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Skyrim Spartan

Chapter Seventeen

Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω=o=o=o=o=Ω

When the dust settled, Rorik led Reldith and the small band of guardsmen to the site of the fallen watchtower where the survivors of the attack were gathered. There also, much to their surprise, they beheld the skeletal remains of the dragon interspersed with the rubble of the fallen tower.

Though even more surprising was the sight of the giant pale warrior who stood unharmed among the survivors.

The remaining guardsmen from the watchtower, along with Kratos, turned to face the newcomers as they approached and reined in their horses. Anske seemed troubled by something and did not raise her head to greet them, though Reldith at least breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her alive and well.

"You should be dead," Rorik said, furrowing his brow as he stared at Kratos.

"So I've been told." Kratos stood tall and still, with his arms crossed in front of him. Occasionally, his gaze drifted towards Anske, who stood staring at the ground in front of her feet not too far from him.

Rorik kept quiet for a moment, hoping that the great warrior would fill the silence with the explanation he was looking for. But none was forthcoming, and the silence stretched long enough for it to become slightly awkward. All the while, Kratos' stare never wavered, and it was Rorik who broke eye contact first.

"Well," he began slowly, gathering himself, "I'm glad that you're alive, Kratos. We have you to thank for dealing with the dragon." Rorik glanced towards the skeletal remains of the massive, mystical beast and slowly shook his head. "Yet another thing we owe you for. Though I'd still appreciate an explanation about what happened. Whenever you feel like giving one."

Rorik had seen the man plummet from the sky at a height that nobody could have possibly survived, but here Kratos was, alive and seemingly unscathed. As if he had not recently fiercely battled with an ancient dragon. As if falling from the heavens was nothing more serious than tripping over a rock on the road.

Kratos did not acknowledge his request for answers and instead changed the subject.

"How valuable are the bones and scales of a dragon in this world?"

"In this world…?" muttered Reldith from atop her steed beside Rorik, red eyes narrowing slightly at Kratos.

Rorik ignored the phrasing, thinking it nothing more than a peculiar manner of speech from a man clearly far from home. "Dragons are powerful magical beasts of legend. Any of their parts are incredibly valuable, and like any creature, some parts are more valuable than others. Bones and scales more valuable than most, I'd say. With this much of it, you wouldn't have to worry about money for a long time, if you were smart with it," Rorik glanced at the skeleton thoughtfully, not having considered the potential value of the thing beyond the fact that it was dead and was no longer a destructive, life-threatening threat to the land.

"I don't think the jarl would allow—" Maveri started to say, but the sergeant immediately swallowed the rest of her words as Kratos shifted his weighty gaze onto her.

Rorik raised an eyebrow at the sergeant even as the woman finally seemed to remember that Kratos was the one who had taken down the dragon and saved all of their lives. Even if there might have been something to say about it, who was going to argue against a giant warrior who practically single-handedly just fought and killed a dragon and lived to tell the tale?

The sergeant coughed and said something that sounded like "Nevermind," but she spoke so softly it was hard for anyone to tell for sure.

Kratos addressed Rorik once more. "Other than selling them, what else are these remains good for?"

"Obviously," Reldith responded with a hint of disdain and a touch of hostility before Rorik could even open his mouth to reply, "They can be crafted into weapons, armors, and tools of the highest quality. They can also be used in alchemy to craft powerful potions. But dragon bone and scale are incredibly difficult materials to work with. Only a master smith or artisan could even think to do it properly."

The high elf met Kratos' eyes without flinching as she appeared to be doing her best to bore into his mind with her eyes, as if she might find the answers she sought.

Rorik was not certain if he should be impressed or concerned that the elf could speak so boldly with Kratos. Then again, most Altmer did have a very high opinion of themselves and would probably be the least likely to be cowed before a warrior such as Kratos. Something that Rorik thought was not a good thing. For the Altmer, of course.

Kratos frowned. "Is there one such master smith or craftsman in this Whiterun City of yours?"

"There is," said Reldith with a nod as curt as her reply.

