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Skyrim Spartan

Chapter Nineteen

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Hadvar reined in his horse as he crested the last hill. The horse snorted, breathing heavily from the long journey they had taken thus far through the heavy snows. Behind them, a lone trail was carved through snow that was deep enough for his horse's legs to plunge more than halfway with each step.

He leaned forward, patting the horse's neck. It had carried him far, and he was grateful for it. Without a horse, the journey from Helgen would have taken far longer, and likely left him exhausted. It had been a wonder they still found some in the smoldering ruins of the fortress town once they emerged from the safety of the caves beneath the keep.

Some distance ahead, in the shadow of the Throat of the World, the dark line of the White River carved through a valley and snaked its way across a snow-covered settlement.

Riverwood. Hadvar's hometown.

Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys. Tiny dark shapes moved on a canvas of mostly white. The townsfolk were blissfully unaware of the terrible danger now roaming the skies. Around the town was a thick forest that spread across the landscape with countless trees dressed in white.

Relief flooded through him at the sight of the peaceful town. Over the past few days, he had been fearful of seeing smoke rising on the horizon. Images of fire, death, and destruction plagued his dreams. Yet by the grace of the divines, the dragon had left the town untouched.

Perhaps the dragon was not interested in such a small town. If that were the case, Hadvar hoped it would stay that way. His only remaining family lived there, and he did not want them to suffer. Or worse.

Hadvar looked up into the clear early morning sky. No dragons in sight. With a long breath, he urged his horse forward. It would probably take him another day or two to descend into the valley and reach the town. The general had given him an important mission, and he would not fail.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Kratos watched the sunrise from the great balcony built into the upper rear level of Dragonsreach.

The large open-air balcony provided a 180-degree view of the surrounding lands. A view that many would consider to be breathtaking. He had discovered it while wandering the halls of Dragonsreach late at night.

There were plenty of guards and servants who eyed him with a mixture of awe and nervousness when they caught sight of him walking the halls. Nobody stopped him even though he wandered around alone. None dared to even speak to him, with a few merely bowing their heads at his presence.

It was apparent that the word had already spread about who he was, and it seemed he had yet to encounter an area of Dragonsreach that was off-limits to him. He was not sure if that was because they knew him as the Dragonborn or because he was now a Thane. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

In truth, he did not care much for titles like these. Not anymore at least. But he had to admit such titles and status did have some benefits. The greatest of which was that he did not have to suffer through any conversations with more people than absolutely necessary.

With how high the balcony was situated over the back of the Cloud District, the balcony was constantly subjected to the strong, cold winds that blew across the plains. That was another thing he had quickly gotten used to in this land: the near constant sound of the wind. It was rare to have a quiet moment outdoors, especially out in the open like this.

After a few hours spent staring at the stars, a servant had even come and brought him some water and some bread, setting them down on one of the handful of square tables on the balcony. Tables that he noticed were rarely used.

Not needing to sleep, and not wanting to, Kratos spent his time on the balcony thinking mostly about his current situation and what to do next, with some ruminations over his past. He also spent a great deal of time devising a training plan for the girl based on his knowledge of Spartan training.

Given Anske's rudimentary fighting skills and mediocre athleticism, he estimated it would take at least a few years before he was fully satisfied with calling her a warrior, let alone a Spartan. However, he had the sinking feeling that he did not have that much time to train her up before whatever destiny she was meant to fulfill truly reared its ugly head.

That meant that the training had to be condensed and enhanced. Unfortunately for the girl, that meant it was going to be even more brutal and more grueling than it already was. But he knew that it was far better to endure suffering and hardship in training than to die in battle. He only hoped she had a strong enough will to endure the hardships to come.

As the morning sun came into view over the mountains far to the east, Kratos sensed someone approaching. The footsteps he heard were light but were accompanied by the sounds of metal on stone and metal shifting over metal, indicating it was someone in armor. A soldier or warrior. One of the guardsmen, perhaps.

Whoever it was stopped a few steps behind Kratos. He made no move to acknowledge their presence as he continued to stare up at the sky. Only after a few minutes of silence did they finally speak up.

"Good morning to you, my Thane," spoke the voice of a woman in a steady tone. She sounded formal. Disciplined. A veteran soldier or guardsman most likely. He figured she was probably here to deliver a message.

"What is it?" Kratos said as his gaze lowered to stare out towards the eastern mountains and the rising sun.

"I have come on orders from the jarl, my Thane. My name is Lydia, and I have been assigned as your Housecarl. As of today, I humbly pledge my life and loyalty to you as my Thane. It is an honor to serve you, from today until the day I die."

Kratos finally turned his head to stare at her. "What?"

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Anske did not sleep well. Her dreams were plagued with dragons and death. More than once she awoke breathing hard and sweating as if she had been roasting over a fire, even despite throwing the covers off of her body.

