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Chapter II: Of Riverwood and Briar hearts

18th-19th of Last Seed, the Year of Our Divine Sovereign 4E 81

"My heart goes out to the Bretons and their plight. They are men who have been abandoned by their gods and made the servants of elves. Just as the Snow Elves would have taken our rightful Fatherland from us and seen our gods denied, the Direnni have taken true hearted men and women and have broken them into loyal dogs! They have not only corrupted their minds and stolen their gods from them, they have even tainted the men of Hiroc with their elvish blood! We cannot let this insult stand, or we cannot call ourselves the sons of Shor! Remember, my brothers, to not hate the Bretons, but to pity them. They attack not out of malice, but out of ignorance. We are not here as conqueres, but as liberators and defenders of Men! Let us aid our brothers and free them from their Elvish masters!"

- High-King Vrage the Gifted to his Nordic army prior the Siege of Wind Keep, 1E 244

If nothing else, Skyrim was undoubtedly very beautiful at times. Sebastien was willing to admit as much as they finally approached Riverwood. By the time the three survivors of Helgen reached the small lumber town, the afternoon sun lit the valley in a soft warm hue. Riverwood proved to be a rather idyllic picture; simple wooden houses stretched along the river with the titular lumber mill sitting on a small island in the water. There was little activity, with only a few people out on the streets. There was a smithy on the river and across the street was a small general store, and Sebastien could see what was likely an inn or tavern down the way. Still, Ralof was not wrong when he said Riverwood was defenseless. There were no guards in sight, only a pair of stone walls built along the roads leading to and from the town.

Turning to his companions, Sebastien shifted the weight of his pack on his shoulders and made a decision. "I'm going to unload some of this, maybe get a few things that'll help me in the cold. Are you two going to find your kin?"

Ralof nodded. "Aye, it'll be nice to see Gerdur and her family again." The Nord smiled and gestured toward the small village, with its buildings and people and the scents of sawdust and fresh water. "You know, I've traveled all across Skyrim now and nowhere, not even Ysgramor's own palace, can compare to this humble village under the Snow-Throat's shadow." Turning to Hadvar, he added. "When this war is over, I'm going to come back and never leave here again. If you're still alive by then, well, I'll buy you a drink at the Sleeping Giant." Clapping both men on the back, he started away before turning to face Sebastien. "Hey, Ciero, if you ever want to get back at the Empire, then come to Windhelm." The Nord smiled. "You're a shifty and moody bastard, but I'd still be grateful if you'd help us take back our home." A with that, Ralof parted ways with them, the blue and bronze of his armor shimmering in the sunlight.

Hadvar sighed. "He's not wrong you know, at least about Riverwood. Solitude's one of the most beautiful cities in Tamriel, but I give everything just to spend my life in Riverwood without a worry in my head."

Sebastien glanced at the legionnaire and asked a question that had been buzzing in his skull for some time now. "You two seemed rather familiar with one another, I take it you both grew up here?"

"Aye, we did, though as you've seen, it hasn't ended well. Ralof's family has been running the mill for a couple of generations now. It would've been his had he not left to join the Legion and left it in Gerdur's hands. My family sent me here from Blackmoor to apprentice under my Uncle Alvor. I didn't care much for smithing, to be honest. Preferred swinging swords to making them, but Ralof and I got on well," Hadvar sighed, solemnly. "'Course, then Ulfric went and killed Torygg and then lines got drawn and we were on different sides," He shrugged. "Maybe when things are over, I'll hold out the olive branch and make things right."

"I think that would be the best," Sebastien agreed quietly. "Life is short, too short for grudges, certainly." Glancing at Hadvar, Sebastien sighed. All these years and he still found this difficult. Swallowing down what little remained of his pride, he added. "I'm sorry about what I said last night. I shouldn't have lost my temper as I did." Words were like kindling, the right ones could shine like a beacon and the wrong ones could burn like wildfire. Sebastien refused to let thoughtless words burn him again. "I owe you my life, Hadvar. You guided me while Helgen was burning and cut my hands free when you could have left me behind. I am in your debt and an honorable man should always repay his debts." He kept his head low, waiting for the Nord's response.

To Sebastien's shock, Hadvar only laughed. He had expected disbelief or suspicion, but humor? "You were nearly burned alive after the Legion tried to cut your head off! I can forgive a few harsh words." The Nord grew serious and continued. "Besides, I've only been gone for three years now. I can hardly imagine not being able to go home for 15. You must miss Wayrest terribly, don't you?"

