.
Kratos paused midstride and waited for Rorik to catch up.
"There is no doubt in my mind that the jarl will send for us to talk in a more… private setting," Rorik told him. "I think it would be best if we waited, instead of forcing our way in to speak with him. We will have our chance to speak with him again soon enough. I beg of you not to do anything rash."
Kratos closed his eyes and let out an annoyed growl. He was not the most patient of men, but he supposed he could wait a little longer if that meant not ruffling any more feathers than he already had. For the sake of Rorik, Anske, and the others, of course. He couldn't care less what anyone here thought of him, or what they might try to do to him.
Anyone who tried to come after him would not live long enough to even regret their mistakes.
"Do I have your word that you won't seek out the jarl by yourself? That you'll wait for us to be called upon?" asked Rorik hopefully.
Kratos looked him in the eyes. "Very well. You have my word."
Rorik breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah, thank you, Kratos. Thank you. Perhaps we can—"
"I will take a walk. Alone."
Rorik stared at him for a few seconds. "Right. Well, in that case I'll try to get some much-needed rest in my room until the jarl calls for us," Rorik said. "Please… do be careful on your walk."
Kratos took that to mean he should try his best to stay out of trouble. With a grunt of acknowledgement, he started walking again. This time with no destination in mind. He wanted to explore the area, and also take some time to think away from the others.
Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω
Irileth entered the large chamber with light, hurried steps as the doors were shut behind her by the guards stationed outside. Within the chamber, seated around a long stone table, were Jarl Balgruuf and the members of his inner council.
At the head of the table and seated on a high-backed throne of wood and stone was the jarl himself. To his right was Proventus, his Steward. To his left was an empty chair reserved for Irileth, who was the head of the jarl's personal guard and vice-commander of all the armed forces of Whiterun. Next to that seat was Hrongar, the jarl's brother and second housecarl. Across from him, sitting next to Proventus, was Farengar, the jarl's court mage.
There were a few empty chairs for the other council members, but those seats were not part of the inner council. These were the seats held by influential persons or families in the hold, of which there were few.
Every pair of eyes followed Irileth as she made her entrance.
"My Jarl," she greeted with a bow before moving to take her seat.
"Well?" asked Balgruuf.
"What Rorik spoke of is true. I questioned the guards who accompanied them. They all witnessed the sudden appearance of the dragon. They also confirmed that it was indeed Kratos who single-handedly managed to take it down in the end. But…" Irileth hesitated, face wrinkling with confusion.
"But what?"
"Some of them say the girl is the dragonborn."
"What?!" Hrongar gave her a disbelieving look. "The little girl is the dragonborn? That can't be right."
Irileth gave him a sideways look. "Little girl? She looks to be at least fifteen winters old. Perhaps even twenty at most."
"She's little to me," Hrongar muttered.
"Not that I put much stock into this whole Nord dragonborn nonsense," Proventus said, drawing glares from Hrongar and Farengar, "But I can understand this Kratos fellow being this supposed dragonborn. He looks like he could fight with a mountain and actually win. But the girl… she didn't look like much to me. In fact, she looked scared to even be in that hall with us earlier."
"Nord nonsense?" Hrongar growled dangerously. "You think the dragonborn is nonsense? Why you puffed-up ignorant old man… these are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!"
Proventus raised his hands. "I meant no disrespect, Hrongar. It's just that… how can we know for sure that they are speaking the truth? And what does it matter to us if this man is a dragonborn or not?"
It was Farengar who responded. "It's important because the dovahkiin can naturally wield the power of the dragons themselves, thus making them the ultimate dragon slayers. Fight fire with fire, so to speak. Turning the power of the dragons against them. Ancient texts even claim that some dovhakiin managed to tame and ride dragons as mounts. Don't forget that this Kratos, who claims to be dragonborn, actually did manage to kill a dragon, which gives some credibility to his claim. It is not so easy to even fight one, let alone kill one. Normally, it would take a whole army or several parties of veteran adventurers and mercenaries to even have a chance at taking one down."
Balgruuf frowned, lacing his hands in front of him as he placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "So, it was Kratos who fought and killed the dragon that appeared, but the guardsmen say it's actually the girl who is the dragonborn?"
"That's what they're saying, but they could be wrong," Irileth said. "It wouldn't be the first time that soldiers in the heat of battle misunderstood or misremembered what they saw."
"Perhaps they are mistaken," Proventus said with a frown. "I still find it hard to believe that the girl is this dragonborn."