When a knocking came from her door, she immediately got out of bed despite feeling drained. She welcomed anything that would get her mind off of her worries and nightmares.

It turned out to be Kratos at the door. Seeing his imposing figure taking up the entire doorframe as the door was opened might have been surprising for most people, but she was already long used to seeing him and was unaffected.

"Good morning, Kratos," she said with a tired smile.

He grunted in reply. Typical.

"What's going on?"

"Meet me on the bridge." He immediately walked away, and just as Anske was about to close the door, she noticed someone following after him.

She poked her head out the door and watched them go. It was an armored warrior woman she had never seen before. She had a sword on her hip and a shield over a pack on her back. Wondering who she was and why she was following Kratos around, she shut the door and got ready for the day.

She already had an idea of why Kratos was calling her so early in the morning, and though she was tired, there was some renewed vigor in her movements due to the excitement of getting some proper training time.

By the time she left her room, there was a spring in her step, and she practically ran to the bridge where Kratos and the mysterious woman were waiting. Anske wondered if perhaps the woman would be her sparring partner or something.

Kratos had his arms crossed as he stood with his back against one of the pillars of the bridge. His eyes were closed, and his face had a look of annoyance. That wasn't a good sign. Was he upset at her for taking so long? She hadn't been that slow, had she?

Before she could even apologize, he spoke.

"Starting today, unless I tell you otherwise, you will meet me here at sunrise. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand."

"I will not be easy on you. The path ahead is difficult. Dangerous. And time is not our side."

"I know. I'm ready."

Kratos finally opened his eyes to look at her. "We shall see." He paused for a few beats. "Any questions?"

Anske immediately glanced at the stranger standing at attention next to Kratos. She had a pretty enough face, though she was no great beauty, and brown hair so dark it was almost black. A thin braid of hair fell to one side of her face. The stern expression she had on implied a no-nonsense attitude.

"Umm. Well, I do have one question." She looked at the armored woman next to him. "Who is she?"

For a second Anske thought she saw Kratos grimace, but it must have been a figment of her imagination.

"Greetings, young miss. My name is Lydia, and I am Thane Kratos' personal housecarl," the woman introduced herself formally, bowing her head and raising a hand to her breastplate.

Kratos sighed and rubbed his face with a hand.

"Oh. I see. Well, it's nice to meet you then, Lydia. My name is Anske."

Anske was surprised to learn that Kratos now had a housecarl, but she supposed it was to be expected given his new status as a Thane of Whiterun. She had heard of such things happening before after all, but only through stories. Looking at him, though, it appeared as if he was not happy about the situation.

"Enough talking," said Kratos, dropping his hand away and looking at Anske. "You will run to the main gate of the city and back. No stopping. Now go."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Kratos watched the girl disappear through the gate and down the steps to follow his command. He was timing her in his head, and based on her performance, he would adjust the rest of training he had in mind for the day.

He could tell she had not gotten much sleep last night. She likely would not last the entire training session for today, but he would push her to her limits. And even beyond them if he could.

The girl was probably feeling overwhelmed by all that had happened. There was also the pressure of who she now was. Being this dragonborn appeared to be a big deal based on how people reacted to the word alone. The burden of destiny was all too familiar for him.

Although the big picture eluded him, he had some idea of what destiny the girl had waiting for her. It was not difficult to put two-and-two together. Dragons had returned to the land for the first time in a long time, and long ago in the histories of this world, the dragonborn were created to fight dragons.

Anske was the dragonborn, and the god Akatosh had asked Kratos to help said dragonborn. She would be fighting dragons in the future then, most likely to save this land from destruction.

The dragon Kratos had fought was strong, though certainly far weaker than some of the great beasts he had fought in the past. But that was by his estimation. He had been fighting the beast, not the girl. Kratos figured the girl would die within the first five minutes of encountering a dragon on her own.

In truth, he was not sure if he could ever fully trust her to fight a dragon by herself. Even if he managed to finish training her into the ultimate Spartan warrior, to fight such massive mystical beasts was a feat few Spartans in history could accomplish, and almost all of them were demi-gods.

No matter the fighting prowess of a Spartan soldier, almost all of them were still mere mortals and thus limited in their abilities to fight such large, mystical, and powerful beasts one-on-one.

On a more positive note, it appeared that mages were much more prevalent in this world, and the girl was a mage. She was also dragonborn, which meant she had the strange powers of this so-called Thu'um or Voice. Perhaps those two additional abilities on top of being a peak warrior would enable her to stand on her own out there. Only time would tell.

Kratos certainly had no strong desire to get involved any further with the plots and schemes of this world. The sooner he could finish training the girl, the sooner he could exit the grand stage and be left alone in peace.

Thinking of the Thu'um had him getting more curious about what other powers, if any, the dragonborn was supposed to have. There had to be more to it than simply using the magic of the dragons. Since they were trying to hide the fact that she was actually the dragonborn, they would need to find somewhere safe to practice and explore her new powers in secret. That might have to wait until after they had left the city of Whiterun.