Sebastien nodded, digging his nails into the Mark. "Yes," he admitted. "The memory of it, it's all that has been driving me these long years. "

Hadvar gently patted the Breton on the back. "Best of luck to you then. You're a good man, Sebastien, I don't have a doubt about that, you kept me and Ralof from gutting each other when it probably would've been easier to leave us to rot. Patience like that is in short supply these days." Hadvar turned away from him and began walking toward the smithy. After a moment, however, he turned back and smiled at Sebastien. "And don't worry about any debt. You don't owe me a thing. Just be sure to stop by when your heading back home, I'll buy the first round of drinks."

"I'll keep it in mind," Sebastien said, good naturedly. With that, Hadvar was gone, and Sebastien turned to the general store, more than ready to rid himself of the bandits' stash and finally sit down for a hot meal he hadn't hunted himself.

Leaving Phoebus tied to a post outside, Sebastien walked up to the store. As he was about to open the door, a voice sounded from behind. "Hold friend, a moment please?" Sebastien bit his lip and toyed with the idea of just ignoring whoever was behind him. With a sigh, he turned around, knowing he couldn't afford to be rude with so little friends in Skyrim.

It was a brightly dressed Nord that had hailed him, standing with the awkward gait of someone who wanted a favor, but didn't know the right way to ask. Finally, the Nord asked. "Ah, you're new in town, aren't you? I'm Sven, the local bard." He gave a short bow. "A pleasure. Are you just passing through or…"

"I might stay a day or so to rest and stock up, but I will be gone soon enough. Why?"

Sven reached into his vest and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Lucan, the merchant has a sister named Camilla. If you could give her this letter, I would appreciate it."

"Ah, a letter of love to woo the shop maiden, I take it?"

The Nord laughed an easy laugh, the sound of the overconfident. "Oh no, Camilla already likes me well enough, and I've no need to win what I already have." Leaning close, Sven lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and a smirk that Sebastien had seen too many times on courtiers and merchants who thought themselves cleverer than they were. "But there's a miserable little Wood Elf named Faendal who's been getting too comfortable around her as well. The letter's 'his' so to speak. It should put an end to any notion of the two of them having a future together!"

Sebastien raised his brow at the bard. He had seen many madcap plans of seduction and deception, but this... This was rife with the stench of amateur foolishness. Personally, he disliked the idea of using deception as a means of courtship, feeling that all it accomplished was making all involved look like fools. He had seen as much firsthand growing up in Wayrest, as men and women alike engaged in furious sexual and romantic subterfuge. Still this letter was one of the clumsier ploys he had seen in some time.

Sebastien shrugged and took the offered letter. Still, I could use some entertainment after the past two days.

"Done. By evening, it will be in her hands."

"Wait, evening? Why evening, why not just give it to her right now?" Despite his delusions of wit, it was clear that Sven was out of his element. A little confidence on Sebastien's part would see his participation in this farce be on his terms.

"You want this to be done right, don't you? Imagine, a complete stranger walking up to her out of the blue and handing her a letter; do that and it will all fall apart. If I meet her first however, and then bring her the letter later as a concerned acquaintance, then all goes your way."

"Hmm…well, you do seem to know what you're doing at least, I suppose I can leave this to you…" The Nord smiled again, though Sebastien caught the tiniest bit of doubt in his eyes. Has he realized just how idiotic this endeavor is? "Best of luck, friend!" Apparently not.

The Riverwood Trader was about was Sebastien imagined it would be like. Small, befitting the town, but clean and well maintained. As he entered, two Cyrods were arguing with each other from opposite sides of the counter. The one behind the counter must have been Lucan and the young woman was Camilla. Well, he could tell why she was so desired. Sebastien managed to overhear something about a theft. It seemed Camilla wanted to retrieve what was stolen while Lucan wanted to let the matter be. Their argument was cut short as the door swung shut behind him.

"Ahem, welcome to the Riverwood Trader, my friend." Lucan cleared his throat, looking awkward. "I'm, er- not sure what you might've heard, but we've still got plenty to sell." To man's credit, he was more interested in business than continuing the argument and Sebastien was happy to oblige him. Settling his pack on the counter, he started rifling through it, deciding what to sell. He settled on all that he had gathered, save a few potions, various plants whose alchemical properties he wanted to investigate, his pipe and tobacco, and a few small tools that he felt were worth holding onto. As he did this, his curiosity got the better of him and he asked about what he overheard.

As it turned out, Lucan had owned a small golden ornament in the shape of a dragon's claw and that it had been stolen from his shop early this morning. Nothing else had been touched, however. It was at this point that Camilla cut in.

