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Chapter VIII: The Mark

11th – 12th of Hearthfire, the Year of Our Divine Sovereign 4E 81

'Pride, oh noble ones of steel and valor, pride is a hunger that can never be sated. It is the venom that courses through the bloody fangs of foul Boethiah. He who brought down beloved Trinichant and wore his skin to make mockery of the Heavenly Court. Feed your pride at your own peril, for you will find it to be a most bitter tonic. So says Raymond the Atoner, whose pride is the stone that weighs down his neck. With ebon blade in hand, lonely Raymond seeks forgiveness'.

Ode to the Ebonarm

Lydia grunted as she drove her sword through the wolf's neck and into the ground. Its final whine trailed off and she turned to see how her thane had fared with the final foe. The last of the wolves was running full-tilt for the rocky hill from which the pack had ambushed them. Sebastien seemed almost bored as with a meager wave of his hand; a small, crackling bolt of lightning punched into the wolf's flank and sent it spasming to one side. The wolf continued to limp away until her thane loosed one final bolt and brought it to the ground. She followed him as he closed in on the fallen beast to finish it off, but it had expired by the time they got to it.

"Did they give you any trouble, my thane?" They had been watering their horses in the gathering twilight when six of the lean black wolves had rushed from the thicket that lined the hilly southern road that followed along the White River. Fortunately, Lydia's bellowed taunts and swift movement had let her draw four of them; two had managed to engage her thane, though it appeared neither had landed a blow. She watched him carve into one with his sword, but had been forced to engage her own enemies and had not seen the fight transpire.

He shrugged. "Wolves don't care much for lightning, it would seem. A taste of my magic, and they panicked. After that, it was easy."

Lydia frowned. "You seem rather casual about it, wolves like these have been a blight for the past few years."

"The beasts I've seen since arriving in Skyrim are, with a couple of exceptions," His lips twitched and he raised a hand to gesture briefly skyward, "more hunting than battle. Compared to the what hides in the forests of High Rock, these wolves are rather mundane."

"In Skyrim, there's a good rule to live by. The further north or higher up something lives, the more dangerous it is. Mountain wolves are fiercer, and ice wolves are nastier still and twice the size of tundra wolves on top of it. So, keep your eyes peeled." She had no desire for overconfidence to get her thane killed.

"Forgive me, housecarl, I don't mean to sound arrogant." Her thane waved away her concerns. "I simply find wolves without spear-wielding goblins riding atop them to be a rather refreshing change of pace." He approached the hill without waiting for her reply and regarded a shallow, but cozy looking cave that looked to have been where the wolves had made their home. "What about here for the night?"

It was a good location, save for the danger of any surviving wolves from the pack stumbling upon them. When she voiced her qualm, however, her thane pulled out a small, glimmering gem and grinned. Oh, I see now. Sebastien rolled the soul gem between his long fingers. "That first wolf was kind enough to donate its soul to guard us tonight. I can set up a barrier that will hide the entrance from any eyes, and more importantly, any noses. Any wolves will be confused, but even if they find us, we will have plenty of warning."

"My thane, did you pick this location so you would have a chance to practice this…sorcery?" She knew that soul gems were not truly necromancy, but the idea of using a soul's energy to fuel magic still made her uncomfortable.

He gave no answer as he worked on the spell, or ritual, or whatever it was; his finger pressed over the rock walls and the stone blackened as he scribed intricate designs around the entrance. He held the souk gem in his left hand, and light pulsed from within. As she watched Sebastien work, she noticed their horses had come up, and felt a brief flush of shame for forgetting about them. Fortunately, they were well-trained as had been promised. The two-weeks of rest had done Phoebus in particular much good, the once stolen horse, now clad in castle-forged steel. appeared stronger and was less timid than the poor underfed thing that her thane found in these woods. Sebastien, as it happened, was a superb rider, and seemed just at home on horseback as he was on his own two feet. That being said, she was grateful that they had not been attacked while mounted. That could have ended badly. As it was, the cave was large enough to hold them and the horses, and even had a few plants in the cave floor that would give them something to graze overnight. Not the worst place, all things considered.

She left the cave briefly to gather wood for a fire, and returned to find Sebastien standing within a ring of symbols around the cave mouth, tossing the soul gem from hand to hand as he stared out into what was now nearly full night. As she passed him, she heard him muttering under his breath in what she assumed was the Breton tongue. "My thane? Is anything amiss?"

He stopped his mutters and held the soul gem up. "Just waiting on you. Let's see if this works."

That did not sound as certain as she would like. "Is it in doubt?"

His focus returned to his work. "It's only a mild illusion, so worst case scenario is the we hear, see, or smell something very odd," He gazed at the array. "Though, admittedly, the School of Illusion had never been one of my strong suits." His next words seemed as much to himself as to her. "I wasn't able to layer tactile input into the array, as the sigils to fool the mind are significantly more complex than the ones already laid down and would be haphazard at best given the crudity of the construction. So, that won't work, and using Alteration sigils would also prevent smoke from escaping unless integrated on a piecemeal basis. And I'm not nearly confident enough in using integrated ritual arrays to trigger cross-disciplinary effects to try my first one under these circumstances. So, we hope nothing touches the barrier tonight, or we have a guest."