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my Thane," said Lydia after they had been standing in silence for a while. "But may I ask what your relationship is with this girl?"

Kratos looked at her briefly, then turned and leaned against the railing of the bridge, staring into the water.

"I am training her to be a warrior. Nothing more."

"I see. May I ask how she became your student then?"

"She asked."

After another bout of silence, Lydia spoke again.

"Then, may I humbly ask—"

"No."

"But—"

"No."

More silence followed. Though the woman's face was stoic, it was evident in her eyes that she was both annoyed and disappointed. Kratos sighed.

"You are already a trained warrior, are you not?" he said.

"I am, my Thane. But there is always something new to learn or something to improve. I wish to become stronger, and in doing so be more useful to you." She paused, biting her lip. "My Thane, if I could learn even a little from a great hero like you, the dragonborn, I…" she trailed off, looking away as if embarrassed.

Kratos took a deep breath. "Besides fighting with sword and shield, what else can you do?"

Lydia thought for a moment. "I have some skill with a bow and am experienced with tracking, so I can hunt. I can also cook and can set up camp on my own if we are out in the wilderness. I have traveled enough of Skyrim to know how to get around well enough." She shrugged. "Anything else you command of me, my Thane, I will do my best to carry out."

"I have already told you that I have no need of a servant. You need not follow me around." He had been quite clear about it when she first appeared earlier that morning waiting outside of his room, yet she continued to shadow him anyway.

"I understand, sire. But I have already pledged myself to your service, and the jarl himself had me assigned to you. It will be a disgrace and bring dishonor to me, my family, and my ancestors if I were to leave your service now."

Kratos frowned. "Then I will release you from my service."

"Only death can release me honorably. But if that is what you wish, I will not hesitate to end my life right here." She pulled out her sword in one smooth motion and quickly held it to her neck, the sharpened blade pressing hard enough against her skin to quickly draw blood.

"Enough!" Kratos growled. Was this woman mad? She was already willing to kill herself for a master she had only just met. And a reluctant master at that. "Put away your sword, woman."

"As you command, my Thane." She wiped the blood off her sword against the leather parts of her torso armor before sheathing the weapon. The thin red line on her neck bled lightly, but she did not appear to mind it in the least.

With a heavy sigh, Kratos said, "Do not do that again. I will not ask you to kill yourself."

"Understood, my Thane."

Kratos shook his head slightly, then after some thought, said, "How well do you know the city?"

"Very well, sire. I spent much of my childhood here."

"Hmm. Then you will accompany me later. I have some business in the city, and I will need a guide."

Lydia bowed. "I am yours to command, sire."

Kratos was originally going to ask Rorik to guide him through the city, but since Lydia was already here and apparently pledged to his service, he might as well find some use for her. Besides, Rorik had plenty of things to deal with on his own. The man did not need to be bothered with being a guide.

Kratos looked down at his hands and thought it strange. The fiery rage that had consumed him was truly gone now that he had accomplished his burning desire for vengeance. In its place there was only a cold weariness and... an overwhelming sense of purposelessness.

The old Kratos might have killed the woman on the spot for any number of reasons, splattering her remains across the bridge without a second thought. But right then, all he could think about was that he did not want to add any more blood than necessary to the veritable ocean of it that he already had on his hands.

The sounds of labored breathing and the pattering of footsteps interrupted his thoughts. Anske had returned. She was covered in sweat and hunched over once she reached him, resting her hands on her knees as she gathered her breath.

"Some of the guards… chased me… I think… they thought… I was a criminal… on the run…" she struggled to say in between breaths.

That sounded reasonable enough. Most people in the city were not running as fast as they could like Anske was, so Kratos did not blame them for thinking she was suspicious. He was actually a little impressed that she was not caught, or that she did not stop for them.

"You will go again."

"What?!"

Kratos frowned. "You will run two more times."

"But—"

"Three more times." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Anske wisely kept her mouth shut this time, though it was clear she was panicking about how to accomplish three more laps of running back and forth from there to the gate. Given the state of her body and her lack of proper sleep, even one lap had already been pushing her limits.

Kratos looked at Lydia, her face unreadable as she stood at attention nearby. "This time, you will accompany her," he said.

A look of surprise came over the housecarl's face before she bowed to him.

"As you command, my Thane," she said.

"Go now." Kratos waved them off.

Lydia walked over to Anske, who was still trying to catch her breath, and gently urged her to start running. Keeping pace with each other, noticeably slower than the first time the girl ran, they soon disappeared from sight.

Once they were gone, Kratos went back into Dragonsreach. The guards bowed their heads in greeting as he passed, already accustomed to his presence. A few even said the word "Thane" respectfully in greeting.

Halfway down the entrance hall, a small entourage appeared at the top of the steps leading into the great hall. The dark elf Irileth was closely followed by what Kratos assumed to be her subordinates. All of them were dressed and armored for travel. He could guess where they were going well enough.

They met briefly at the bottom of the stairs, with Irileth and the others walking on one side and Kratos on the other.

"A fine morning to you, Thane Kratos." She stood still and gave him a hollow smile before she narrowed her eyes. "Don't think that your new title means you can stir up any trouble without consequences. Remember, I've got my eye on you."

Kratos spared her a glance before continuing on his way. He could feel the elf's gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. He had only met a few elves thus far, but he was slowly starting to think that they might all be annoyingly insufferable.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Anske's legs felt heavier with each step as she ran. Gasping for breath, her lungs burned with the cold morning air. Next to her, Lydia breaths came loud and steady. Even though the housecarl was running with armor, sword, and a pack, she had no trouble keeping up with Anske. Somehow, that helped motivate Anske to keep going.

There were some questions that popped into Anske's head that she would have liked to ask Lydia, but she was far too busy struggling to breath and run at the same time that having a conversation was practically impossible. Getting to know the housecarl would have to wait.

As they neared the main gate, they slowed their pace in preparation for turning around to start the journey back to the Cloud District.

One of the guards caught sight of them and pointed a finger, crying an alarm.

"Halt!" said the guard.

Suddenly, several guards converged on them until they were surrounded by at least a dozen guardsmen with weapons at the ready.

Having no choice, Anske hunched over and tried to catch her breath, grateful in a way for the unexpected reprieve from running. Beside her, standing tall with her shield at the ready and a hand on her sword hilt, Lydia eyed the guards warily. Anske could not even recall when Lydia had taken the shield off of her back, impressed by how quickly the woman had reacted to the situation.

It was still early enough in the morning that it was not so busy out. Some people who saw the commotion hurried along, not wanting to be involved in any way with whatever was happening. Others gathered nearby to watch and wait, wanting to see what would happen. For the latter group, this was likely to be one of the more interesting and entertaining things to happen in their lives.

"No matter what, keep quiet and let me do the talking," Lydia whispered to Anske before the guards drew close around them.

"You, there! Girl!" the guard who had accosted them pointed directly at Anske, who flinched. She remembered him now. He had yelled at her to stop earlier and had even started chasing her, but she was far faster than he was given that he was in full armor, and she was not. "Why didn't you stop when I commanded you to earlier? Running around like you've done something wrong. Explain yourselves, or you'll be spending some time in a cell on suspicion of criminal activity."

"We're only training, Lugo. Let it be," Lydia said.

"Well, well. If it isn't little Lydia," said the guard with a smirk as his gaze slid over to her. "I'm surprised to p'n see you out in the sunlight. I thought you were assigned to the dungeons these days. Cleaning the piss and shit out of cells."

Lydia stiffened up, gritting her teeth.

Lugo grinned. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Not long enough."

There was clearly history between Lydia and this guardsman named Lugo from what Anske could see. He was clearly the man in charge at the main gate based on the behavior of the other guards, which meant he had to have some higher rank than a mere guardsman. What did Lydia do to upset someone like him?

Lugo chuckled. "Still got a sharp tongue too."

"It's not the only thing that's still sharp." Lydia pulled her sword out a few inches.

The guards around them tensed, and even Anske reached for her sword. She did not know if Lydia was brave, crazy, or foolish for what she just did. Regardless, she knew they were in trouble now. A fight seemed imminent, and their odds of winning were certainly close to zero.

"Is that a threat, Lydia?" Lugo smiled dangerously. He also had a hand on his sword. At first glance, he might have seemed relaxed, but he was as tensed and ready to fight as Lydia was.

"No." Lydia let out a sharp breath and then pushed her sword back fully into its sheath, relaxing a little.

Anske let out a breath too, her heart pounding in her chest. Though whether that was from all the running or from the current situation, she did not know.

"That's what I thought." Lugo's smile widened. He stepped closer, eyeing them both. "Training, you say?"

Lydia, her hand still on the hilt of her sword, nodded. "That's right. And you're interfering with that training. Now that you've had your fun, please let us be or there will be trouble. For both of us."

Lugo laughed and shook his head. "We'll see about that." He gestured to the other guards. "Men, arrest these two on suspicion of criminal activity and for threatening the guard. We'll have a nice, long talk later when you're in chains while we… investigate the matter."

The ring of guards around them tightened.

"Sergeant Lugo. What is the meaning of all this?" an imperious voice sounded from the direction the girls had come running from, making everyone freeze.

Murmurs went through the small crowd that had gathered, and some of the guards seemed to flinch and shrink back from the newcomer.

Anske turned and saw that it was a mounted company of guardsmen led by a dark elf. Irileth.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Rorik groaned as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was pounding, and his mind felt like slush. Oddly, he was lying on an uncomfortably hard, rough surface. Had he fallen asleep on the floor? His body ached and felt heavy as he made a move to roll over and push himself up. Another groan escaped his lips from the effort.

"Finally awake, you old drunkard?"

Rorik opened his eyes slowly, grateful that it was somewhat dim. When his vision came into focus, he realized he was inside a tent, and had indeed been sleeping on the hard ground. Next to where he lay was a bed of thin straw. Turning around, he found the source of the voice.

Sitting on a low stool by the entrance of the tent was Jouane. The elder Breton had a bemused expression on his face as they stared at each other.

"If I'm old, what does that make you?" Rorik said with a snort. His voice sounded hoarse, and he realized his throat was rough and dry, making it unpleasant to speak. He felt on the verge of a coughing fit and did his best to suppress it.

Jouane chuckled and, with a knowing look, threw something at him. Rorik managed to grab it in mid-air despite the state he was in, though he grimaced from the effort. The sound of sloshing water emanated from the object. It was a waterskin. Filled to the brim, from the feel of it.

Grateful, Rorik quickly opened it and brought it up to his mouth, taking several big gulps as the refreshingly cool water soothed his dry throat. He stopped after drinking what seemed like half of it in one go.

"Thanks," he said as he wiped away some of the water from his mouth.

"Someone has to look out for you," Jouane said with a shrug and a grin.

Rorik grinned too, then looked around at the tent. "How did I get here in the first place?"

"You don't remember walking back with us last night?"

"Clearly not."

Jouane chuckled again. "We told you that you ought to sleep in your room in Dragonsreach, but you insisted on being with your people. It's a good thing we had a few empty tents available."

Rorik sighed, running a hand over his face. "I didn't make a fool of myself, did I?"

"No more than anyone else who was drunk last night."

Rorik winced. He was going to ask about specifics, but then decided he was probably better off not knowing.

"In hindsight, I should have taken your room instead," Jouane said with a humorous glint in his eye.

Rorik smiled. "How are the others?" he asked.

"Some better off, others worse off. A lot of bruises and some vomiting. A few broken bones. Plenty of hangovers. It was quite the feast, but thankfully, there was no trouble. The guardsmen escorted us here to make sure we didn't get into any trouble on our way back from Dragonsreach."

Rorik, who was sitting upright on the ground with his legs stretched in front of him, took another swig of water. "How's the camp? Is everyone settling in well?"

Jouane got to his feet stiffly and gestured towards the entrance flaps of the tent. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

The camp was situated directly south of the city gates amid several other camps for refugees that had fled to the relative safety and security of Whiterun from all over Skyrim. Between the refugee camps and the city gates was the small outer city made of wooden structures that had sprung up over the years from people who could either not afford or simply could not find a space to live within the city walls.

These outer cities were a fairly common sight in the major cities of Tamriel. Technically, many of them were squatting on land owned by the ruling class—in this case, the jarl—but the rulers generally tended to let it slide for various reasons. One of which was that it was better to have these people in sight and under control than to have them wandering aimlessly and getting into trouble elsewhere. It was also better than having them sleeping on the streets in the city.

Rorik stayed close to Jouane as they walked through the camp, greeting the few people who were up and about. The other camps around them were already swelling with people and bustling with activity. It seemed most of the Rorikstead survivors were still feeling the effects of the feast last night.

"I didn't realize how bad things had gotten," Rorik remarked as he looked out at the sea of tents surrounding them.

Jouane nodded sadly. "I spoke to a few of the leaders of the other camps when we first arrived. There are dozens of refugees arriving every day from the north, south, and east. The camps are already close to overflowing."

"Ulfric," Rorik said, his anger flaring.

"Quite right. It seems his vision of Skyrim for the Nords has driven many people away from Stormcloak lands. Though some of these refugees are certainly from Imperial-controlled territory."

With a sigh, Rorik said, "But in the end, it's not a problem for us to solve."

"Unfortunately so," agreed Jouane.

"No matter. We have our own problems to deal with." Rorik then quickly explained the jarl's plan to secure the western border and drive out the Forsworn. It would take time before they could return to Rorikstead and rebuild. Until then, the people here needed to survive, and they did not want to rely on other people's charity. The first order of business was to get everyone jobs and make sure they were fed.

"That will be difficult, I'm afraid," Jouane said. "With so many people taking refuge here, there is no shortage of cheap labor. I've already asked around, and nobody seems to be looking for workers. And with so many mouths to feed…"

Rorik frowned and started to pace. It would indeed not be easy to find work for his people in these conditions. Most of them were farmers and people used to hard labor. Few had special skills, like Jouane who could do healing and some alchemy.

He was sure the jarl would support them as best as he could, but Rorik did not want to lean too heavily on Balgruuf. He remembered speaking to the jarl at the feast about the state of things and learning that Whiterun's resources were already being strained. Between the war and now the snow, the movement of goods and supplies was severely limited.

"How are our supplies?" Rorik asked.

Jouane scratched the side of his wrinkled face. "The jarl provided us with some bags of wheat, vegetables, and spices. But it'll only be enough for two weeks at most. I hear the city is already starting to dig into their reserves to make sure there's enough food in the markets."

Suddenly, a finely dressed man on a decorated warhorse arrived at the camp. He was followed by half a dozen guards on foot. Despite their nice equipment and outfits, the guards had the look of thugs about them. Rorik immediately felt wary.

The man surveyed the mostly quiet camp with what looked like disgust, before spotting Rorik and Jouane standing out in the open. Spurring his horse to trot over to them, he stopped a few paces away, though remained on his saddle, staring down at them.

"I know your face. You are the man named Rorik?" said the stranger. His darker complexion marked him as a Redguard. Seeing his face up close, Rorik recognized him from the feast the night before. This was a man of wealth and means. Not someone they could easily afford to offend.

Sharing a glance with Jouane, Rorik cautiously stepped forward. "That is me," he said. "And who might you be, good sir?"

With a smirk, the man said, "My name is Nazeem Redwind, and I've come here today out of the goodness of my heart to offer employment to your people."

Rorik, in shock, took a step forward. He looked disbelievingly at Nazeem. "Truly?" What were the odds that the very problem he was trying to solve would have a solution come straight away?

"I would not be here otherwise," Nazeem said with a scoff. Then he made a sweeping gesture as he gazed out across the camp before looking back at Rorik. "Can you speak for them?"

Rorik hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. "I can. I am their leader. They will listen to me."

"Good. Then will you agree to their employment on their behalf?"

"I suppose, but this is so sudden…" Rorik said uncertainly.

"I don't have time for indecision. I guess I'll have to go to the next camp over to find what I need." Nazeem turned his horse and began to move towards a neighboring camp.

"Wait!"

Nazeem reined in his horse. "Yes? Make it quick. I'm a busy man and have other matters to attend to." Strangely, despite what he said, he did not seem to be in that much of a hurry to leave now that Rorik had stopped him.

"What work will they be doing?"

"Various things. Farming. Weaving. Construction. Hard labor. Suffice it to say that I will need reliable, hardworking people," replied Nazeem, sounding almost bored to list such details.

Rorik thought for a moment, then sighed. They really needed to find work for those who were not going to join the expedition west to secure the border. Given the situation, it was better to take advantage of this opportunity. Besides, since the jarl had paid them so much attention, surely nobody would dare to harm them outright.

The people of Rorikstead were hardy folk. Even if the work turned out to be grueling, they could endure long enough for them to return to their homes. The campaign would likely last a couple of months at most. The most important thing now was to make sure they could support themselves in the interim. r

"How many do you want to hire?" he finally asked.

Nazeem smiled as if he had just won some unknown game. "All of them."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

It was well past sunrise now, and the city was truly coming to life. The small crowd that had gathered near the city gates to watch the commotion was swelling by the minute. It was such a scene that it was actually blocking the whole road to the gates, effectively causing traffic to temporarily come to a standstill.

Anske managed to catch her breath enough that she could properly focus on what was going on.

Irileth, on her horse, was before them. Her cold stare made Anske wonder if the elf was ever capable of being friendly.

"Commander Irileth," said Lugo with a deep bow. He sounded nervous all of a sudden.

"Well, Sergeant? I asked you a question."

"Ah, hah… yes. You see, commander… these two were running through the city suspiciously, and when we tried to stop them for questioning, they refused. So—"

"Be quiet," Irileth cut him off, looking irritated. Even Anske shivered slightly as the elf spoke in a somewhat menacing tone. "By the Divines, I do not have the time nor patience to deal with stupidity today. Release these two at once, Sergeant Lugo. They are not to be trifled with. And if I ever catch you using so many guards for such a petty thing again, I will have you chained and whipped from sunrise to sunset. Do I make myself clear?"

Lugo nodded quickly and bowed again. "Y-Yes, commander. I understand."

Irileth spurred her horse along and the guardsmen that followed after her were quickly through the gate and out of sight.

Lugo straightened up and turned to Lydia. He looked quite upset as he grit his teeth. "You're lucky. Very lucky," he said. He then addressed the guards, who all looked nervous and uncomfortable as the silence over the crowd finally broke and the sounds of dozens of gossip-filled conversations washed over them. "You heard the commander. Everyone back to their posts! Now!"

The guards wasted no time getting away from the scene, though Lugo stayed behind briefly to say one last thing to them.

"This isn't over."

Lydia had relaxed at that point, letting go of her sword hilt and hoisting her shield back over her shoulders. She said nothing as Lugo walked away after his men, yelling at the crowd to disperse as they went.

"Sorry about that," Lydia said to her with an apologetic look on her face.

Anske waved her off. "It wasn't your fault."

Lydia shook her head. "It was bad luck to run into him at all, but I didn't think he'd actually dare to do anything like this. In broad daylight, no less."

"What happened between you two?" Anske figured it must have been something pretty serious.

"It's… complicated."

Before Anske could ask anything more, someone called out to them from behind.

"Hail, strangers!"

It was an older woman, perhaps closer to forty winters old than thirty, with long dark hair and sharp brown eyes. She was not a Nord and looked to be of Cyrodiilic descent. From the dirty apron she wore over her plain clothes and her corded muscles, the woman appeared to be a laborer of some sort.

"Good morning to you, Adrianne," Lydia said in greeting.

"Good morning," Anske said respectfully.

"Have we met?" Adrianne said to Lydia, looking surprised that she knew her name.

"Only once. Last year, you had some trouble with a group of brazen thieves in the night and the guards had to be called to your shop. Though even if we hadn't met, everyone in Whiterun knows who you are. You're the second-best smith in the city, after all."

Anske gave Lydia a funny look. "That's not very nice," she said. She vaguely remembered hearing the name Adrianne and the word blacksmith together from passing travelers before.

"I meant no offense, of course," Lydia said quickly.

Adrianne laughed heartily. She might not have looked like a Nord, but she laughed almost like she was one. "I take no offense." She looked at Anske. "I don't claim to be the best blacksmith in Whiterun. Likely never will. Eorlund Gray-Mane's got that honor. The man's steel is legendary. But I'm not so bad, if I do say so myself."

Anske did not know what to say, so she simply nodded. That was true enough. Everyone with ears had heard the name Eorlund Gray-Mane, the greatest blacksmith in all of Skyrim. While he was around, the best anyone could hope for was to be second-best.

"Well, proper introductions then. I'm Adrianne Avenicci, part-owner and blacksmith of Warmaiden's." She jabbed a thumb towards the building behind her.

Sure enough, there were several signs indicating the place was a blacksmith shop. One big wooden sign had the word 'Warmaiden's' carved into it. Off to one side was a large open air working space with a big anvil, a large stone forge, and more equipment and supplies for a proper blacksmith. There was a muscular man getting things ready and starting the forge fire. A Nord from the look of him.

"That's my husband, Ulfberth," Adrianne explained, noticing Anske's gaze. "He helps me run the shop and do some of the menial work with the forge."

Anske smiled. "Nice to meet you, Adrianne," she said, "My name is Anske, and this is Lydia."

"It's good to meet new people," Adrianne said. Then she turned to Lydia. "I think I remember you now. You were a guardsman back then when those thieves broke into my shop in the middle of the night?"

Lydia gave a curt nod. "I was."

"Not anymore?"

"I've been recently reassigned as a housecarl," Lydia said without going into any detail. She then looked at Anske. "Speaking of which, we should probably start heading back. We still have a lot to do."

"A housecarl?" Adrianne muttered to herself, though it was loud enough to be heard by the two of them. She brought a hand up to her chin in thought.

Kratos hadn't specified how long they should take or how fast they should go, but it was probably unwise to take too long to get back. Despite the commotion, Anske was glad for the rest though. She had really needed it. And there were still two more laps to go after this one was done.

"Right. We should get going," Anske agreed with a nod to Lydia. She was about to bid Adrianne farewell but stopped when the smith spoke first.

"Wait, you wouldn't happen to be going to Dragonsreach now, are you?" Adrianne asked suddenly, eyeing them curiously.

"We are," said Lydia. "Was there something you needed?"

Adrianne smiled, showing surprisingly well-kept white teeth. "I thought you might be. I've got a sword that needs to be delivered to Dragonsreach. Would you mind helping me out?"

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Kratos watched as Anske handed the sword she had coincidentally gotten during her run to the jarl's steward. Proventus, he thought his name was. The girl and Lydia had explained what had happened to them when they returned from finishing their run. He was not pleased with what had occurred. But since it was somewhat resolved by Irileth, he decided to leave it alone for now.

After some stretching—Kratos had shown them some of the regular Spartan stretching exercises, which was similar to a few that Lydia already knew from her guard training—they ended up in the main hall for breakfast.

The jarl was not in attendance, and Irileth had gone out to assess the situation at the Western Watchtower. Farengar was nowhere to be found. Hrongar and the jarl's children ate with them but kept to themselves at another table. The cursed child stared at Kratos intensely for several minutes at a time, but Kratos did his best to ignore him. Nobody else seemed to mind the child's eerie manner either.

Proventus sat with the two girls and Kratos, chatting away with the two two young women. He asked about his daughter and discussed some other mundane matters. Kratos could not care less, so he tuned them out as he ate.

When they finished, Kratos ordered Anske to get some rest and informed her that he would be waking her up later in the day to do the second part of daily training. The girl, too tired to argue, trudged off in quiet resignation. He then took Lydia with him and left Dragonsreach.

At the stable situated at the bottom of the steps up to the Cloud District, Kratos took stock of the dragon bones that he had packed and bundled together. When everything seemed to be in order, he had the stable boys saddle up his horse. He did not ride it though, simply leading the animal along and using it to haul the dragon bones.

All the while, Lydia stayed quietly by his side. She seemed genuinely interested in the dragon bones. Even though she was silent, her eyes betrayed the many questions she had and the excitement and even awe that she was feeling.

Once they set off from the stable, Lydia led the way towards the Skyforge. The streets were busy, but everyone stepped aside and made room for the two as they walked unimpeded. Some of the people even bowed to him and called him Thane, recognizing him for who he was. He ignored them all and kept his gaze over everyone's heads. Easy enough to do when he towered over everyone.

"What can you tell me about this Eorlund Gray-Mane?" Kratos asked. He hoped the man was as skilled as they said he was. It would save him a lot of trouble trying to find someone else to craft the equipment he wanted. Plus, he did not wish to be lugging all these dragon bones around everywhere.

"Well, my Thane, you already know he's the greatest blacksmith there is in all of Skyrim," she said, then paused for a moment to think. "He's old. I think he's been alive almost sixty winters. People say he's not the easiest person to get along with. And he's pretty stubborn. But that could describe a lot of Nords. I heard that he's very picky with his clients and with what he makes. Most of the time he turns people down when they ask him to make them something. Other than that, I don't really know too much about him other than that he's obviously part of the Gray-Mane family, one of the most powerful families in Whiterun. Arguably in all of Skyrim too."

"Do you think he can forge armor and weapons from these bones?"

"Maybe." Lydia shrugged. "If he can't, I don't think anyone else in Skyrim can."

They walked in silence for a little while as the city bustled around them.

"Tell me about the Gray-Mane family," he said.

"They are one of the oldest families in Whiterun, my Thane. Their bloodline can be traced all the way back to Ysgramor and the Five Hundred Companions. It was around Jorrvaskr and the Skyforge that Whiterun grew into the city it is today. They used to be one of the wealthiest families too, but I hear they've been on the decline in recent years, and while they are not poor by any means, they are no longer as wealthy as they used to be."

"I see. What of their reputation?"

"They are known to be proud and honest Nords who treat others fairly, my Thane," she answered without hesitation. "However, everyone knows they quietly support Ulfric and his Stormcloaks, and they are currently feuding with the Battle-Borns because of it, since the Battle-Borns support the Empire in this war."

"And you? Who do you support in this war?" Kratos found himself asking. He realized that despite his weariness with the world and his desire to be left alone, a part of him could not help but be curious about matters relating to war. A remnant in his soul of his duties as the God of War, perhaps?

"The Empire, my Thane. Most of the city is for the Empire." She looked like she wanted to say more, but chose not to elaborate further.

"I see," Kratos said. "And stop addressing me as Thane. It sounds too strange to me. You may simply call me Kratos."

"I wouldn't dare to call you simply by your name, sire. Would you allow me to call you Master Kratos, instead?"

Kratos sighed. "Very well."

"Thank you, master."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

The massive hull of the overturned ship was visible even from afar as it was taller than most buildings in the Wind District. When they got close enough for Kratos to see it in its entirety, with its weathered but sturdy wooden exterior, he found it somewhat impressive. Fitting enough, at least, to house these so-called Companions.

"This is Jorrvaskr, master," Lydia said as they moved towards it. "The famous mead hall of The Companions."

It looked like it could fit a few hundred people comfortably. He wondered what it looked like inside. Since he was already here, perhaps he might go in to take a quick look once his business with the blacksmith was done.

They entered what appeared to be the compound of the Companions, which had a low wall separating it from everything else in the city. Lydia had mentioned that the Skyforge was right next to Jorrvaskr. Strangely, nobody seemed to be guarding the place. In fact, the entire compound appeared to be deserted.

"How many Companions are there?" he asked.

"Less than three dozen, I think, master. But I'm not entirely sure. They're constantly out on quests and missions, so it's hard to say for sure. It's rare for them all to be here at the same time."

"So few." Kratos was taken aback by how small a group it was. They must all be highly skilled warriors.

"Their numbers have been declining for years." Lydia frowned. "They are… extremely selective about their recruits."

Kratos actually glanced at her in surprise. From the way she spoke, it seemed like she knew about that firsthand.

"You tried to join them?"

"Yes, master." She looked back at him before quickly looking away. "I was not worthy."

A towering stone statue of some fierce bird-of-prey overlooked the north end of the mead hall, drawing Kratos' eyes to it. It looked as ancient as it was majestic beneath the midday sun. Stone steps led up to a higher level that lay at the feet of the massive bird statue, though they could not see what was up there from where they were standing.

From that place beneath the bird statue, the rhythmic sound of banging metal issued forth. It was the telltale sound of a blacksmith hard at work.

Lydia turned to him while gesturing towards the statue. "This is the legendary Skyforge, Master Kratos. And it sounds like Eorlund Gray-Mane is already there."