"What my brother isn't telling you is that we know where they are. I heard them mention Bleak Falls, an old ruin to the west of town. I know where it is, and can go-"

"No!" Lucan furiously interrupted. "Out of the question! I'm not having you gallivant off-"

"Lucan, it's only a few hours away-"

"No! No theatrics and no-!"

"I could get the claw back for you!" Sebastien interrupted, causing both siblings to look at him in surprise. "I can leave for Bleak Falls tomorrow morning and be back as soon as I can. I promise that you'll have the claw back in your hands by dusk, I give you my word."

Both of the Valerius siblings were taken aback, but Camilla was the first to recover, turning to her brother with a triumphant look. "You see, Lucan? He'll do it even if you will not let me go." She turned toward Sebastien. "Come back here tomorrow, and I'll show you the way to Bleak Falls."

"No!" Lucan immediately protested. "You are not going, and that is final!"

Camilla smiled with deceptive sweetness. "Well then brother," her voice could only be described as poisonously polite. "I can at least show our brave hero to the edge of town, can't I? Or are you afraid he'll whisk me away and leave you behind?"

"Fine, fine." Lucan sighed and turned back toward Sebastien. "Just come by tomorrow, and she'll get you on your way. We're open before dawn, so you don't have to worry about the hour. I have some gold left over from my last shipment, once the claw is back its all yours."

Sebastien was silent, thinking the deal over. He knew that it would be far more important to simply deliver his message to Jarl Balgruff and be done with Skyrim, but he also knew every good deed counted. This may have been a rash choice, but it was the moral one as well. And being in favor with a merchant would certainly be beneficial. Honor, balanced with pragmatism. This was the Breton way.

"Exactly how much gold are you offering? I'm rather curious just how much risking my life may be worth to you?" He probably would have done it in any case, but Sebastien had long since learned that it was better to optimize the benefits from a good deed as much as he reasonably could. If he could work out a bargain from this decision, then all the better.

Lucan seemed to be of the same mind. "I can offer you three hundred septims when you return. That's more than fair for a day's work."

"A fair day's work does not typically involve hunting bandits. I offer a counter. I will take the three hundred upon my return, and you purchase these," he waved, indicating the goods he had stacked on the counter, worth my one hundred septims if one was feeling generous, "for one hundred and fifty septims now and I'll purchase a water-skin, a pair of thick gloves, and a book on local alchemy if you have it."

Lucan looked thoughtful. "Done," he agreed after a moment. "Camilla, go see and if you can't find one of the local herbology books." He swept the loot off the table and slid a jingling purse, the gloves, and an empty water skin towards Sebastien.

Taking the gloves, Sebastien slid them on over his hands, smiling to himself as they hid the Mark. "My thanks," he said, accepting the herbology book from Camilla. The Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim was stamped in gold leaf on the spine. "I'll come back tonight then for them, have a good day." He would have to talk to Hadvar, maybe he could enlist the soldier's help in this errand.

Upon leaving the trader, Sebastien saw Hadvar walking down the street with a stocky bearded man who could only be the smith. "Ah, Sebastien, this is my uncle Alvor, the local blacksmith. I've told him of what happened at Helgen, and he's agreed to help as he can."

"I am overjoyed to hear it." This might just well be the most useful person he has met so far. He approached the smith and offered his hand. "I am Sebastien Ciero. May the Heavenly Court bless you."

The big smith clasped his forearm and grinned. "Not too bad a grip for such a scrawny fellow. I am Alvor." He lowered his voice. "We should talk at my forge. This news is" He seemed to search for the right words to describe it and failed. "something else, and I don't want to go and start causing a panic."

After they returned to the smithy, Sebastien explained the situation he had found at the trader's to Hadvar. To his disappointment, Hadvar shook his head, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I must be on my way, friend. My road takes me to Falkreath to report to the Legate stationed there. I must bring what word I can to the Legion and seek new orders now that the garrison at Helgen has been destroyed."

Sebastien was disappointed and admittedly disheartened. He had started to take a liking to the Nord and was honestly troubled to realize that they must soon part ways. "When are you off? Surely you do not plan to travel by night?"

"No, I will stay at the inn overnight and leave first thing at dawn. By the sound of it, you'll be doing the same thing."

Alvor grunted apologetically. "I'll tell you the same thing that I told Hadvar. I don't have any room in my home for travelers, but Delphine's a good host and will give you good rates, I'm sure. She's fair besides and won't charge you any more than she would a Nord."