Lydia thought she could follow the basics of what he was saying, even if the precise principles and a few of the terms eluded her. However, she could not help but make one final remark. "Be careful, my thane."

"Always, housecarl." His hand glowed with violet light, and he held the soul gem above the center of the spiral pattern on one wall. When he released it, it stayed in place, rotating slowly. Purple light flared out along the symbols above and below the gem, and Sebastien moved his hands gently over the symbols above him as they flared to life. He spoke softly in his own tongue, and she was unsure if he was activating them, guiding the magic from the soul gem, or mere praying over them as they worked on their own. With the final symbol, directly opposite the soul gem, glowed, Sebastien relaxed against the cave wall and turned to his audience. The horses were somewhat spooked, and as Lydia looked at both a rock wall and the view beyond it, she could not help but feel a tremor of unease. My thane uses magic. I knew this. I will become comfortable with it. It was easier said than done, however, so she began setting up the fire to prepare dinner. They had pouches of dried meat and hardtack, but earlier in the day Sebastien had brought down a pheasant with a well-aimed bolt of lightning, and that sounded far more appetizing.

As she plucked the bird and her thane expertly shed the horses of their saddles, she got to thinking about where they were heading. After much deliberation, they had agreed on traveling south, hoping to be spared the worst effects of early winter that would have already set in along the northern road. They would reach Riverwood by midday tomorrow, and from there continue down the outskirts of Falkreath Hold. The path would also take them through whatever was left of Helgen, something Lydia did not look forward to. Beyond that was Haemar's Pass, and finally the Rift, where hopefully the bears that roamed the heavy forests had settled into for their winter slumber and leave the roads empty save for travelers.

Her thane finished with the horses, and moved to sit across from her. He thrust one hand into the unlit wood and the whole thing suddenly flared to life. She had to admit, it was nice to have someone who could do that on the road. As her thane pulled his hand back, Lydia saw how the fire cast light onto the black mark that stained the Breton's right hand. As soon as he saw her staring, however, Sebastien quickly turned his palm away from her sight. Lydia frowned. Despite taking Irileth's words to heart, and though she thought she was making great strides in understanding her thane, there was still much about the Breton that remained a mystery to her. The greatest of them was the seemingly innocuous rose shaped mark on her thane's palm. Whatever its meaning, however, it was clearly some of great sensitivity to the Breton and so Lydia could do little to inquire about it and only hope that he might explain it to her in his own time. Instead, she finished cleaning the bird and quietly handed her thane his half.

He accepted and tore off a chunk, holding it above the flames without hand or stick, simply levitating the meat above the fire. Despite her attempts to become comfortable with her thane's usage of magic, Lydia was left to wonder about how odd it must be to be able to casually perform such seemingly impossible feats. "My thane, I must say that it still trikes me as very strange to see you do that."

"The magic, you mean?" Her thane, seemingly eager for any distraction from the mark on his hand, but hiding it well, gestured to their bedrolls, where his thick furs took up nearly twice as much space as her thin fur-lined hides. "Last night while on the road, I thought that you might be playing some joke on me with that bedroll. Every time you think it odd what I do with magic, I feel just the same about you and the cold. I've taken to adding frost resistance potions to my water skins when the wind starts howling." A smile danced through his eyes, a momentary light that she would not have caught even a week ago. The rest of the meal was spent in companionable silence.

After washing his dishes, her thane stood and moved over to their gear. "A quick bout so you don't lose your edge from fighting stray wolves, and then I'm for sleep. Wouldn't want to deprive you of a nice long watch."

Lydia had learned much about her thane since meeting him, but his sleep habits still seemed at odds with his heroic destiny. No ballad she had ever heard made mention of the hero going to sleep early, or growing unfocused if kept awake though the night. Her thane preferred to be making camp by sundown, and asleep well before the moons climbed high; if he accomplished that he would be rested and restored by the time he woke for the second watch. Lydia had no such problems with remaining awake and generally associated going to bed early with disobedient children, but as someone who despised the predawn hours with a burning passion, she was just happy another was willing to take the morning watch. She had to give him credit for a kind of discipline, however; even when there was no watch to be had, he always rose early and was alert by the time she dragged herself out of her bedroll. She had a suspicion that rising before the dawn had something to do with his religion, but being neither especially religious herself nor knowledgeable about the Breton faith, she decided to leave it be.

That evening, they spared unarmored, a single blade each, one hand, live steel. Her thane continued to prove himself an expert swordsman, and though he would always be smaller than any Nord foe, his strength and agility made up for a lack of raw power. His decision to sacrifice a shield for magic ran counter to her every belief about melee combat, but she supposed that it was her job to stand as his shield should one be required. She knew that he considered this training at best of secondary concern and largely did to both keep the rust off and keep her happy, but he took to it without complaint, and she had noted that he appeared to find joy in the spars despite himself, though he wouldn't admit. Despite not having the natural fortitude of a Nord, Sebastien's wiry form possessed a deceptive level of strength and anything he might lack in melee, she would more than make up for. Whatever it takes to keep him alive. At the end of the day, a housecarl's duty was to protect their thane, and Lydia took her oaths seriously.