"Well one of them has to be," said Hrongar. "You all heard the Greybeards summoning the dragonborn to them. They wouldn't have done that if there wasn't actually a dragonborn to begin with."
"Could they have made a mistake about that?" said Proventus, who immediately recoiled as Hrongar roared at him.
"Why you—! How could you think the Greybeards would make such a mistake?"
"Dragon powers or not, they're still only human. Humans make mistakes."
Hrongar was about to launch into another rage when his brother raised a hand abruptly and stared him down.
"Or maybe they're both dragonborn," Farengar offered before anyone could say anything else, eyes alight with excitement at the thought.
Hrongar's eyes went wide as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "You're saying there could be two dragonborn among us? Is that even possible?"
Proventus crossed his arms and frowned.
Farengar shrugged. "It's not impossible. Though two dragonborn suddenly appearing at the same time that dragons have returned to Skyrim? I'm not the most superstitious of people, but… I worry something calamitous hangs above all our heads."
"I, for one, care little about who is or isn't dragonborn," said Irileth in that haughty voice that was so common for her kind. "What matters is that there was a dragon, and it's now dead. The hold is safe thanks to this Kratos. Rude as he may be."
"Irileth makes a good point," Balgruuf said as he rested his chin on his hands. "I owe a lot to this Kratos. We all do. He has done so much for Whiterun already, and he is not even from this land. The Forsworn. The bandits. The dragon. He should be recognized and rewarded for his actions, and in turn hopefully… hopefully he can become a friend and ally of Whiterun."
"But brother, he insulted you in your own hall. Surely, we can't just overlook that?" said Hrongar.
Balgruuf shook his head. "A minor thing if you look at the big picture, brother. We need to make more friends, not more enemies. Especially in troubling times like these. I doubt even the emperor himself, or even the Dominion, could get that man to bow, let alone kneel. From the way he acted, and what he said, it did not seem like an intentional act to insult or disrespect me either. Rather, as the man said, he simply does not bow to anyone regardless of their station. Besides, given all that he has done, it is certainly something I am willing to overlook. And I ask that you all do the same."
"While I agree with Hrongar in a general sense, I also think it more prudent not to antagonize an individual who can apparently slay dragons by himself," Proventus said as he leaned back in his chair with a grave expression on his face.
Irileth gave a curt nod. "As the jarl said, better to have him as a friend than an enemy. I sensed no hostile intent or ill-will from him, though his… attitude could still use some adjustment. But if it is your will, my jarl, then I will back down."
"Then we are in agreement," said Balgruuf as he leaned back in his chair and looked at his councilors. "At the feast tonight, we will recognize Kratos for his actions and reward him accordingly. At the very least, I shall appoint him as a Thane of Whiterun. Irileth, find him a suitable housecarl. Avenicci, figure out how much gold would be appropriate to reward him given his feats and how much the treasury can spare. Hrongar, check the armory for any weapons or armor that would be fitting as a gift as well."
"My jarl, if I may add…" Farengar started, looking to Balgruuf for acknowledgement. When the jarl nodded his head, Farengar continued, "I think it would be wise for us to look into the dragon matter further."
"The dragon's already dead, Farengar. The threat is gone," said Hrongar.
"Yes, but the appearance of a dragon after hundreds of years of them disappearing… at a time when there are potentially two dragonborn… well, I just think it bears investigating. That's all."
Balgruuf fixed his steady gaze upon his court mage. "You think there could be more trouble ahead? More dragons?"
Farengar grimaced as he nodded slowly. "I do think there's a strong possibility of that, jarl. If one dragon appeared out of nowhere, who's to say there won't be more? I think at the very least we should look into where this dragon came from and why it suddenly decided to make an appearance here. Something or someone must have made the dragon appear after all this time. And if one dragon has survived all this time, then there are bound to be others out there."
"Wonderful. Just wonderful," said Proventus with a pained expression. "We have Stormcloaks breathing down our necks, the Imperials pressing us to take their side, trade slowing, prices rising, food stores dwindling, refugee numbers growing by the day, bandits and beasts all over, increased violence and crime everywhere, and reports of vampire and werewolf activity along our borders. And don't even get me started with those damned Dominion dogs running around killing and imprisoning people. Now we have to worry about dragons too?"
"Don't forget the Forsworn," added Irileth. "Their brazen assault of Rorikstead shows how much of a danger they have truly become. Their war in the Reach has now spilled over into our lands, and we must respond with force lest they feel emboldened to do more."