Sebastien grinned, amused. "Is that how you do things here? In High Rock, you get lucky if you find a place that doesn't charge you three times what the bed's worth." And if you didn't pay, were excessively annoying or worst, excessively Orcish, they'd chase you out with hexes. No need to let them know that though. "And that's at the cheaper places."

They had arrived at the smithy, and as they huddled around the forge, they were able to talk unobserved. Alvor listened to Sebastien's account, though it didn't differ very much from Hadvar's and offered him his choice of weapons and armor the smith had available. Sebastien gratefully accepted a bastard sword to replace the gladius he had taken from Helgen. It was made from mundane steel, but felt far closer to his old blade than the legion sword ever did. In addition, he traded the crude and roughly shaped iron armor he had taken from the dead Orc and traded it for a set of well-made steel.

As Sebastien happily pulled off his iron cuirass, he had a thought. Damn it all, I should have bought new clothes from the trader as well. He was still wearing his prisoner's rags, which hardly projected honesty or confidence to those he spoke to. Jeffre, he must've been a sight when he entered town dressed in rags with bandit armor and a legionnaire's sword. It was extraordinary that Sven had chosen to spoke with him at all. Estenne knows, I certainly wouldn't have trusted such a man with anything. Although, it might have shed light on why Lucan had been so ready to let him go march off and die in his sister's stead. Sending a brigand to deal with robbers? How positively Bretic in thinking. Actually…

Sebastien turned to Alvor. "You wouldn't happen to have a blank tilt plate, would you?"

The smith rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, I might have and if not, I'm sure I could have one made by evening."

"Thank you, I'll come back tonight to pick it up."

His new armor, while not particularly glamorous in make and style, at the very least made him appear as a mercenary rather than a bandit. Hadvar had left for the inn and a tankard of some drink, so Sebastien was left with the smith. As Sebastien turned to leave as well, the smith called out. "Hold friend, a request."

"Yes? You've helped me more than I can repay, so I will gladly return the favor as best I can."

"Heh. Don't worry, it's nothing as dire as all of that. I want you to bring word of Helgen to Whiterun. Jarl Balgruuf hasn't taken a side in the way, so neither the Empire nor the Stormcloaks patrol here. We have to look out for ourselves, and he needs to know that there could be a dragon in his hold." He looked down for a moment. "Heh. It all sounds so mad when I say it. A dragon! Here, in this age! They're supposed to be something out of the old stories, for the great Tongues and heroes to slay." He waved Sebastien off. "Best of luck to you, mister Ciero. You may be the only hope Riverwood has."

Sebastien held his hand over his heart. "I won't let any of you down, Alvor. I give you my word." And I'll be damned if that doesn't still mean something.

Sebastien found the 'miserable little Wood Elf named Faendal' easily enough once he started looking. There were few enough mer in Skyrim to stary with, and the Bosmer was the first of his race that Sebastien had seen since arriving in Riverwood. When he responded with a smile at hearing his name rather than annoyance or confusion at being mistaken for someone else, Sebastien knew he had his man.

"Faendal? I have something that I believe you might be interested in?" He handed over Sven's letter. "I have agreed to give this to Camilla Valerius, but if you would like me to tell her who truly penned it…"

Faendal understood immediately. "Sven put you up to this, didn't he? The bigot thinks that just because I'm an elf, he's better suited for her. Ha! Well, friend, I'll show him! Listen, I have a better idea..." the Bosmer's face twisted into the very same satisfied smirk Sven had worn and Sebastien felt his stomach drop. Sheor's spit, surely, he's not going to say what I think is he? "Or, with a single sentence, I can convince Camilla not to ever look at Sven again!" He thrust Sven's letter back into Sebastien's hand, and vanished into what he could only assume was the Bosmer's home. Marie preserve me, this is madness!

Less than a minute had elapsed when Faendal emerged again, clasping a folded piece of parchment. "Here. Give this to Camilla, let her know Sven wrote it." The Bosmer firmly clapped Sebastien on the back. "My thanks, friend." He waved jauntily and departed, leaving Sebastien feeling more than a little bemused. I bring you this letter and give you a chance to make this farce right, and now you expect me to carry more lies to poor Camilla? He slipped both letters into a pouch on his belt, and made his way back towards the main street and the inn. Seven hells, he needed a drink.