"Eorlund," Rorik added when it became clear that the elf wasn't going to explain further. Was she purposefully trying to infuriate Kratos? Not that the warrior seemed to care either way for her attitude. Not outwardly, at least. "His name is Eorlund Grey-Mane. A well-renowned blacksmith of exceptional skill. He is the only smith who works the legendary Skyforge, a forge said to precede the arrival of our ancestors. Its flames are also said to be hot enough to work any material in the world. If anyone was up to the task, it would be him. Though his services don't come cheap."

Kratos gave a nod and a grunt of thanks before he walked away from the group and closer to the dragon's skeleton. He seemed to be sizing it up, as if he was already deciding which pieces to take. He reached out to rub the bones and scales, testing their strength for himself as he grasped them in his hands, his fingers running along the surface of the bones.

"We might need to wait for tools strong enough to cut or break the bones apart before we can—" Rorik started to say, but swiftly shut his mouth when Kratos simply snapped off one of the largest ribs from the skeleton with his hands. A minor grunt was the only indication that it had taken any effort from him.

I should have expected that, Rorik thought with a mental sigh.

"How did the dragon end up a skeleton so suddenly?" asked Reldith, looking to Anske and Maveri for an answer.

The sergeant wordlessly gestured towards Anske, who was doing her best not to look anyone in the eye and seemed to draw in on herself when the attention of the group quickly focused on her.

"Anske?" Rorik said, unsure of how the girl could have done such a thing.

"It just happened!" the girl said defensively, body stiffening.

"What happened, child? Another bout of accidental magic?" Reldith asked gently, her demeanor softening slightly. The elf genuinely seemed concerned for the girl and recognized immediately how sensitive the girl was about the subject.

Rorik was not well-versed in magic, but even he knew simple accidental magic should not be able to cause such a drastic effect on the corpse of a powerful magical beast.

Despite the care with which the elf asked her questions, Anske seemed to get agitated and shook her head fiercely. "I didn't ask for this!" she snapped. She promptly turned and moved towards where Kratos was piling up pieces of the dragon's skeleton to take with him. Her head was low, her hands balled into fists at her sides as she stalked off.

Reldith made no move to stop her as everyone watched the young woman join Kratos by the dragon's remains. The large warrior barely seemed to acknowledge her presence at his side, but Anske did not appear to mind.

"Sergeant?" Reldith said after a moment, her lips curled into a definitive frown.

Maveri let out a sigh and shrugged. "The girl is… well, she is dovahkiin."

Rorik, who had still been staring at Anske, snapped his head around so fast he could have sworn he heard his neck crack. "What did you say?"

"The girl is dovahkiin," Maveri repeated as if that would explain everything. "She… absorbed the dragon's essence, and when she did… its flesh disappeared, burned by flames of white-gold. Bright flames. Now all that's left are these bones." She shook her head slowly.

"Surely you jest?" Reldith said seriously.

"We all saw it with our own eyes," the sergeant said without any hesitation, gesturing to the other guards arrayed behind her. "There is no doubt she is dovahkiin. She even used the power of the thu'um in front of us! I could not believe it myself, and maybe still can't quite… but it happened. I saw it with my own two eyes. As clear as I can see you now. There is no denying that she is dovahkiin. We all saw it."

The other guardsmen around her added their own voices to support their sergeant's account of what happened. Some of them stared at Anske with what looked like reverence and awe.

Rorik and Reldith looked at each other with even more stunned expressions than before. Both of them were thinking the same thing: it would have been laughable for anyone to think that the appearance of a dragon after centuries without any sightings of them would be the least surprising thing that happened today. And yet, here they were, standing before the corpse of said dragon and in the presence of a seemingly invincible half-giant warrior and the first dragonborn in Skyrim since Talos himself.

To think that it would be Anske of all people.