Balgruuf rubbed his face tiredly with both hands. "Farengar, do whatever you need to do to investigate the dragon matter, and keep me apprised on your progress. Irileth, I want you to make plans to send troops to the western border. Long have we neglected the security of that region, but we can no longer ignore the situation there after they attacked one of our settlements. Avenicci, send word to Solitude about the Forsworn. At the very least, they should be warned of their increased activity. If we are lucky, the Imperials will dispatch their own forces to deal with them."
"They might use that as leverage to get us to side with them in the war," Proventus warned.
"Well it's about time we picked a damn side, if you ask me," Hrongar said, crossing his burly arms and staring at his brother pointedly.
"Nobody asked," Irileth muttered. It was no secret that Hrongar wanted Whiterun to declare for the Empire.
Balgruuf let out a sigh. "Yes, the Imperials might use this to pressure us to join them in the war, but it's not yet time to pick sides. Whiterun will remain neutral for as long as we can manage it," declared the jarl. "Now, as for the other matters you brought up, Avenicci…"
Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω
Anske rested an arm across her forehead as she stared at the ceiling. The bed was firm but comfortable, and far better than anything she had slept on before. The room was dimly lit after blowing out some of the candles. Her body was exhausted, and her mind tired, but despite all that she was still having difficulty sleeping properly.
Eventually, the feeling of restlessness became too strong. She felt too cooped up in the dark, windowless room.
She did not know precisely how long it had been since she secluded herself in her room. At one point, Rorik had stopped by to give her a little update. Though he did not enter her room, merely speaking through the door to tell her that a great feast was set to begin in a few hours. Apparently, the jarl had actually invited all the survivors from Rorikstead to attend.
Survivors. She was one of them. A survivor. It felt weird to call herself that. It felt wrong. Why did she survive when so many did not?
Sitting up abruptly, she threw the blankets off and got out of bed. After getting dressed, she slipped out of her room and soon found herself in the gardens out front. The frosty evening air felt good in her lungs. She breathed in deeply as she walked aimlessly under the watchful gaze of some of the guards stationed around the gardens.
Looking up at the vast star-filled night sky, she could not help but feel so small. So alone.
Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. There was someone walking along the bridge. A large, familiar silhouette.
Maybe not so alone, she thought.
Her feet seemed to move on their own and she was quickly on the bridge. Off to one side, the hulking figure of Kratos was leaning over the railing. He looked to be lost in thought as he stared out across the water.
"Did you get some rest?" Kratos asked without turning to look at her.
It took her a couple of seconds before it even registered that he had said anything.
"Yes," she lied.
He turned his head slightly and stared at her.
She lowered her head and sighed. "No," she said. "Couldn't fall asleep."
He resumed looking off into the distance. The sound of rushing water filled the air.
Anske moved up to the railing next to him. "Thank you," she found herself saying.
"For what?"
"For pretending to be the dragonborn. But also… for everything else too, I guess." She ran a finger across the wooden railing. It looked weathered and rough but was actually smooth to the touch, almost like stone. She could feel his gaze on her again.
"I cannot pretend forever." It felt like he was going to say something more, but he stopped himself.
"I know." She leaned over some more and looked at her blurry reflection in the running water below.
So much had changed in such a short time it was hard to believe she was once a simple village girl longing for adventure about a week ago. Now it seemed like she was actually living out one of those legends or stories she had only ever heard or read about. Though ironically enough, and perhaps even a little bitterly, she wished everything would go back to the way they once were.
"What do I do?" she suddenly asked.
Kratos pushed off from the railing and stood tall. "Do you still want me to train you?"
Anske looked up sharply at him. "Yes."
"Then I will train you, girl. What you do after that, only you can decide."
Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω
The feast was soon underway in the main hall as ordered by Jarl Balgruuf. There were at least a hundred people in attendance, half of whom were the survivors from Rorikstead. Music filled the smoky air and mixed with the sounds of laughter and conversation.
As was usually the case with Nord feasts, it was a bit rowdy, but no more than normal. There were plenty of toasts, and even more boasts. Tests of strength, whether arm wrestling or even friendly fist fights, were also normal. Though the feast had started with an air of sadness and a toast for all those who had fallen, the jarl had given a rousing speech to give them heart and promised to do better as their jarl.
Kratos, not being from that world, certainly felt some discomfort being there. Even more so due to the fact that he was the guest of honor and was seated at the head table and to the jarl's immediate right. Given his immense bulk, he of course took up the most space at the table, and even sitting down he made everyone else feel rather small.