"Sorry, but we don't have Menevian brandy or Laurent cognac. What I do have is mead from Honningbrew and some from Oakwood, six types of wine in the cellar and more ale than you could drink in a year." Delphine Garan was exactly as Alvor had described her, a stern and no-nonsense Breton woman who had nonetheless greeted him politely and offered him food, drink and a room for the night for 20 septims. Getting Phoebus fed and watered was another 10. It was more than a halfway house would have charged and far less than a room in Wayrest or Sentinel, and Sebastien called it fair. The Sleeping Giant itself was clean and spacious, and when Sebastien had asked to use the alchemical apparatus stationed against the wall, Delphine agreed on the condition that he clean up after himself. However, her lack of any decent alcohol was somewhat disappointing. He finally settled on a glass of Surilie Brothers wine, having developed something of a taste for it during his time in Skingrad. He planned to spend an hour or two messing about with the various plants he had found on the road to Riverwood. His less than pleasant experience the previous night had managed to rekindle an old interest in alchemy, and he wanted to try and actually apply his theoretical knowledge, a proper potion that could dull the cold would come in very handy here.

Drink in hand, Sebastien made his way over to the alchemy table, and unloaded the ingredients he had gathered. First up was some sort of mountain flower, purple in color, which should – when submerged in boiling water and sustained by a flow of magicka – impart its most basic alchemical properties into the magically infused water. In theory, at least, this would allow him to learn what qualities the plant contained. Which, according to the book he had purchased, should include promoting resistance to the cold and increased endurance and agility. Even if the book was misinformed, he had chosen the flower for his first test because he was fairly certain that it wouldn't do anything too dramatic if misapplied.

Probably.

"Damn it," he muttered as the flower failed to react in any meaningful way. Briefly, he considered just eating it and seeing if he learned anything that way. Deciding that his pride wouldn't be able to stomach looking like a fool in a room full of drunk Nords, Sebastien instead pulled out one of the small red berries from the previous night. Adding it to the water, he was pleased to see it react positively with the flow. Dipping a finger into the water, he willed a bit of frost magic into the brew and smiled as the mixture didn't grow any colder. Taking the magically infused water, he poured it and the ingredients into the alembic. "Come on, come on, come on," he muttered as it started to boil, watching the mixture steadily distill into the glass.

"Working hard already, friend?" Hadvar most likely hadn't been trying to sneak up on him, but his experimentation took no small concentration, and so Sebastien had not heard his approach. He concealed his surprise and turned to face the soldier. He had a full mog of some ale or mead, and looked very happy with himself, and probably more than a little drunk. "Sebasziin, my friend, we must share a story! We slew bandits and escaped a dragon, and we deserve a damn drink for that!" He grabbed the Breton and dragged him toward a table.

Sebastien, to his own surprise, was not entirely opposed to the idea, though the timing was far less than ideal. "I'll be back here at dusk, Hadvar. There are still things I wish to accomplish before sunset." By now, the distillation process had completed, and the refined mixture was waiting in the alembic. Pouring the periwinkle-colored liquid into a small bottle, Sebastien hoped that it would work as planned. If not, he would either be forced to waste half of his stock through the consumption of three ingredients at a time or ask one of the locals for insight. He deposited his pack in his room, and exited the inn, tugging his heavy cloak against the chill in the air as the sun went down.

Alvor was waiting for him at the smithy, holding the steel tilt plate in hand. "Don't worry about the costs, just make sure you get Jarl Balgruuf's help tomorrow, yeah?"

"Much appreciated, Alvor."

Across the street, the Riverwood Trader was quiet, a single Nord leaving with a pack under his arms as Sebastien returned. Lucan greeted him warmly upon his arrival, grinning with joy. Pushing a small purse toward the merchant, Sebastien asked. "You wouldn't happen to have any dyes in stock, preferably blue, gold, and red?"

"You know, I think I still have some. Just give me a moment." Lucan ducked and weaved throughout the various odds and ends that made up his inventory. Sebastien patiently waited for a couple of minutes, not wishing to make the visibly confused Lucan any more anxious with complaining. With an amused smirk, Camilla stepped past her brother and reached into a cabinet he had failed to notice, pulling out three small jars with the desired colors.

Sebastien glanced at her, and she bowed her head. "Here you are, master Ciero, I trut it will help you tomorrow."

"One can only hope, even if they can never be certain. I am glad that you found this, though."

Lucan awkwardly coughed into his fist. "Well, I will see you tomorrow. Oh, and do try to keep the claw unharmed. It has great value to me. Um- purely for sentimental reasons, of course. Honestly worthless to anyone else. Heh." Sebastien indicated assent, and was turning to go, when he suddenly remembered.

"Miss Valerius, could I speak with you for a moment? Someplace…" He glanced at Lucien. "private?"

"Of course." She led him upstairs, stopping at the top of the stairs and turning to face him, one step below her. Clever. Giving herself the psychological advantage as well as the physical. "Well? What is it you want?"

"I have two letters for you, one from Faendal and one from Sven." Deception and misdirection are to be used against your enemy, not a loved one. To do otherwise makes that love invalid and empty. "Each was insistent that you read his, and each was certain that he would win your heart." An honest word can reap even more than a lie. A lie can only be used once, honesty can be used again and again. "I have agreed to give them to you, and have done so." A serf who hasn't earned his bread is a thief. A knight who has broken his oath is a brigand. A king who has not kept his promises is a tyrant. "Read them, and decide how you wish to precede."

He handed her both letters and watched as she read through both, looking as though she did not relish what she was reading. Sebastien had glance through them both, and knew that either would have easily turned her against the supposed sender. Both at once, however? Her reaction would be interesting, to say the least.

Camilla looked down at him. Her eyes were glistening, and when she spoke her voice was uneven. "I…c-could you please leave? I need to…I will see you tomorrow, give you directions…"

Sebastien dipped his head. "As you wish, Miss Valerius." As he descended down the stairs, he heard a faint "Thank you" from behind him. Sebastien said nothing. He exited to the street, and returned to the Sleeping Giant Inn, walking slowly and taking in the sunset while thinking about what it meant to lie, and to be in love. Lies he knew well, far, far too well. Love, however? Sebastien did not think he had ever been in love. He had loved certainly, but to be in love? Maybe that's for the best. Heartache is bad enough; I can't imagine what a heartache caused by being in love must feel like.

When he pushed the door to the inn opened, it was to find the common hall a warm and glowing room full of townsfolk laughing and drinking. Sven was playing some tune on a lute, and Faendal was sitting with a few of the other mill workers knocking back massive mugs of beer. Sven gave him a conspiratorial smirk, and Faendal a subtle nod as he walked by. May you both receive all you deserve. He found Hadvar entertaining a group of men and women with a fanciful recreation of their journey from Helgen to Riverwood. Sebastien was amused to hear that Ralof's role in the bandit fight had been excised completely, and apparently Sebastien's skill as an electromancer had increased exponentially, as he had somehow turned three bandits to ash with a wave of his hand. A Breton would see through that boasting even while deep in their cups. Perhaps exaggeration is a part of Skyrim's storytelling tradition. He sat down and let the feeling of warmth and camaraderie envelop him.

Some hours later, a rather intoxicated Sebastien staggered into his room and collapsed into his bed. Marie's mercy, Nords can drink. The other non-Nords had either paced themselves or have long since grown accustomed to the ludicrous amounts of alcohol imbibed, as most of them were able to leave upright when they chose to do so. Hadvar had still been there when Sebastien left, entertaining what patrons remained while Delphine kept their drinks filled and purses light. No one seemed to mind the boasting, nor did they seem to mind paying, too busy cheering their heroic deeds to care. Hadvar the stalwart Nord and Sebastien the stoic and enigmatic Breton seemed to be a good enough tale to buy drinks for. At first his silence had been because he didn't feel particularly comfortable talking to the Nords. Several drinks in, it had been to hide his drunkenness. Either way, he hoped he had not made a fool of himself. Sebastien had gotten over his dislike of public speaking years ago, but the events of his departure from High Rock had replaced it with a dread of crowds in general. As he was pulling off his boots, he remembered that he had not yet tested the effectiveness of his potion. To the Devil with the potion, I need to sleep.

Sebastien Ciero slept better his second night in Skyrim than his first. He had a warm bed, a full belly and the buzz of alcohol in his brain. When he woke, he felt good, far better than he had since leaving Helgen. Glancing out the window, he saw that the sun had not quite risen, and after he dressed, he took the tilt plate, the dyes, and a dagger he had kept from the bandit camp and carried them to the river. Still dressed in prisoner's rags. Perhaps I can buy a shirt and some trousers if Camilla will speak to me after last night. He had not seen her at the inn last night, though Lucan had visited briefly. Speaking with him revealed that Camilla had been closed up in her room, claiming to be unwell. Sebastien wished it had been different. She suffered a wrong, and I tried to right it. Why can't doing the right thing ever be easy?

Leaving the inn, he took the time to visit Phoebus, looking far more calm and excitable, and past by Hadvar geared up and ready to depart. The Legionary was deep in negotiation with one of the carriage drivers who piled the roads between cities, but he drew up and saluted with clenched fist over heart as Sebastien walked by. The Breton returned the salute with a small smile and turned toward the general store. May his blade be sharp and his wits sharper. A good man going to war needs both to see its end.