After they concluded their sparring session and Sebastien had healed both of their bruises, she settled in to keep watch from the cave side of the illusion. Behind her, she heard a faint scratching sound and turned to see Sebastien working rather than sleeping. He had a mortar and pestle he had gotten in Riverwood, and the small leather-bound journal where he recorded his discoveries and mistakes were open on his lap. The pack in which he stored his various alchemical ingredients lay at his side.

"Try not to poison yourself, my thane."

Sebastien distractedly waved away her concerns. "It is to be a very potent magicka restoration potion, and the ingredients I'm using to prove to be non-toxic even if they don't provide the results I'm searching for." He finished whatever he was writing and put the journal away. "I found an interesting insect today and wanted to see how its various parts would respond when introduced into a solution of tundra cotton. Only the wings reacted, if you were wondering."

"I wasn't but thank you for sharing your discovery. Get some sleep, my thane." He settled into his bedroll with a grunt, and she resumed watching for any danger that would chance upon them in the night. Let it come. She would be ready.

Riverwood was much the same as it had been when Sebastien had left it. It seemed ages ago, really, between preparing for the journey to High Hrothgar, training with the Companions…Mirmulnir. Still, the Breton would not hesitate to admit that he was much relieved to see that the sleepy lumber town had been left unharmed in the weeks since he had left. When he and Lydia rode up atop their horses, they were met by a patrol of Whiterun Holdguards that the Jarl had dispatched only a few days after the fight at the Western Watchtower, not too far from the northern wall. The guardsmen had shown both Sebastien and Lydia the respect that was afforded to them as both Thane and housecarl respectively. Thankfully, theirs was the only patrol they had come across. Both Ulfric and Tullius were still respecting Jarl Balgruuf's neutrality for the time being, it would seem. Though time will tell just how long that will last.

Regardless, their arrival did not go unnoticed, and it was not until Sebastien ran into a familiar face. Just as he and Lydia were leading their horses through the northern gate, having dismounted them just after crossing the bridge that spanned the White River, a joyful voice came crying out from the riverside. "Sebastien!" Camilla Valerius came running up to him, a basket of flowers picked from the riverside now lying abandoned. Sebastien had to quickly send a warning look to Lydia as the Nord's hand fell on her sword. He only caught the briefest of glances at the sheepish look on his housecarl's face before Camilla nearly ploughed straight into him. He caught himself easily, his feet remaining firm on the ground as the Cyrod woman flung her arms around him.

Sebastien amicably returned the hug. "It's nice to see you as well, Camilla." He genuinely meant it as well. Whatever potential awkwardness that may be lingering from his departure was well worth the knowledge that Riverwood was still standing and that its residents were unharmed. They were good people, well most of them anyway. And he would never want to see any harm befall them if he could help it.

When Camilla released him from her grip, her eyes were filled with concern. "I heard about what happened at Whiterun. I'm glad to see that you're alright, I was fearing the worst. A Dragon, I can't believe it. It's like something out of a dream."

"Would we be so lucky," Sebastien muttered. A small part of him was still holding out that these entire past fifteen years were some long, terrible nightmare that Vaermina had him caught in. His smile soon returned, however. "I'm glad to see that Jarl Balgruuf's hold guards managed to make it hear safe and sound, though." His face grew more grave with his next question. "There hasn't been any trouble, has there?"

"There hasn't been any sightings of a dragon, thank the Divines." Camilla smile conveyed the relief she felt, but still the dread of such a possibility did not escape her eyes. "So far, the only things the hold guards have had to worry about is breaking up fights at the Sleeping Giant and chasing off wolves that get too close to town. Still, they make everyone sleep a little easier at night." She smiled at him again, this time her face full of gratitude. "Thank you for sending them our way."

The Cyrod woman glanced away for a moment, only for her eyes to immediately fall on to Lydia, seemingly only now realizing that the Nord was there. For her part, the housecarl stood awkwardly and didn't appear to know how to respond to the situation. Sebastien decided to cut through the tension, and gestured toward Lydia. "Ah, Lydia this is Camilla Valerius, she's a friend of mind from here." Thankfully, Camilla did not object of flinch at being called a friend, though that might have been because she was still staring at Lydia as though the Nord had two heads. "Camilla, this is Lydia Hagomdottir of Whiterun. She is, well, she's my housecarl."

What possible assumptions that might have been running through Camilla's mind, Sebastien could not say, though he might have guessed. Thankfully, whatever they might have, however, they clearly had not been nowhere close to the mark if the Cyrod's surprise was anything to go by. Camilla glanced quickly between Sebastien and Lydia for a moment before she found the ability to speak again. "Housecarl? Then that means-" She turned back to Sebastien, wide eyed. "You're the new thane?" Sebastien smiled sheepishly and nodded, reluctantly admitting to the accusation. "I heard the guards talk, but I didn't…How?"