Though after a few rounds of drinks, the others certainly loosened up and a handful even had the courage to engage him in idle talk. Normally, he would have simply stayed silent, but Rorik's words still lingered in his mind. He was certainly now linked to the people of Rorikstead, and though they were not his people, he could not help but feel some responsibility for them. And he did not want his actions to cause them harm.
Despite the many years since he last had to deal with the games of noble courts, Kratos was no stranger to them. While he did reply when engaged with conversation, he kept it brief enough that it was quickly made clear that he was in no mood to speak at length to anyone.
For the sake of appearances, he had also eaten some of the food—which he had to admit was quite appetizing—and drank some of the ale and wine, which were also of good quality. A feast worthy of a minor king indeed.
"So, Master Kratos. I'm not sure what feasts are like where you come from, but I hope this is to your liking," said Balgruuf. The jarl was the most persistent to try and speak with him, though also the most cautious with his words. "But if there is something missing, or something you want that we do not have prepared, please don't hesitate to ask. I will be sure to do my best to provide it for you."
"The feast is fine," Kratos replied. "Your generosity is admirable."
"They are my people, of course I would take care of them. Especially now, after I have failed them as their jarl." Balgruuf took a long drink of his mug of ale and called a servant over to refill it. "Times are difficult for everyone. And the world seems more dangerous with each passing day. But I will protect my hold and its people, and the village of Rorikstead is part of my domain. The Forsworn must be punished and my land secured."
Seated to Kratos' right was Rorik, who seemed to have been listening in to the conversation. "So you will mobilize the Guard then, Jarl Balgruuf?"
"I have already sent my orders to Commander Gireld. The Guard will march in force to the western border. Any Forsworn encountered within our rightful territory will be put to death."
"When?" Rorik leaned forward enough to look directly at the jarl.
"Three days."
"May I join them, my jarl?"
Jarl Balgruuf laughed. "I never dreamed you wouldn't. Though I would not wish for more of your people to die, I will not deny their warrior's spirit nor their chance to gain glory for their ancestors."
Rorik smiled, though it didn't fully reach his eyes. A wave of sadness passed over his face for a brief moment. He then looked to Kratos. "Would you join us as well, Kratos?"
Kratos shook his head. "I cannot." He did not think it wise to stay close to them for any longer than necessary. Their misfortune was most likely caused by his presence after all.
"Of course he can't go with you, Rorik. Have you already forgotten? The Greybeards have summoned him. Only a fool would refuse their call, and this man is clearly no fool. He's dovahkiin." Balgruuf grinned before he took another swig of his ale.
Rorik put on a pained smile and nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course. He must go to High Hrothgar."
"How soon does the dovahkiin plan to leave for High Hrothgar?" said the jarl as he reached for another skewer of barbecued beef and placed it on his plate.
"I still have some business here in the city. But I will leave when it is done."
"Does this business concern those dragon parts you brought here with you?"
"It does." Kratos gave a nod, unsurprised by the level of attention the jarl had given him so far. While he did not suspect they rifled through his bags, it was easy enough for them to see the bundles of dragon bones strapped to his horse. It was only natural for someone like the jarl to be interested in him.
"Then you'll need to speak with Eorlund. I will send a message to him in the morn in case he gives you trouble. The old man can be quite… stubborn, you know. I even invited him here and he didn't show up as usual."
"That is not necessary."
"But I insist! You are now a Thane of Whiterun. And what I've given you thus far seems a paltry reward for all you've done for my people. This is the least I could do."
"Then I thank you for your assistance." Kratos grumbled inwardly but decided not to argue. The jarl had announced his feats and the rewards to everyone right before the feast began.
"Even Eorlund will take some time to forge whatever it is you ask of him. Feel free to stay in Dragonsreach for as long as you need. I hope you can explore the city while you are here as well, since this is your first time, if I'm not mistaken."
"I will be sure to take a look around."
"And a few more days of rest wouldn't hurt either. Though I am sure you will make it, the journey to High Hrothgar won't be easy," said the jarl with a chuckle.
A woman with chestnut colored hair suddenly strode up to the head table and stopped in front of where Kratos was sitting. She was tall for a woman, and although she wore armor and furs, her athletic body was evident. She seemed pretty strong and moved with the strength and power of a warrior. Three marks of dark blue war paint streaked diagonally across her pretty face.
"Aela the Huntress! The pride of the Companions. I rarely see any of you these days," greeted the jarl in a friendly tone.