The lingering cold of the early morning was unpleasant and reminded Sebastien that he had not yet tested his potion. Still, he did not use it just yet, resolving to wait until he was on the path to Bleak Falls to test it. I might have to consider buying a charm of some kind, though my coin purse will suffer for it mightily, I don't doubt.

Despite Lucan's words, the general store was still closed when he passed it. He took the first path toward the river and came upon it suddenly, the narrow walkway between houses taking a sharp turn and opening up to reveal a small embarkment at the river's edge. Sitting on a tree stump was Camilla Valerius, looking over the river with a morose expression. He turned to try and quietly find another spot, not wanting to intrude, but she looked up and fixed him with red-rimmed, bagged eyes.

"Master Ciero, isn't it? I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that I'm not ready to take you up to Bleak Falls just yet." Her voice was half-broken, and her hands trembled on her skirts.

"It is fine, truly, and I should be the one apologizing," He had acted from a place of righteous outrage and, admittedly, a desire to atone for his own deceptions in the past, but seeing her face lined with grief and lack of sleep had spurred him to defend his actions to himself as much as her. "It was not my intention to cause you any grief, Miss Valerius. I ruined your evening and whatever relationships you might have had with these men, and now I intrude upon you here. I…I truly am sorry. I-I should go." Sebastien cursed himself for interfering once again and began to leave.

She spoke over him as he was leaving, her words rooting him to the spot. "When we first arrived in Riverwood, Sven was the first to greet us. He helped us unload the carriage, and told me that the town would be the better for my being here. Faendal brought me choice cuts of meat and told me about the amazing things he would see while hunting. Sven sings songs about the great heroes of the past, and makes them come alive." She sighed. "I want more than to be a shopkeeper's sister all of my life. They were caring and kind and adventurous, and even if they fought with each other, it was nice to be desired. But this? They lied to me! Each tried to make me think the other was awful, and so cruelly! It was easy to see through it when I read both letters, but even then, I didn't want to believe it." She looked back at him. "I tried to blame you at first. I thought-I hoped that it was just some cruel Breton game you wanted to play on me. But how on earth could you have possibly known my fears about both of them? It had to be them, no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise. "I just want to know one thing. How could they do this to me?"

"They loved you, both of them, and that love fed their worse impulses as love is wont to do. Lies are a tool of warfare and statecraft. Lies to win against a rival, even in matters of love, I can understand, but I would not tolerate seeing them make you a victim of their cruel lies."

"I'm afraid I don't follow, by what right did you have to interfere?"

Sebastien shook his head. "There is a saying in High Rock: 'Offer your heart too freely and you will receive a briar heart in return'. Those who will tell you falsehoods while proclaiming their love for you wish to keep you as a prize. A trophy to be hoarded and gloried at their control. It is a vile corruption of love and one I could not stand in good conscience."

Camilla looked at him in curiosity. "You sound as though you speak from experience, Master Ciero. Did you offer your heart once?"

Sebastien smiled, a small, sad thing that couldn't reach his eyes. "On the contrary, there was a time I thought I had so much love to give and so many I hoped to share it with." He sighed. "But when they offered their love in return, I found I could only give them hearts of briar."

She nodded, and Sebastien was grateful that she didn't pry further. "Tell me this, then. How did it happen? Did you put them up to this, or was it coincidence?"

"Sven approached me first, just when I was first entering town and I went to Faendal in the hopes that he might set things right. Believe me, Camilla, I would not have intervened had he not attempted the exact same ruse. They were both liars, and so I was the only one who could offer you the truth."

Her response was not long in coming. "Thank you, I think." She was still clearly upset, but her abject distress was gone, leaving her with only an air of resigned suffering. "They are both good men, for all of this."

"I do not doubt it. If you so choose, then let them prove themselves to you again." He stooped down toward the river's edge, and brought forth the three jars of dye, the tilt plate and the dagger as Camilla watched on in interest.

"What do you plan to do with those?"

He smiled at her. "Watch and find out if you wish. Er-you may want to back up, this might be…theatrical." Holding his hands out, Sebastien focused on the small plate of steel and pressed his open palms against the cool surface. Camilla gasped in shock as slowly the metal began to glow red with heat. Sebastien took his hands away from the metal, and yet the plate did not fall. Instead, it hovered inches above the river, the steel heated to a more malleable form. He picked up the dagger with one hand, and with a wave of the other, the lids of the jars popped open, and their contents swept out in twisting and turning streams of red, blue and gold. With the dagger in hand, Sebastien pressed the tip into the molten steel and slowly began carving into it, drawing a design and inscribing his message. As he did, the dyes were led into the metal, molding into form and merging with the slag. After a time, Sebastien let the dragger fall and lowered the plate into the river. White steam bellowed from where the molten steel met cool water, but after a moment it faded away and Sebastien pulled up the finished work with a smile.

"What is it?" Camilla asked, awe-struck.

"My family's crest."

Where once there had been blank steel, now there was the image of a gold hourglass filled with red sand and with unfurled dragon wings and a sword piercing through from top to bottom on a blue background. Underneath the image was a short sentence: 'La Dernière Heure approche'.

Camilla pointed at the sentence. "Those words, Sebastien, what do they mean?"

"The motto of House Ciero. 'The Final Hour Draws Near'."

"It is very striking, if you don't mind my saying so."

Sebastien chuckled. "Not at all. I'm sure old Phineas might have thought so to, he was the one who designed it back in the Second Era."

"Why did he design it so?"

"So as to represent all aspects of what he wanted our family to embody." He pointed at the hourglass first. "The hourglass – the crest of the Order of the Hour of which he was a member." The sword, clarifying their duty as a Knightly House of Wayrest. Finally, the dragon wings, acknowledging their patron god, his divine majesty, Oriel Akatosh.

"It is so that I do not forget those virtues, that when I walk into the fray, I carry the future of my family on my shoulders. So, I will die as I was born, a proud member of House Ciero, as my final hour draws near."

He strapped on the tilt plate, so that it might be proudly displayed from his shoulder. "Is dressing yourselves in rags another aspect your family embodies?" Camilla asked.

"No, it only embodies the fact that I have yet to change out of these rags and continue to forget to purchase new clothes." Perhaps he should have been self-conscious, but he was far past the point of caring. "Now, would you kindly show me where these bandits are, and I can go do something foolish?"

She led him up the road, pointing out buildings of interest, but stopped while looking at the mill. "Lucan said he heard a story last night at the inn that you and the Imperial solider saw a dragon. Is that true?"

"Saw may perhaps be too strong of a word. Panicked fleeing is much more accurate. It burned Helgen down around us, scattered an Imperial garrison, sent a pack of Thalmor into full retreat, and likely sent rumors flying across all of Tamriel. To be perfectly honest, I'm rather shocked that no one brought word to Riverwood before us."

"Oh, Sven's mother claimed she saw it, but it's not that surprising that nobody came through here. We're not the most direct route to anywhere. Helgen was a military town first, and the Imperial forces mostly stay out of Whiterun hold. We're neutral, so they don't want to cause an incident. Stormcloaks for the same reason. Both sides are trying to convince us to join them, so they stay out. And the Thalmor aren't welcome at all. We might not be in rebellion, but we know those damned elves are trying to milk it for all its worth."

They walked on, and finally came to the covered bridge that crossed the White River. She led him across it, and began giving him directions to the barrow. He thought he had the path well enough, and, before going, decided that he could ask one last question. When he did, she smiled.

"Oh, to resist the cold? Try the purple mountain flowers, plus snowberries or thistle branch. They should serve you well. I know that if I ever go into the mountains, I bring a few with me. Here, take these." She passed a few homemade potions into his hands.

"Thank you again, now I should be going. The sun is rising, and I have a bandit clan to deal with." If nothing else, it will allow me to refresh on my swordsmanship a bit. And with that, he was off, over the river and up the path, to fight or bargain with thieves or bandits and whatever other horrors dwelt in old Nordic burial halls. How bad could it possibly be? Unfortunately, he was fairly certain that the answer was very.

"Offer your heart too freely and you will receive a briar heart in return". A common saying throughout western High Rock that originates from a popular fable of a knight who fell in love with a Reachwoman, only for her to betray him and turn him into a Briar Heart warrior. As is typical of Breton/Reachmen relations and culture, a similar, but antithetical saying exists among the Reachfolk, encouraging one to 'keep their hearts like briar' i.e, prickly and closed off. Naturally, there exists a similar story where the Reachwoman is betrayed by her lover and her clan in murdered by the knights. If any such story actually occurred, the truth, should it exist, has been long lost to time.

AN: The second chapter, so far, so good. Published within a reasonable time. I might actually be able to pull this off. Good thing to, because the next chapter is where things start to get REALLY fun. If you ever need a reminder of just what Sebastien looks like, just look up Dev Patel as Sir Gawain, and you'll get the general concept pretty quick. I hope to put out two or three chapters of around 5000 to 11000 words every month or so, but with school starting back soon that may not be possible. Also, Happy October! The time of spookiness is upon us and I hope each and every one of you has a wonderful and suitably frightening Halloween. Until next time folks, take care. – Bones.