"Dovahkiin," Rorik said softly as all eyes turned to look once more at the slim figure of a young girl whose future now seemed destined for either greatness or tragedy. Or maybe even both.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Ralof hunched over, gasping for breath. His lungs burned. His eyes watered. His muscles painfully shivered—not from the cold, but from sheer exhaustion. He struggled to raise his head enough to look at the lone person ahead of him, making his way through the snow-covered forest without so much as a glance back at the others. Seemingly tireless. Each step purposeful, as if he knew exactly where he needed to be and urgently needed to be there.

Behind and around Ralof were the remaining survivors of the men that had accompanied Ulfric on his secret trip to Cyrodiil. In between then and now, they had faced a blizzard worse than any they had seen in a long time, a terrible avalanche, a cunning Imperial ambush, and oh, a massive fucking dragon.

Yet somehow, they were still alive. Thank Talos for that. Surely, it was the divine's protection that had spared them.

A few of the other men were also hunched over. Some of them were limping along. Another had actually fallen face-first into the snow and Ralof wondered if he had simply died right then and there. Thankfully, the man eventually moved a fraction. Just enough for Ralof to notice and feel some relief that one of his surviving brothers-in-arms was still alive.

Still, this was not going to end well if they kept at it like this. They needed to stop and rest. Immediately. No one else appeared to have the strength, or the will, to speak up. So, it fell to Ralof to beseech his jarl.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof called out, coughing as he did so. His throat felt scratchy and dry. They had no provisions, and the only way to quench his thirst was to chew snow and melt it in his mouth.

Ulfric, who was getting ever farther away, did not seem to hear him at first. So, he called out to him again.

"Jarl Ulfric!"

Finally, the bear of a man stopped his relentless forward progress and turned around. His face was hard, brows knitted together with what looked like anger. Or was it worry?

"What is it, Ralof?" said Ulfric, sounding none too pleased.

"My jarl, forgive me, but we must take a break to rest." Ralof said with a pained expression. "We cannot go on like this. The men… we are exhausted, my lord. We will die if we keep pushing forward."

Ulfric's expression darkened for a moment as he glared at them all, looking to be on the verge of berating them. But when one of the men stumbled and fell, and did not get up, Ulfric wisely held his tongue. Instead, he frowned and gave a single nod of his head.

"Very well. We will rest for a while," declared Ulfric, his gaze turning northward to where the colossal mountain known as the Throat of the World loomed, "But we begin again after midday. Any who cannot muster the strength will be left behind. No exceptions. We cannot—I will not—let this opportunity slip by. An opportunity granted by the divines, by Talos himself!"

Ralof did not understand. "What opportunity is that, lord?"

A fire burned in Ulfric's eyes then. A gleam of excitement, or perhaps madness. And a grim smile spread across the jarl's hardened visage.

"To finally take the fight to the Empire."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Smoke hung heavily in the air, with dark columns rising high into the sky. The smell of ash and burnt flesh was strong, as was the iron tang of blood in the air. It was the smell of a battlefield. A smell that was all too familiar for Tullius.

The general did his best to keep his expression calm and emotionless as he surveyed the devastation that had been left behind in the dragon's wake.

Helgen was reduced almost entirely to ash and rubble. Surprisingly, a few structures in the town remained mostly intact, standing in stark contrast to the ruined surroundings that they now inhabited. Most of the buildings, however, were either completely destroyed, or partially damaged.

Among the partially damaged structures was the town's keep. Parts of the keep had collapsed, while others seemed on the verge of collapsing. Only the section housing the main entrance hall appeared almost entirely unscathed.

Bodies numbering in the dozens could be seen from where he was standing. Many of them blackened and charred. He did not want to know the death toll. Even though they would need to count the dead for the official records. A grim task, but one that needed doing. There had been a lot of that in the past few decades.

"General?" Legate Avidado stood nearby, watching him with concern. They had emerged from the keep for the first time since the earth stopped shaking, when the sounds of death and destruction seemed to have finally ceased.

Acting quickly as the dragon attack was unfolding, Tullius and Avidado had organized the legionnaires to save as many of the citizens of Helgen as they could. It was Tullius who thought to use the cave system deep beneath the town, accessible through the dungeons of the castle keep, to shelter and protect as many as they could from the dragon.

They managed to save a few hundred, by Tullius' rough estimate, but it was a small fraction of the number that had lived in the town. Thousands had died. And a good number of Imperial soldiers had perished too.

If there was one thing Tullius felt good about out of this whole fiasco, it was that the vast majority of the legionnaires did not shirk from their duty. Even against a dragon of such tremendous power and immense size, straight from the legends of old, the Legion sprang into action and fought to protect the people as best as they could. Only a handful had gone running for the hills, and Tullius had to wonder if some of those were actually Stormcloak spies trying to escape Helgen amidst the chaos.

"How many of our men do we have left?" Tullius asked hesitantly.

Some distance away, out of earshot, were a few veteran legionnaires who were keeping an eye on the two senior officers. If any enemies were to appear, they would spring to the officers' defense. Though that seemed unlikely at the moment, for only the cold wind stirred between the columns of gray and black smoke.

Avidado glanced at the soldiers, before returning his full attention to his general.

"As of my last count, almost two whole centuries, sir."

Tullius shook his head slowly, jaw tightening. "So, we lost almost an entire cohort."

At least 400 legionnaires dead in a single battle against one beast. Of the 600 or so men garrisoned in and around the fortress town of Helgen, they now only had a little less than 200 remaining. That was not good news.

"It could have been worse, sir."

"I know that better than most, legate. Things can always be worse. But that doesn't make the deaths any easier to stomach."

Avidado lowered his head. "Of course, general. My apologies."

Tullius sighed. "And the civilians?"

"By our last count, we were able to save approximately eight hundred of them, general."

An even more grim revelation. Helgen was the largest town in the area, with about four-and-a-half thousand inhabitants according to the latest census records. He only hoped some of those who had not been able to get to the safety of the underground caves managed to escape the carnage somehow—though he did not like their odds of surviving in the wilderness, especially with all this snow on the ground.

"Bring one of the centuries up here. With your best centurion. We need to begin sorting this mess," Tullius said.

"As you command, general," replied the legate with a salute before he hurried back into the keep.

"And find me some horses!" Tullius yelled to the legate just before he disappeared out of sight.

There was much to think about, and even more to do. But Tullius, sweeping his gaze around the ruined front courtyard of the keep, could not stop thinking about one question: after all this time, why did a dragon suddenly appear in Helgen?

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

The City of Whiterun was built on a hill that rose up high in the middle of the plain, with thick stone walls, old and weathered, along its perimeter for security. Beyond those walls and surrounding the city on all sides were dozens of farms with cultivation fields that stretched for miles, producing enough food to sustain the city and to trade elsewhere in Skyrim and beyond.

The hill itself was the tallest hill Kratos had seen on the plains by far. Atop the hill stood a massive structure of wood and stone that he was told was called Dragonsreach, the castle from where Jarl Balgruuf the Greater ruled over the entire Hold. It was certainly the most impressive structure Kratos had seen in this world thus far, though it paled in comparison to the grand structures built by the Greeks.

To Kratos, this city was no more than a walled village in his eyes. A mere fraction of the size of the great cities of Greece. But it was certainly many times larger than Rorikstead, and for that at least he could understand why this was considered a city in this land. Besides, those Greek cities no longer existed. A wave of guilt washed over him then, and he shook his head to clear his thoughts of such dark clouds.

The group approached the city from the west, passing many of the outlying farms that were still mostly inundated by the heavy snows. Hundreds of workers were out in the fields, clearing the snow out in an attempt to save the remaining crops. Many of those who were close enough to the road to see the new arrivals gawked when they caught sight of Kratos, who led two horses upon which were laden the bones he had selected from the remains of the dragon.

Ahead of him were Rorik and Anske, though the latter had kept silent since their departure from the Western Watchtower. Behind him were several guardsmen, all of whom had injuries of some degree. Those who were healthy and whole remained behind with Sergeant Maveri and Reldith, who had insisted that they guard the remains of the dragon.

A small village of sorts had sprouted up beyond the gates of Whiterun. There were stables and houses, small taverns, shops, and more. The clanging of metal signaled the presence of a blacksmith somewhere. There was even a section of land covered in tents, and Kratos saw there were mostly cat people there. The Khajiit.

Everyone who caught sight of him, his giant sword, and his cargo stopped and stared. Some pointed fingers. Many whispered amongst themselves, some excitedly, others warily. Children gasped in awe, eyes going wide at seeing a man larger than any they had ever seen before. A small crowd began to gather around the group, following them as they stepped ever closer to the tall gates of the city.

Eventually, the road began to rise up from the valley floor as they neared the city gate, and Kratos was able to look over the tops of the wooden structures in front of the city and saw a large group of tents arrayed not too far from the northwestern wall of the city. A military camp from the look of it. Easily a thousand soldiers.

Then the group came upon an outer gate that was kept open, though soldiers in the livery of Whiterun kept vigil around it. They eyed Kratos warily, though the sight of their comrades in formation behind him were enough to ease most of their suspicions.

Two people in armor stood in the middle of the gate and appeared to be waiting for them along with a contingent of heavily armored guardsmen. Kratos recognized the man standing behind the other. It was the lieutenant sent along by the captain they had met on the road days ago to guide them the rest of the way to Whiterun.

In front of the lieutenant was a dark-skinned woman with glowing red eyes and a pale bluish-green complexion that looked almost gray. Her ears were long and pointed, similar to Reldith's, which Kratos took to mean she must have been some kind of elf. Her expression seemed permanently fixed into a scowl, and she looked like someone who had a very short temper. Strapped to her left waist was a fine sword that Kratos had no doubt the elf knew how to use well.

"Sir Rorik of Rorikstead," she greeted the man in a commanding voice, loud enough to be heard by all. "We are glad to see your safe arrival to Whiterun City. After your people arrived ahead of you and we were informed of what had happened, we feared the worst…"

Rorik inclined his head in greeting from atop his horse. "Captain Irileth. It is good to see you are well. You speak of my people, but I do not see any of them among you."

"They are being given the utmost care by order of the jarl. You need not worry for them any longer."

"Thank you. I am glad to hear it." Rorik adjusted himself on his saddle. "I presume you are to take us to the jarl directly? I have much to discuss with him."

Irileth's gaze settled on Kratos before she nodded slowly. "I am. But first. Lieutenant," she said as the man next to her stepped forward, "Bring these men to get their injuries looked at. And have them report on what happened."

"Yes, ma'am." The lieutenant saluted bowed his head to her, and then to Rorik and company, before trotting off behind them to deal with the soldiers as instructed.

Irileth watched him go for a moment, then started to walk.

"Come, the jarl is expecting you. And he has a great many questions to ask. We all do." Before she could take more than a few steps, Anske spoke for the first time since they left the watchtower.

"Do I… have to come along?" Anske asked timidly.

Irileth finally spared the girl a more scrutinizing glance, then looked to Rorik for an answer. She clearly did not know who Anske was, nor what importance she might have.

Rorik thought for a moment, then sighed. With a nod, he said, "Yes, Anske. I think you should be there. It would be best if we are all there." He looked back towards Kratos, who gave the man the barest nod of agreement.

Kratos could not say that he was looking forward to meeting this Jarl Balgruuf. But the ruler of this land would wish to speak with him eventually, so it was better to get all this over with as soon as possible so that he could be on his way.

They proceeded further up the road, which wound around itself and skirted the walls—archers eyed them from the ramparts above as they moved—before finally coming to the main gate of the city. This appeared to be the only way in and out of the city, other than climbing over the outer walls of course, making it easily defensible.

More guards were stationed there, though it was surprisingly devoid of other people. It seemed the guards had already cleared the way and were holding back the masses and stopping traffic to make it easier for them to pass.

When Rorik and Anske were about to walk through the gate ahead of Kratos, the ground suddenly trembled and the wind gusted violently as a booming collection of voices thundered from the direction of the gigantic mountain looming over the city, The Throat of the World.

"DO-VAH-KIIN!"

Cries of fear and surprise rang through the air. Some of the soldiers drew their weapons, heads turning as they searched for any potential threats. Many of the people who had been following behind them suddenly fled for the safety of their homes.

Irileth stormed towards them, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Her expression was even fiercer than before, though this time full of suspicion.

"What is the meaning of this?" she said in a harsh whisper. Her glare was mainly focused on Rorik, but she was not afraid to stare down Kratos too. Anske was largely ignored by her, though Kratos noticed how white the girl's knuckles were as she gripped the reins of her horse tightly.

Rorik looked up towards The Throat of the World, its upper half obscured by thick clouds that clung to its sides. His expression was guarded, but his eyes shone with worry.

"It would be better to talk about this matter directly with the jarl," he said, staring right back at the elf.

Irileth narrowed her eyes at him, then at Kratos, before turning back to Rorik. "Then let us move quickly."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

There were three levels to the city, each of increasing height going up the hillside. Each level was separated from the others by inner walls and gates, creating three different districts.

The lowest level, called the Plains District because it was closest to the floor of the plain, constituted the largest part of the city. It consisted of the great market, many shops and workshops, and most of the houses and inns for the commonfolk. The main city guard barracks could also be found here.

The next level up was the Wind District, which consisted of several noble estates, a handful of higher end shops, a temple with a giant ancient tree in front of it, and a massive, overturned ship turned into a mead hall named Jorrvaskr, among other prominent buildings.

Lastly, at the highest level, known as the Cloud District, there was only one major structure: Dragonsreach. Tall, imposing, and grand compared to most other structures in the city, it certainly drew the eye as it kept vigil over the city.

All of this was explained to Kratos by Rorik, who had kept pace with him so as to be within conversational distance. Anske fell back with them too, but remained quiet as they journeyed through the city, escorted by Irileth and the Whiterun Guard who cleared the way ahead.

The streets were mostly devoid of snow, impressively enough. There had clearly been a concerted effort to clear the snow from the main passageways through the city. Some alleyways and side streets still had some snow here and there, with some large snowbanks visible to the sides of the streets, but otherwise the only other snow to be seen was on the ledges and rooftops of the buildings.

Plenty of people gawked at their odd procession through the city, but none of them paid any meaningful attention to the onlookers as they passed them by. No doubt their arrival would be the talk of the town, especially after that unexpected incident when they were at the main gate.

More than once, Kratos found himself stealing glances at the enormous mountain looming nearby as they traversed the city, feeling uneasy with how much it reminded him of Olympus. With those powerful thundering voices from the heavens, he could not help but wonder if perhaps there were some gods up there after all. His fists clenched unconsciously at the thought.

"Earlier, that thundering sound. Was that… the Greybeards?" he found himself asking Rorik.

The man glanced over at Anske before he nodded. "Yes, I believe that was them. It seems they are aware of the..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "dovahkiin."

From what Kratos could remember from his conversation with Jouane about them, they were powerful beings who could wield a power called The Voice. This power could be learnt, but someone could be born with it. Those born with the power were called dovahkiin—and apparently Anske was one.

"What do they want with her?"

Rorik shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps they wish for her to join their Order. Or perhaps they merely wish to train her and impart some teachings. Maybe all they want is to see a living, breathing dovhakiin with their own eyes. They are an Order dedicated to the power that comes naturally to a dovahkiin, after all. It would be normal for them to be curious. Excited, even. I mean, they practically announced to the whole world that there was a dovahkiin. So much for keeping it a secret."

With a frown, Kratos looked at Anske from the corner of his eye. True enough, with the word now out there that there was a dovahkiin walking around, there would be all sorts of parties interested in finding said dovahkiin. And there were likely to be some who had nefarious plans in mind.

From the northernmost point of the Wind District, after passing around the enormous—but strangely partially dead—tree that was apparently called 'The Gildergreen,' the group came to a halt in a staging area of sorts that was at the bottom of a wide flight of stone stairs leading up towards the heavy gates that protected the Cloud District. To either side of the stairs were waterfalls that fed steady streams of water into a pool over which the stairs had been built.

From the pool, the waters flowed through aqueducts that filtered towards the Gildergreen and then went on throughout the city. There was a certain peaceful quality to the sound of rushing water in the air. And looking closer at the water, Kratos saw that it was crystal clear and fresh.

Off to the right of the Gildergreen, across a small plaza, stood a tall stone statue of an imposing figure clad in armor wielding a sword that was pointed downward towards what appeared to be some large serpent. Kratos noted a man in robes kneeling down in front of the statue all by himself. He looked to be in prayer.

"You must leave your horses here. We will walk the rest of the way," Irileth said, drawing his attention away from the praying man. The elf indicated a few guardsmen off to the side who were stationed by some covered hitching posts. There were a few bales of hay nearby as well as some other horses, indicating that this was actually some sort of stable.

Kratos stared down one of the guards who had approached to take the reins of the horses he had been leading, and the man hesitantly took a step back, face conflicted beneath his helm.

"These bones are valuable to me," Kratos said, gaze firmly fixed to the guard.

"Sir, I…" the guard started to say.

"They will be there when you return," assured Irileth from where she stood with some annoyance, as if he should not have dared to question the integrity of the guards.

"I swear… I swear upon my life and my honor that your property will be here, untouched, waiting for your return, great warrior." The guard bowed his head, unable to look Kratos in the eye.

"Hmph. Make sure that it does." Kratos offered him the reins finally, and the guard visibly relaxed. He grabbed a sack from one of the mounts before walking over to where Irileth waited for them.

Rorik and Anske dismounted and handed their horses over as well.

Irileth finished speaking quietly with one of the guards, who then sprinted up the steps and disappeared through the gates above. Presumably, the guard was going to notify the jarl of their imminent arrival.

The elf then beckoned to Kratos and company, though not before shooting Kratos a dirty look. "Follow me."

The stone stairs zig-zagged once on the way to the top. Anyone trying to climb them would be in full view of any archers and mages manning the walls. Sure enough, Kratos counted no less than a dozen soldiers on the walls above keeping a close eye on them.

Storming this place would be costly for most any force, Kratos had to admit. Even his Spartans would encounter losses, though this place would surely fall.

Stepping through the large gate, Kratos also had to admit that Dragonsreach looked much better from up close. From the gate, a paved path led to a decorative bridge that crossed a pool of clear spring water. The entrance of the bridge kind of looked like the tip of the maw of an actual dragon—and the bridge itself looked like it was designed to imitate the jaws of one.

Around them, where there was soil, plants grew, and flowers bloomed. There were no manicured gardens here, but someone clearly tended to the plants that were present to make the scenery look nice.

"There are a lot more guards around than I remember," Rorik noted quietly as they started crossing the bridge.

Kratos had noticed the heavy security as well, though this being his first time here, he thought it was simply normal.

"These are dangerous times," Irileth said from ahead of them.

The elf has keen ears, Kratos noted.

Rorik sighed. "Dangerous indeed."

The main doors were opened for them as they approached under the watchful eye of the guards. Inside, the entrance hall was a semi-open space with a high ceiling propped up by rows of thick wooden columns to either side of the main path. The pale wooden columns were sanded down and smoothed so much that they almost resembled the bones of a massive creature—like a dragon.

Irileth led the way, not bothering to check if the others were following her as she strode forward with purpose. The guards escorting them peeled off as they approached a set of stairs that led to what could only be the main hall. With an even higher ceiling and a vast, open space, it was certainly a hall worthy of someone of importance from its size alone.

A great stone firepit anchored the center of the hall, where a warm blaze burned bright and the smell of burnt wood and fire filled the lightly smoky air. To either side of it were two long dining tables with a dozen seats to each table. Whiterun banners hung from the columns of wood that rose up and curved to form arches high overhead, and from the rafters hung round metal chandeliers.

At the far end of the hall, on a raised platform, was a throne of exquisitely crafted wood flanked to either side by large twenty-foot-tall Whiterun banners. Two giant braziers occupied the sides of the platform, and two smaller braziers were placed closer to either side of the throne.

Above the throne, looking down menacingly over everyone in the hall, was the unmistakable giant skull of a dragon. Its jaw was open, as if it were roaring angrily. Kratos wondered how long the skull had been there, and how the dragon had been slain.

On the throne itself sat a bearded man with long hair whose relaxed posture indicated both power and comfort. This was the ruler of these lands. A man known as Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. And he was not alone.

Other than the guards in the hall, there were several people in attendance, and Kratos quickly took stock of them all as their group steadily approached the throne.

Standing to the right of the jarl were two people, a man in fine clothes that indicated he was some noble or high-ranking official, and another man in plainer but no less nicer robes that screamed mage. And to the jarl's left was a muscled warrior who had a similar face to the jarl—a relative, most likely.

At the foot of the steps leading up to the raised platform were several people in fine clothing and adorned with various jewelry that marked their wealth. There were at least ten gathered, and they whispered amongst themselves as the group approached.

Lastly, there were three people seated together at one of the dining tables—all three appeared to be warriors from their dress and the fact that they were armed. Two men and a woman. The woman had war paint on her face: three diagonal lines of blue paint. While the men had dark paint around their eyes that made them look mean and menacing.

Most everyone's attention was focused on the towering figure of Kratos who followed behind the rest of the arriving party. His imposing bulk was something to behold, and everyone who saw him for the first time could not help but stare. The plethora of battle scars. The crimson tattoo against his ash pale skin. The hard, dangerous look in his eye. As far as first impressions went, his appearance was the most striking, and the most memorable.

Irileth paused at the foot of the steps up to the throne and bowed her head, reaching her fist up to her breast in a salute.

"My Jarl, as instructed, I have brought before you Rorik of Rorikstead and his companions."

Jarl Balgruuf, who had been watching their arrival along with the rest of the people in the hall, finally moved from his relaxed position. Sitting up straight and then leaning slightly forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his throne, he gave a nod of approval.

"Thank you, Irileth. You may take your usual place."

The elf raised her head and ascended the steps, taking a position closer to the throne and next to the other warrior. From there, her piercing gaze stayed on the three people who remained standing in the middle of the hall.

Rorik stood a step ahead of the other two, with Anske to his right and Kratos to his left.

"Jarl Balgruuf." Rorik greeted the jarl, stepping forward and then bowing his head. He even leaned slightly at the waist. Anske already had her head bowed from the moment they came in but emphasized it further by following Rorik's lead and bowing slightly at the waist as well.

Kratos, however, stood completely straight and made no move to follow suit. He looked straight at the jarl, though notably without any emotion, good or ill.

Gasps echoed through the hall, followed by whispers. Even the jarl's advisors were shocked, and there were more than several angry looks from people.

"You!" Irileth yelled, incensed. She pointed a threatening finger at Kratos. "You disrespected the honor of our guards outside earlier, but I let it pass since you seem to clearly be a foreigner to these lands. But now, you dare show disrespect to the jarl? In his own hall?"

The warrior beside her dropped his hand to an axe that hung at his waist. "Bow your head, stranger. Everyone pays respect to the jarl in his hall. No matter how mighty you think you are."

"That's right! Were you taught no manners where you come from?" cried the old advisor to the jarl's right. Others joined in with their protests at his behavior, until half the hall was in an uproar.

Unmoved by the hostility in the air, Kratos slowly crossed his arms and remained standing upright.

"I bow to no one."

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AN: Happy New Year! The most difficult part of writing this so far has been deciding how exactly I want to progress the story in terms of questlines and such. I have specific things/plots I want to get to and accomplish, of course, but the sheer number of paths that could be taken to get there makes it challenging for me to decide which is "best" in terms of story/character progression and entertainment value. Thanks for continuing to read. More exciting chapters to come, I promise.