The warrior woman, Aela, inclined her head respectfully to the jarl. "I only just returned from another quest yesterday, Jarl Balgruuf. Kodlak and my shield-brothers and sisters send their regards."
"I see. Well, I am glad you are returned safely. Are you the only one from the Companions here?" asked Balgruuf, looking around the bustling hall.
"My shield-brother Farkas is around somewhere. Probably in a fist fight," she said with a shrug. Her eyes fixated on Kratos, who returned her stare unflinchingly. "You must be Kratos."
"Do all members of The Companions have such keen eyes?" said Kratos.
Rorik started coughing in the middle of drinking some ale, beating at his chest as he doubled over and stared at Kratos with surprise. Though Kratos had spoken in a serious tone, the sarcasm was evident.
Aela licked her lips and the edges of her mouth twitched into a smirk. "You should stop by Jorrvaskr one of these days if you want to see more of what we Companions are made of. Trust me, you won't be disappointed."
Kratos, for the first time in a long while, was unsure of how to react. Was that a threat… or a come-on?
"To the dovahkiin!" Jarl Balgruuf suddenly yelled, standing up and raising his mug. Those who heard him instantly echoed his words and raised their cups.
Aela smiled as she raised her cup to him, showing teeth that looked sharper than normal. Her fierce yellow eyes shone with keen interest. She looked almost like a predator eyeing her prey out in the wilderness.
As the word 'dovahkiin' spread through the crowd and more and more joined the toast, Kratos looked away from Aela and stared at the young woman seated at one of the tables closest to the head table. Anske lowered her head and did not toast with the others who had heard the jarl's cry, though nobody else seemed to notice as the revelry began anew.
Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω
It was difficult enough for anyone at the head table to simply slip away from the feast, harder still for someone the size of Kratos. Luckily, he did not care much for how he might be perceived for leaving the feast early, and nobody dared to question or stop him either when he excused himself. Not even the jarl.
As he stepped into one of the side passages and made his way back to his room, he stopped in his tracks as a small boy stood in the middle of the hall, deliberately blocking his path. He looked to be at least eight winters old. Ten at most. Kratos thought the child looked familiar but could not remember who he was.
"You really are a giant," said the child in a surprisingly cold voice. "I wonder if you bleed like everyone else?"
Kratos frowned slightly. There was something off about this child. "Take care how you speak, boy. Some people might take offense and end up hurting you."
"You would dare hurt me?" The boy pointed a finger at him and scoffed. "My name is Nelkir, son of Balgruuf the Greater. Giant or not, hero or thane or whatever… to me you're just another wanderer here to lick my father's boots."
Kratos said nothing as he simply stared at the child. The way the boy was talking was definitely not normal. He could also sense an aura of darkness around the boy, and a coldness that seemed unnatural clung to him as well. Almost like he was cursed. Kratos quickly looked around but sensed nothing else amiss.
"You're in my way." The boy looked up at him expectantly.
Kratos narrowed his eyes a little, but eventually stood aside. Despite the boy's antics, he was still only a child. And a cursed one at that.
"That's what I thought," said the boy as he started walking down the hall, humming some strange tune to himself.
Kratos watched him go and stared even as the boy disappeared around the corner. Then he shook his head. Surely others have noticed the boy's odd behavior. That was a problem for someone else to solve. All he needed to focus on now was training Anske to become a true warrior. After that, he would be free to find somewhere quiet to disappear.
And woe on to anyone who would keep him from having some peace.
Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω
Nazeem glared at the commonfolk bustling about the main hall of Dragonsreach. Tightening his grip on his jewel-encrusted gold cup, one he had brought himself to show off his wealth to the other attendees of the feast, he took a swig of wine and shook his head.
How could the jarl allow such lowly people to grace the halls of Dragonsreach like this? And he had even made that barbaric half-giant a Thane! Of course, he understood the politics of it all, and the warrior did look plenty strong—not to mention being dovahkiin, which he still doubted—but it still rankled him that it happened.
It had taken him years of painstakingly building up his wealth and influence to finally have a seat amongst the rich and powerful here in Whiterun. To finally be able to go to the Cloud District as he pleased. But now, a bunch of rabble who happened to lose their homes were being celebrated here. Preposterous.
"Nazeem, my friend. Is something the matter? You look as if you are drinking some sour wine."
Nazeem blinked and turned to the long-haired man seated across from him. The others around them, all younger nobles and wealthy individuals in the Whiterun power structure, chuckled at the remark.
"I was simply imagining the terrible things these people must have witnessed in the past week, Andualf," Nazeem said at last.