"It's, well, it's a rather long story, I must admit."

"I can imagine." Camilla had a small smile on her face, one that instantly had Sebastien on guard. "Perhaps you can tell me about it tonight at the Sleeping Giant?"

"Camilla…" Sebastien's tone was wary and somewhat exasperated. Camilla picked up on this instantly.

"Just as friends, Sebastien, don't worry." Camilla assured him, raising her hands in a placating gesture. Before the Breton could add anything, she turned towards a still silent Lydia. His housecarl had not said a word this entire time, merely watching the exchange stonily, though her eyes betrayed the amusement she felt at the scene. Traitor. The Cyrod woman offered her hand in a gesture of goodwill. "Lydia, was it? It was nice to meet you as well. Maybe we'll be able to talk tonight as well?"

Lydia genially accepted Carmilla's hand, shaking it firmly. "I look forward to it, Miss Valerius."

"Oh, Camilla's fine," The Cyrod airily waved any formality away with a hand. She picked up her fallen basket and tucked it under her arm. "Well, I better get back to the shop before Lucan starts to worry. Honestly, he's such a child sometimes." She smiled prettily at Sebastien. "See you tonight, Sebastien."

With that Camilla started heading back to the Riverwood Trader, a noticeable pep in her step, and Sebastien was left to deal with a housecarl that was just barely able to hold back a smirk, the traitorous barbarian shield-maiden. So much for Sword and Shield.

"Well," Lydia began, her tone all but confirming every one of Sebastien's suspicions. "She was rather friendly, my thane." Sebastien wondered if this was partially payback for the comments he made about the housecarl's infatuation with Aela the Huntress.

"I noticed, housecarl." He had told the Nord about the favor he had done for Lucan at Bleak Falls, but did not bring up Camilla or the mess that was her love life out of respect for the Cyrod woman's privacy. When his housecarl quirked an expectant eyebrow, however, he relented, though very reluctantly. "I did Camilla a small kindness is all. I won't say what, however. That's her business, housecarl, remember that."

Lydia acquiesced quickly, perhaps realizing that she may have overstepped. "Of course, my thane. It's just that she seemed a bit taken with you."

Sebastien sighed in resignation. "I'm aware of that, housecarl." The Breton shook his head. "But is of no importance, we have too much work to do and too far a journey a head of us to worry about such things." Considering the matter dropped, the Breton gestured for his housecarl to start following him, and started heading towards the Sleeping Giant Inn. "Come along, Lydia. Let's get our beds for the night arranged, and some water and feed for the horses as well."

It was still early in the morning when the pair entered the Sleeping Giant Inn, so the building was largely vacant of its usual clientele of lumberjacks, and off duty guardsmen now as well. There were only three people in the common area this early, three Nord men, one cleaning mugs behind the counter, one half asleep at one of the benches pressed against the wall and the last one – presumably a bard – tuning a lute in the corner. Lydia did not miss the way the bard's eyes lit up with recognition as her thane stepped through the doorway, or the fury they possessed at the sight of the Breton. The bard released his white-knuckled grip from around the neck of the instrument and started to get up, possibly to confront her thane. Lydia was quick to put an end to that with a show of gripping her sword handle and a warning look. The bard crumpled easily enough under her glare and went back to sulkily tuning his lute.

I wonder what that was about. Her thane had made no sign that he had even noticed the bard, but Lydia still had a suspicion that not only was he aware of the man's presence, but he was also simply choosing to steadfastly ignore it all the same.

The third and final occupant of the room was a Breton woman, her blonde hair tied back practically as she swept the stone floor. This must have been Delphine, the innkeeper that Sebastien had told her about. Her thane approached the innkeep, a bag of septims already in his hand. Lydia stood a little away, her gaze lingering around the room, but not able to not listen in on the conversation. "Two rooms for the night, please Delphine, as well as water and feed for two horses."

Delphine took and pocketed the Septim-filled bag and her lips quirked. "I hope that means you're making the journey back to High Rock."

The corner of Sebastien's mouth twitched slightly. "Er, not exactly." Her thane glanced away, an almost uncomfortable look in his bright green eyes. "There's been a few… complications."

That's one way to describe it, Lydia couldn't help but think. Between Delphine and Camilla's reactions, it was clear that the entire story of what happened at the Western Watchtower had not yet reached farther than the city of Whiterun itself. Even so, there was no mistaking that the Greybeard's message itself was unknown. All of Skyrim, hell maybe even the Emperor in Cyrodiil, had heard the call of Dovahkiin. Now, every Nord from Karthwarsten to the Rift knew that the Dragonborn had returned. They just didn't know who it was.

Neither did Delphine it would seem. The Breton woman leaned on her broom languidly. "I can imagine." Her eyes glanced down briefly, and Lydia saw her thane swiftly close his right hand, hiding the bit of black from the innkeeper's sight. The housecarl frowned, just what the hell was that mark? Delphine seemed to know, was it a Breton thing? And what did she mean? The way Delphine made it sound, it almost sounded like… like Sebastien couldn't return to High Rock. That even if he wasn't Dragonborn, that that mark, the damn mark kept him from returning west. A frown marred her thane's face and his eyes flashed slightly. It was almost unsettling.

At least, it was to Lydia. Delphine just seemed to shrug it off casually. "The two rooms on the left are yours, I'll see to it that your horses get their feed and water for the night."

"Thank you." Her thane's voice was terse and flat. Sebastien turned to Lydia and handed her a second bag of septims. "Order what you'd like, housecarl." There was something brewing in Sebastien's eyes, equal parts sullen and stormy. "I think I'll take a walk around Riverwood. Check up on a few people and the like."

"I…yes, my thane." Lydia knew that she should probably argue against this. Sebastien was her thane, and she was to be his sword and shield. But the look in the Breton's eyes made it clear that he would tolerate no argument. He needs to be alone right now. Despite her better judgement, Lydia just stood by and watched as her thane quietly left the inn, the door swinging close behind him.

As soon as the door came to a close, the housecarl let out a frustrated sigh. Two steps forward, one step back. The bitter thought came to her mind as Lydia sat down at the bar, bag of gold still in her hand. The bartender asked her if she wanted to order something. "Mead," Lydia said. "Honningbrew, if you have it." He told her they may have some in the cellar. As he went downstairs to check, Delphine walked up the bar.

The Breton put her broom to the side and took up cleaning the mugs while her bartender rummaged downstairs. As Lydia waited for her drink, Delphine began to speak to the housecarl. "You're thane has a death wish, you know." The tone came out so airily that she might have been talking about the weather.

The words came so suddenly that they caught Lydia off-guard. "Wha-what in Oblivion are you talking about?"

Delphine raised an eyebrow at her, cool as you please. "That mark on his hand, you don't know what that it?" She brought her own right hand up. Strangely calloused for an innkeeper. Lydia couldn't help but notice, but the thought was gone before she could dwell on it. "It's called the Mark of Atonement. It's given to knights who get sent off to die for committing a crime against their kingdom. Let's them have a chance to die with their honor intact." There were times where just having a conversation with someone immediately lets you know what you think of them. This conversation was not only confusing Lydia, but gave her the chance to decide what she thought of Delphine.

Lydia decided that she did not care for Delphine.

"You…you don't know what you're talking about." The housecarl insisted. This was slander against her thane, housecarls had killed people for less than that. She wasn't going to, obviously, but just who did the random woman think she was to say such things about Sebastien. True, Lydia actually didn't know what the mark was…or why her thane was so cagey about it…

Delphine picked up on this sliver of doubt quickly. "No? Tell me, what do you know about High Rock? About how things are done there? Ask you thane himself and see what he tells you about that mark." Delphine shook her head. "Believe me, housecarl, your thane is death bound, and if you aren't careful, he'll drag you down with him." Before Lydia had a chance to respond, a shout came from the bench.

"Delphine! Gimme…gimme another ale, damn mug's dry." The Nord from the bench slurred out.

Delphine let out a annoyed sigh and turned back to Lydia, meeting the housecarl's gaze head on. "Think about what I said. You don't want to throw your life away for someone else's crime." With that, Delphine walked away to tend to the drunken Nord. Soon, the bartender came back up with Lydia's mead. The housecarl paid him, but didn't touch her drink, too many thoughts filled her mind.

Leaving Lydia with a small satchel of gold to order what she liked, Sebastien walked out of the Sleeping Giant, head weighed down with thoughts. His nails dug into the Mark as he walked. Once more, Sebastien found himself debating whether or not to explain the nature of the Mark to Lydia. It was an argument he found himself having more and more recently. He genuinely liked and respected the housecarl, and a part of him knew that full transparency would be key to keeping their partnership successful. Yet, on the other hand, Sebastien was ashamed of the Mark and terrified of how his more noble housecarl might react to having a wretch like him as a thane. Sebastien suddenly hissed in pain as his grip tightened so much as to actually break through the skin. Red droplets of blood clung to his fingers and dripped from torn flesh, mixing with the near pitch black of the Mark. Soon, a soft golden light emanated from his palm as the restorative magic knit flesh back together. The skin that grew back, however, was still black as pitch, leaving the Mark unchanged and continually mocking him. Sebastien bit back a growl at the hated sight. The Breton closed his palm and continued walking away from the inn, his feet leading him to the outside of Alvor's smithy.

The Nord blacksmith saw him approach and greeted Sebastien with a smile, one that the Breton found himself returning. At least there are a few people who I can say I've done good by. The Nord stepped away from his forge and happily shook the Breton's hand. "Thank you, my friend. We'll all sleep better knowing that these guards around in case of dragons."

They won't accomplish much, was the thought that came to Sebastien's mind. He did not voice it, though, unable to bring himself to ruin the peace of mind they offered. Instead, the Breton smiled and said, "I imagine the extra business they bring to your workshop is another boon."

Alvor chuckled. "Aye, that's true enough. Nothing too fancy, though. Mostly keeping swords sharpened and armor tempered, though. My work is quality, don't get me wrong, but nowhere near castle-forged steel. Delphine's probably raking in the septims from how much they drink every night." The blacksmith thankfully missed the way Sebastien stiffened at the innkeeper's name.

Wishing to change the subject, Sebastien asked. "I don't suppose that you've heard from Hadvar lately?" Though Jarl Balgruuf was adamant that Whiterun remain neutral, a policy that Sebastian fully supported, the Breton still made it a priority to be as up to date on any developments in the war effort both out of personal interest and in case either Tullius or Ulfric decide to forgo pleasantries altogether.

The Nord shook his head. "We got a letter about a week ago, he's made it to Falkreath and will probably be reassigned to a new cohort soon. What Tullius plans to do about the dragons, I can't imagine." The blacksmith sighed. "Though I doubt we'll see any of it. Not unless the Jarl bends the knee."

"I don't think that's likely to happen anytime soon." Or perhaps, it might happen sooner than one would expect. The longer these dragons were around, the more appealing the Empire's resources would seem. All the more reason to keep moving for High Hrothgar. "It was good seeing you again, Alvor. May the Court bless you and yours."

"Aye, good to see you as well Sebastien. May the Gods watch over your battles."

Sebastien left the Nord to return to his work, and went back to simply wandering about the village. Just he reached the southern wall as he was considering returning to the Sleeping Giant and talking to Lydia, however, an angry voice called out to him from behind.

"You bastard!"

Sebastien lazily stepped out the way of the punch Sven tried to throw at him. The Nord clearly put too much power into the punch and not nearly enough control, as he lost his balance when his fist met only open air, allowing Sebastien to send a sharp kick to the back of the bard's knee that had Sven sprawled on the ground. "You know I'm not sure whether to find the fact that you only chose to try and attack me once Lydia was out of sight amusing or pathetic, though I assure you that I'm inclined to think of you to be both."

"You self-righteous knife-eared bastard," Sven growled at him from his place on the ground. "Camilla was as good as mine and you had to ruin it."

"On the contrary, Sven." Sebastien's voice was now fully devoid of humor and his eyes were cold and filled with contempt. "You did that all on your own by trying to make a fool of her." The Nord tried to kick at Sebastien, only to cry out in pain as the Breton's armored boot fell heavily on Sven's vulnerable knee. "All I did was show Camilla just how foolish you and Faendal both are."

"Breton mutt!"

Speaking of Faendal. Rather than just dodging, Sebastien outright grabbed the Bosmer by his forearm and threw him bodily against the stone wall. Despite his wiry appearance, Sebastien was quite strong and was able to outright life the far smaller elf off his feet entirely as he pinned Faendal to the wall by his throat. I grow tired of this idiocy. The thought came to Sebastien as the Breton felt his temper rise, finally snapping under the weight of his thoughts. "Listen and listen closely, for I have no intention of repeating myself." When he spoke, his voice was calm, eerily so and yet it betrayed the sheer vitriol and contempt the Breton had for the two beings before him, their very presence now an insult to Joor and Dov alike. To Joor for being unapologetic for the heartache they caused to a dear friend and to Dov, their crime was having the sheer temerity to try and attack him while his back was turned. "You are to leave me alone and you are to leave Camilla alone. She spoke of possibly forgiving you, and yet all you have done is prove that you are neither appreciative nor deserving of this second chance." The Bosmer made a sound of protest and Sebastien tightened his grip, causing Faendal to gasp on his words. "Am I understood?"

"Y-yes!" Faendal and Sven both rasped. Sebastien smiled coldly and released his grip on the Bosmer's throat. The wood elf collapsed to the ground gasping for air and rubbing his throat as Sebastien stepped off of Sven's knee.

"Glad you could see it my way." The Breton's tone was genial, but his eyes remained cold and bright with disdain. "Now get out of my sight." It was then that one of the Whiterun guards appeared. Hmm, I may want to consider giving them a talking to. Their response time needs work.

"What's going on? I- Thane Sebastien?" Sebastien could only imagine what a sight it must have been for this guard. Two men, a Nord and a Wood Elf on the ground and a Breton thane standing over them. The shock in the guard's voice made up for the expressionless helm that covered his face.

"Apologies, guardsmen, just a small disagreement that escalated a bit too quickly." Sebastien's casualness appeared to do little to help the guard's though process, but he carried on despite that. "I think it might be best if you escorted these two back to the mill. I'm sure Gerdur is quite curious as to where two of her lumberjacks have wandered off to."

"I… suppose so, er, yes, my thane." The Guard helped drag Sven and Faendal to their feet. "Come on you two, that's enough lollygagging. Get back to work." Both the Nord and the Bosmer allowed themselves to be taken back to Gerdur's mill, but not before both shot Sebastien a hate-filled glare. Sebastien returned it with an ugly smile that did not reach his eyes. A waste of space, both of them.

As soon as they were out of sight, Sebastien let out a huff, tension and simmering anger leaving him as his shoulders slumped. Close to the afternoon, now. He realized, now noticing the midday sun was on the march again. Time to head back to Lydia before the housecarl decided to look for him herself, like a schoolmarm searching for a truant child. With that mildly amusing image in his mind, Sebastien decided to return to the Sleeping Giant, a newly found resolve to tell his housecarl everything. Everything of himself, of the Mark, of how they were connected. All of it, though there was no doubt in him that doing so would bring him anything less than great misery. Lydia deserves the truth.

"My thane."

Sebastien froze. He was standing in front of the Riverwood Trader and instead of the Sleeping Giant, his housecarl was standing in the doorway of the small shop. He was just about to greet her when he saw the look on her face. Her brow was furrowed and her mouth thin, and her eyes were filled with equal parts concern and wariness. That alone gave Sebastien ample reason for pause, but what she said next, made his blood freeze and his heart to stop beating in his chest for a moment. "My thane, we need to talk."

"About the Mark."

Leaving her mead untouched, Lydia left the Sleeping Giant, her head weighed down by the things Delphine had said and about the Mark. The Mark of Atonement, she had called it. As much as Lydia wanted to believe that the innkeeper had been lying, she had no idea why Delphine would do so. What did the Breton get out of lying to her about the Mark? And what does she get if she was telling the truth? What made the problem worse was just how little Lydia really understood about both Breton culture and Sebastien himself. The former both Delphine and her thane might be able to explain to her, but she was in no mood to talk to either of them right now. The latter, on the other hand, who could she even talk to about Sebastien? She was probably the closest person to him in Skyrim, except maybe… The housecarl blinked as the thought came to her. There was one person she could talk to.

Pushing open the door to the Riverwood Trader, Lydia saw Camilla Valerius at work stocking shelves. The shop owner, Lucan, was presumably out if the empty counter was anything to go by. The young Cyrod woman turned to face her when she heard the door open, surprised. "Oh, Lydia. I wasn't expecting you. Did you need anything?"

"Not exactly." Lydia struggled to find the words she wanted to ask, but eventually they came to her. "C-can we talk, privately? About Sebastien."

Worry bloomed in the Cyrod's eyes. "Is some wrong?"

"No! Nothing's wrong." The housecarl was quick to assure her. At least, I hope nothing's wrong. Shor, why did this all have to be so difficult? "I just- I needed to talk with you about Sebastien and what you might know about him."

Camilla, confused, but still curious, offered Lydia a seat and a drink. The Nord took a seat by the fire across from the Cyrod, but declined her offer of a drink. Camilla took her place across from the housecarl and for a moment neither said anything. Camilla was quite out of politeness, but Lydia simply struggled to put thought into words. After a while, the gods were kind enough to show mercy on her by having Camilla break the silence.

"Lydia, what is this about exactly?" The question managed to cut through the mental block that kept hold of Lydia's tongue and the housecarl finally managed to speak.

"Miss Valeriu- Camilla" Lydia corrected herself halfway through. "You…you're my thane's friend, correct?"

"Well, I certainly like to think so." Camilla admitted as much. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's just, there's… aspects of Sebastien, about his culture, that I'm struggling to understand, and I wanted to see if you could help me with that." Lydia wasn't sure how much of what Delphine told her she should reveal to Camilla. Just how much of High Rock culture did the Cyrod know or how much did Sebastien tell her? Lydia was torn between her need for clarity and her duty to keep her thane's secrets. Which was made even harder when the Breton was clearly keeping secrets from her.

To the housecarl's frustration, Camilla was unfortunately not as knowledgeable as she might have hoped and said as much. "I'm sorry, but there's a lot about High Rock and Bretons I don't know about, Lydia." When the Cyrod saw just how much her answer dismayed the Nord, she added. "If this is about Sebastien, then shouldn't you try talking to him about it?"

It was a fair question and Lydia was aware of that. At the same time, she had no idea how to approach her thane on the subject of the Mark. Whenever it was even slightly referred to, the Breton would immediately try and change the subject and not relax until certain such thoughts had been dropped and forgotten. "I want to, Camilla, but I don't know how." There was another reason as well. The doubt that nagged at the back of Lydia's mind that Delphine may be right. That whatever the Mark was and what it represented, that possessing that knowledge might irrevocably change how she perceived her thane. That he might no longer want her as his housecarl, or that she would no longer want to serve him as her thane. "And… I think I'm afraid of what his answer will be."

Once again, Camilla proved invaluable to cutting through the housecarl's mental turmoil. "Did Sebastien ever tell you how he helped me?"

The question broke the Nord out of her spiral. Turning to the Cyrod, Lydia quietly admitted that he had not. "He said it was your business and that I shouldn't pry."

The corners of Camilla's mouth twitched slightly. "Did he? How sweet of him." The Cyrod sighed and frowned. "I had two suitors, Sven and Faendal. They were both determined to win my affection and often competed for my favor. I didn't mind at first, and even encouraged it a little. The attentions was… flattering." Camilla's gripped the fabric of her dress tightly and her mouth thinned. "And then, they each wrote a letter claiming to be from the other, hoping to deceive me into thinking the worst of both of them. Sebastien was tasked to deliver these letters to me, and he did, along with telling me who actually wrote them."

"They tried to lie to you like that?" Lydia asked, disgusted. "That's horrible."

Camilla hummed. "Even if it hurt at the moment, Sebastien told me the truth when it could have easily been more beneficial for him to carry on the lie." The Cyrod stared Lydia dead in the eye, and the housecarl felt her face heat up. Camilla was very pretty, she was realizing. "Lydia, I can't say that I know everything about Sebastien, but believe me when I say this. Even if he doesn't believe it, Sebastien is a good person. So please, for both of your sakes, whatever his answer will be, at least try and hear him out before you judge him."

The housecarl sighed. "I'll try." She gave the Cyrod a small smile. "Thank you, Camilla."

She bid Camilla goodbye not long after and made to leave the store. As soon as Lydia stepped outside the door, however, a familiar figure caught her eye. "My thane?" Sebastien Ciero was standing outside the door of the Riverwood Trader. At the sound of her voice, he turned to face her, emerald eyes wide with surprise. He started to greet her when her eyes fell on the Mark and she cut him off. "My thane, we need to talk."

"About the Mark."

As soon as the words left her lips, Sebastien froze, eyes wide witch surprise and slight panic. For one terrible second, Lydia was convinced he would try and distract her from the subject, or worse, outright order her to be silent. But he didn't. Instead, whatever potential argument that might have been building in him suddenly vanished. His shoulders slumped with equal parts wariness and acceptance. When he spoke, his voice was resigned, but not argumentative.

"I know, housecarl." He admitted, his gaze low. "I…I've been putting this off for too long." He lifted his head until his eyes met her, their light dim, but still present. "But not here. Follow me, it's a long story and not one for anyone's ears but yours, housecarl."

Her thane led her away from the center of the village to its outskirts beyond the northern wall. They sat on the side of the river, the soft noise of White filling the air. Her thane knelt down in the grass; hands folded on his lap. Lydia sat across from him, legs tucked beneath her. For a long while, her thane did not speak a word and they simply sat in contemplative silence. At last, he broke the quiet. "You have questions, Lydia. Ask, and I will answer the best I can."

In the face of total transparency between her and her thane, Lydia found herself once more struggling to put her thoughts into words. To his credit, Sebastien did not hurry her or try to distract her from the topic, he simply waited for her to find the wright words. And at last, the question came to her, simple, obvious, yet still dangerous. "My thane… Sebastien, what is the Mark?"

Sebastien sighed and held out his right hand, his palm open and facing upward. There, branded black into his flesh was the symbol of a rose's head. "It is called the Mark of Atonement. It's the symbol of the Chevaliers Pénitents – the Knights Penitent. An order of knights who have disgraced themselves in some way and are banished from their kingdoms for their transgressions. It marks them as criminals who seek to atone for their actions, either through valorous deeds… or a noble death."

Lydia stared at both her thane and the mark in shock, her mouth gaping and eyes wide. It was true then. Everything Delphine had said about her thane… was all true. Her next question was on her lips before she even had time to think about it, and yet the Breton had no doubt fully expected it.

"My thane… Sebastien, what did you do?"

The Knights Repentant are a pseudo-order of Knights who through some transgression, been branded as criminals and oathbreakers. They are branded with the Mark of Atonement and banished from their home kingdom, forced to wander Tamriel in search of atonement. Few who join this brotherhood ever see the Mark removed, with many simply abandoning their quests altogether and retiring as soldiers or commoners, or even embracing their newfound criminal status as brigands and sell-swords. Those who remain committed to the search of absolution, however, will find it a long-fought journey. This order has no keep or hall and no lord they swear fealty to, save for their personal gods and perhaps Raymond the Ebonarm, who is the first among their brotherhood. Noble Raymond, once squire to Trinichant the Martyr, was banished from Heaven for failing to avenge his lord after Trinichant was murdered and skinned by foul Boethiah and his once resplendent armor stained black with the ebon blood of Sheor. Few among this forsaken brotherhood have successfully managed to atone for their crimes, and fewer still have lived beyond this redemption. For to die in the name of another is the clearest path to forgiveness in the eyes of the Court.

AN: This is part one of what was originally intended to be one big chapter, but morphed into something significantly longer to the extent where I felt the need to go for two. It happens, and I assure you that part 2 will be coming soon. The rest of Sebastien's story will show up next chapter, you have my word (for what it's worth).

About magic. It may rub some people the wrong way, but I want to emphasize ritual magic despite it only vaguely being mentioned in the lore, and never really covered as a player mechanic. Much of the stuff that we see done with magic is clearly designed as long-term installation, and Sebastien is exactly the sort of person who would prefer the intricate elegance of a ritual to a sloppy casting should the opportunity to use the former arise.

One final thing, if you have anything to say, please leave a review. I like hearing from people, even if you don't think it is substantive, or I don't respond (I try to respond where I can, but it can still slip my mind on occasion), I have read it. I guarantee it means more to me than simply another pageview. Also, if something is bothering you about the story or you want to me I am a hack fraud, I promise you will never get an answer if you don't make your opinion known. Until next time, take care folks. - Bones