"Yes, truly terrible. We're all so sorry for their misfortune," said Andualf with clearly fake sadness, pushing some of his long hair away from his face. His family was probably the wealthiest and most influential of the new powers in Whiterun, though still not as wealthy or as influential as the old guard like the Battle-Borns or the Gray-Manes.
"Perhaps we should ask them if they'd like to sell the rights to their land," said another in their group. Benrae, or just Ben. His family owned a couple of acres of farmland north of the city. Perhaps half the size of Nazeem's own farmland, which was to the northwest. He could be said to be the least among them.
"Come now, Ben. You would take advantage of these poor folk so soon after such tragedies? Shame on you," said a fourth person. Harleid the Hardy. Of the four of them, his family actually had some fighting strength, employing perhaps a hundred warriors. They made their wealth through organizing and protecting trade caravans as well as supplying weapons and armor to the highest bidders thanks to their excellent smiths.
They all chuckled again and drank some more as they talked idly of trivial things. Nazeem kept quiet for the most part, not interested in talking much today.
Then he saw her. A rare beauty among the rabble. A young maiden fresh for the taking. There were a few other girls among the rabble that had caught his interest, but this one was special. There was something about her, besides her beauty, that marked her as different.
She looked ill-at-ease among the others. As if something troubled her. As if she did not want to be there. Perhaps she did not appreciate the boorishness of her fellow villagers. That must be it. Yes. She was better than them. She deserved better. This was his chance.
He stood up suddenly and chugged the rest of his wine, much to his friends' surprise. A servant was quickly at his side and refilling his wine.
"Something catch your eye, Nazeem?" said Andualf with a raised eyebrow.
Harleid and Benrae shared a knowing look.
"Someone," he corrected with a smirk. "If you'll excuse me." He did not wait for a reply from his fellows as he made his way over to where the young woman was sitting.
She had fair skin, long blonde hair, and bluish-silver eyes. Seated around her were two old men, a severe-looking elf woman, and a few middle-aged men and women. From age alone she certainly seemed out of place among them.
"Excuse me miss," he said as he walked right up to her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. The girl stiffened and quickly whipped her head around to look at him, confused. "May I know your name?" he asked.
"What business is it of yours, redguard?" said the elf who had been sitting to the girl's left. She suddenly glared daggers up at Nazeem from where she was sitting, though he was unfazed.
"I believe I was talking to the young lady here, not you, elf," he replied coolly. "You act as if it's a crime to ask for someone's name."
"It is not a crime," said the old man who had been sitting to the girl's right. He spoke quickly to cut off the elf, who appeared to be on the verge of going on a tirade. "Please forgive us for being rude and don't take it to heart. Some of us have drank more than we can handle, it seems," the old man added pointedly as he glanced at the elf.
The elf simply narrowed her eyes and continued to glare at Nazeem, though she actually kept quiet this time.
"That tends to happen at events like these," Nazeem said with an understanding nod. "Do not fear. I did not take offense."
"Excuse me," said the young woman. Even her voice sounded lovely to Nazeem's ears. "Would you please… remove your hand?"
Nazeem didn't even realize he still had his hand on her shoulder and immediately retracted it. "Ah, sorry about that. I was so unexpectedly distracted that I lost track of myself."
"It's fine," said the girl, clearly still confused as to his presence. "Is there something you needed from me?"
Nazeem gave her his best smile, aware that the girl's nearby companions were staring at him. "To be honest, I came over because I wished to know the name of such a beautiful young woman like yourself. I am Nazeem Redwind, a humble merchant here in Whiterun. And you are?"
The girl looked taken aback, but before she could say anything the elf suddenly got to her feet.
"Not interested," said the elf. She was just as tall as Nazeem and glared at him at eye-level. "Her name is Anske and she's not interested. You now know her name. You may leave."
"Reldith!" said the old man who had spoken earlier. He too stood up, glancing between the elf and Nazeem worriedly.
Nazeem frowned and finally faced the elf, who looked about ready to stab him in the eye. His face twitched slightly but he kept his composure. "It seems I have angered your friends, young lady Anske. I know when I am unwanted, so I will leave. But I hope we will meet again under… better circumstances." He bowed his head to the girl and moved back to where he had been sitting, aware of several sets of eyes on him.
"You had best stay away from her," growled Reldith before he was out of earshot.
His left fist clenched tightly at his side as he walked, hidden from those who were watching him. He would have the girl named Anske soon enough. He always got what he wanted. And he would make that elf bitch pay dearly for her insolence.
Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω