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Skyrim Spartan

Chapter Twenty-One

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

Kratos stepped out into the back alley behind the Temple of Kynareth, and almost as soon as he did so, something small ran into him at speed, bouncing off of his lower leg as it did so. The sound of something wooden clattering against stone echoed down the alley.

"Oww!" cried a surprised voice tinged with pain.

A glance down revealed a small child, perhaps no more than twelve winters old and no younger than eight. A girl. She had fallen backwards onto her butt after running into him. In the relative dimness of the narrow alley, her dark brown hair looked almost black. Her skin was the color of olives, meaning she was no Nord. He had seen a few people of similar complexion, but not many.

Next to her on the ground lay a short wooden stick carved into a crude approximation of a sword. She had dropped it after running into him.

"Watch where you're going you big lumbering oaf!" yelled the girl. She was still clearly in pain. Her hands rubbed her forehead carefully, and Kratos could see it was red from where she had run into him. Headfirst, apparently.

Kratos had not interacted much with children in this new land, but the few that he had crossed paths with had been peculiar to say the least. And rude. He wondered if all children here were like that.

Lydia moved to his side and frowned as she stared at the young girl, recognizing her.

"Braith," Lydia said the girl's name with some frustration. "What trouble are you getting into now?"

The girl peeked through her fingers as she continued to lightly rub her forehead, wincing every now and again as she did so.

"Oh. It's you," said Braith. Then she let out an indignant huff. "I'm not getting into any trouble. We were only playing around. Until this big dumbhead decided to get in my way! Gah! I can already feel it bruising…"

"Braith! Watch your tongue!" Lydia admonished her, looking at once angry and mortified as she glanced between the girl and Kratos. "Master Kratos, my apologies. This girl can be… troublesome, but she is only a child."

The girl opened her mouth, her face twisting angrily as if she were about to retort, but then she blinked as if realizing something, and her expression changed to one of confusion. "Wait… Kratos?" Braith repeated the name. "I've never heard that name before. And I've heard many names in this city."

"That's because he's only recently arrived here, Braith. And just so you know… master Kratos is now the newest Thane of Whiterun Hold," Lydia explained pointedly.

At this revelation, Braith finally lowered her hands and looked up, giving Kratos her full attention. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the full sight of him.

Since he was standing up to his full height, and she was still sitting on the ground, he looked absolutely gigantic to her. For a brief moment, there was a flicker of fear in her eyes, and her mouth briefly opened in surprise, but then her face twisted into this imperious expression. One that she seemed to have had a lot of practice in using.

"You're a Thane, huh? So, what? Just because you're bigger than me and you're an adult doesn't mean I'm scared of you!" At this last part, her hand reached out to grasp the nearby wooden toy sword and she pointed it at him in what she probably thought was a menacing gesture.

The girl was either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish. Kratos could see that she had a warrior's spirit within her, or at least the sparks of one. As they stared at each other, Kratos saw that beneath all the bluster was a scared little girl trying to make sense of the world. She somewhat reminded him of Anske in that way.

Braith frowned and looked away, unable to hold his intense gaze for too long. Though the fact that she was able to maintain his gaze for several seconds was somewhat impressive.

"I'm not scared of you," she repeated, her tone still aggressive but noticeably less than earlier. She sounded like she was trying to remind herself of that rather than something she was telling others.

A young boy with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair suddenly appeared from behind Kratos and Lydia. He was out of breath, having clearly been running, and gave Kratos as wide a berth as he could manage while he maneuvered around him and ended up next to Braith.

The boy's pale rounded cheeks were wet with freshly shed tears. He looked slightly younger than the girl. A wooden sword — nearly identical to the one Braith had – was being held tightly in his right hand, while the other hand grabbed nervously at his sword arm.

"B-Braith. What's going on? Are you okay?" the boy asked timidly, looking torn between worrying over his friend and running away. He kept stealing glances up at Kratos, as if worried the massive warrior might snatch him up and eat him.

Braith glared at the boy. "Shut up, Lars! Why'd you come back here? I don't need a crybaby like you to look after me."

The boy flinched at her harsh words, his shoulders drooping downward almost imperceptibly.

"But… I thought you were in trouble… and you look like you're about to cry…"

"What?! I'm not crying! You're crying!" Braith scowled at him. "Ugh. Don't make me hit you with the sword again!"

Lars cringed, taking a small step away from Braith.

"Lars Battle-born," Lydia called out to the boy, who flinched again. He looked up at her in surprise, apparently only then noticing that she was there. Not surprising, given that Kratos easily drew and dominated anyone's attention when they were near him. Especially when seeing him for the first time.

"Guardsman Lydia!" The boy named Lars, his face red and wet, looked at her with renewed worry. "We weren't doing anything bad this time! I promise. We've been good. We were only playing around and—"

"Relax, Lars," Lydia raised a hand to calm the boy, who seemed to be on the verge of tears again. "You're not in trouble. I'm no longer a member of the Guard. I'm now a Housecarl sworn to the service of Thane Kratos."

The sniffling boy took a moment to process that, then he slowly looked at Kratos with wide eyes. "Thane…?" he said, his voice suddenly small.

"Pfft. You really are coward…" Braith muttered as she glared at Lars.

Kratos let out a long breath. Only a few minutes had passed since he stepped out of the temple, but he had seen enough. He had no desire to deal with these children. He turned around and began to walk towards the main road without a word.

"Master Kratos. Master Kratos!" Lydia called out as she rushed to follow after him. It sounded like she wanted to say something and was waiting for him to acknowledge her. But Kratos kept walking.

When it was clear that he was not going to stop, Lydia decided to speak up as she continued to follow him.

"If you would allow it, master, I would like to take care of these children. I will not take long. Lars Battle-born is the youngest of the Battle-born clan, and the only child of the family as far as I'm aware. The Battle-borns are one of the most powerful clans in Whiterun. I believe it would benefit you greatly to get on their good side and have their support in the future."

Kratos had heard of that name before. Battle-born. He also vaguely recalled someone—probably Rorik—pointing them out to him at the feast. For a brief moment, he wondered how skilled the warriors of this so-called 'Battle-born' clan really were to call themselves that. Then he cast that thought aside. It was not important. He had no interest in currying favor or playing politics with the powers of this world.

"Master Kratos?" Lydia asked as they were about to exit the alley and onto a side street.

It was clear that she really wanted to do this, and that part of the reason was for his benefit. Kratos did not care one way or the other. He turned his head enough to glimpse her from the corner of his eye and gave her a nod and a grunt to signify his approval of her request.

Lydia stopped following him and bowed her head even as he continued to walk away.

"Thank you, master. I will find you as quickly as I can once I'm finished with this task."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Kratos stared across the snow-covered landscape as he ignored the cold wind that blew in from the north. After leaving the alley, he had made his way straight back to Dragonsreach. Thankfully nobody tried to speak to him on his way there even though the streets were busier now. People kept their distance and only stared at him as he walked by. Anyone else might find all the attention unnerving, but he merely thought it to be a nuisance.

Eventually, he found himself once more on the grand balcony at the rear of the keep after deciding that he did not want to return to his quarters. He wanted to be alone for a while, but he did not want to stay cooped up in the dark, windowless room that had been provided for him.

The balcony was so large that Kratos wondered if perhaps the builders had simply stopped construction on a grand hall halfway through, leaving the great space open to the harsh elements of Skyrim. He could think of no logical reason to create such a massive space like this other than because they wanted to.

Besides the occasional guard patrol or servant, nobody else seemed to come out to this place. And even those few who did barely stayed for long. There were several tables and chairs arrayed around the balcony, with one long table clearly made for dining, but Kratos suspected that nobody had dined out there in a long time.

Of course, he had not been in Dragonsreach long enough to know for sure if the jarl or anyone else in the keep actually used this space or not. But so far, there was little evidence to suggest that anyone did.

For now, it suited his purposes and allowed him to be alone with little chance of being bothered by anyone.

He did not know how long he had been standing there lost in his thoughts until Lydia finally found her way back to him. He estimated that it was no more than an hour or perhaps an hour and a half at most since they parted in the alley.

He did not acknowledge her arrival, nor did she seek his attention as she kept quiet and did not disturb him. He could sense her though, standing off the side and waiting patiently on him.

Kratos continued to stare out across the vast snow-covered plain and towards the many mountains far in the distance. As he was about to finally stir, his whole body leaned forward, arms resting on the stone parapet as his eyes narrowed, focusing far into the distance.

Among the far peaks of the northern mountains, he thought he saw the figure of a great winged beast flying about. Another dragon perhaps? If so, it was massive. Far larger than the one he had fought.

He blinked, searching, but saw no more of the creature. Could he have simply imagined it?

No matter. Even if there were more dragons out there, he would simply kill them if they dared to attack him. Turning around, he saw that Lydia was still there. She was standing with her body turned to the side so that she was perpendicular to Kratos. That way, she could keep an eye both on her Thane and on the doors that led to this place.

Lydia turned her head sharply once he moved. "Is there something you need, my Thane?"

Kratos stared at her, and the housecarl stared back for a few seconds before blinking and lowering her gaze.

"The children are fine, my Thane. I disciplined the little girl slightly, and I returned the young Battle-born child to his family. They were most grateful to you for sending me."

Kratos let out a grunt. He did not actually care what she did with the children from earlier. But he supposed it was expected of her to report her actions to him, considering she was sworn to his service now. He did not comment on her report.

"Wake the girl," he finally said. "Bring her here. Armed."

Lydia brought her fist to her breastplate and bowed, understanding who he was referring to.

"As you command, my Thane."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Anske awoke to the sound of knocking on her door. She thought she had been dreaming but could not remember what the dream was about. At least it had not been another nightmare this time. Her weary body, still sore from the morning's exercise, protested at even the slightest movements, and she groaned.

Another round of knocking, slightly louder and firmer than the first, resounded throughout the room.

"Miss Anske," said a woman's voice. She sounded familiar, but in the fog of half-sleep she could not recall who it was. "Master Kratos calls for you."

Anske recognized her as soon as she said Kratos' name. It was Lydia, his housecarl. Grumbling and groaning, Anske willed herself to get up. With great effort, she managed to sit up onto the side of the bed.

If Kratos was calling for her, then that meant her second round of training for the day was about to begin. With how she was currently feeling, she honestly did not know how she was going to survive Kratos' training.

Taking a few deep breaths, she tried to shake the doubts from her mind and push past the soreness of her body. It would not do to keep Kratos waiting.

A third round of knocking came, and Anske finally spoke up, realizing she had yet to respond.

"I'm awake! I'll be out shortly."

There was a brief pause before Lydia replied. "Please make sure to bring your weapons and armor with you."

It took Anske another few minutes to gather herself before she dressed and armed herself. When she finally stepped out into the hallway, Lydia was there, leaning against the wall next to her door with her arms crossed and her eyes closed as if she were dozing.

The housecarl opened her eyes to take a look at her, then nodded with approval. "Good. Come, master Kratos awaits."

Anske followed after her, wincing as her sore legs complained, but the soreness quickly died down to a manageable level after a few dozen steps.

"Did Kratos say what this was about?" she asked.

Lydia shook her head. "No. He only said to wake you and bring you to him, armed and ready. I believe it is time for more training."

"Oh, I see."

They walked in silence the rest of the way as Lydia led her through Dragonsreach, passing a few servants and guards who watched them with interest. Eventually, they arrived at a great hall so massive it was as big or perhaps even bigger than the main hall where the jarl held court.

The far end of the hall was open to the elements, with a wide balcony that overlooked the lands north of the city. Kratos was there, staring out into the world. She wondered what he was thinking about.

"Master Kratos, I have brought the girl as you requested." Lydia bowed her head, fist to her breast, and waited for Kratos to respond.

"Hmm." Kratos let out an acknowledging grunt as he turned, or at least that was what it sounded like. He stepped towards them, his massive frame as impressive as ever, and stopped in front of Anske.

He was so tall she had to crane her neck to look back into his eyes. Even though she was tall for a woman, standing next to Kratos always made her feel like a child.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

Anske hesitated but decided that there was no point in lying. "Tired and sore. Really sore."

"Hmm." Kratos moved past her, and both women turned to follow him with their eyes, wondering what he was up to.

He stopped in the middle of the covered part of the hall. The wind swirled and howled within the partially enclosed space. The sound echoed between the walls and across the ceiling. Every now and again it would die down, only to pick back up after a few minutes, as the wind surged and receded, as if to mimic the tides on the coast.

Kratos reached back and pulled the great sword out, swinging the giant weapon around with ease. Even though it was meant as a two-handed weapon, he could wield it with one hand effortlessly. He did that now, since both Anske and Lydia wielded one-handed blades.

"Watch closely," he said, as Anske and Lydia both stepped closer.

He demonstrated some basic strikes, making sure to be slow and deliberate with his movements so that they could follow easily. Lydia probably would not learn much of anything new for a while, but it was always good to practice the basics. Besides, his main purpose was to teach Anske how to become a proper warrior, and she was starting from practically nothing.

Kratos went through one whole set of strikes, then repeated it two more times before he stopped. That was more than enough for them to go on. These were the basic techniques taught to Spartan children when they were old enough to wield a weapon.

Moving aside, he gestured for them to take his place as he returned the great sword across his back.

Anske and Lydia shared a glance, and then Lydia drew her sword and stepped forward. Anske followed immediately after her, and they both wordlessly settled into the starting stance he had shown them. Knees slightly bent. Feet shoulder width apart, with one foot slightly in front of the other.

Kratos looked at Anske first, then Lydia, and then he gave them a nod.

"Begin."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Irileth dismounted her winded horse. Its breaths were loud and quick, and she patted its flank in thanks for its hard work. She had pushed the pace to get to the Western Watchtower as quickly as she could, and the horses were at their limit from the effort.

The guardsmen accompanying her also dismounted, a few doing the same thing as her in appreciation of their mount's efforts. Most everyone though had their attention on the scene before them, mouths hanging open and eyes wide.

The watchtower was completely destroyed, and the surrounding area was devastated from the battle. Large swathes of earth and snow had been upturned. And among the rubble at the base of where the watchtower had once stood was the partial skeletal remains of the dragon. Partial because Kratos had already taken some of the bones away—she had seen them herself on Kratos' horse at the Dragonsreach stables.

The contingent of guardsmen who remained behind at the watchtower were still sifting through the rubble. Others were trying to clean and make repairs to the encampment that had been only partially destroyed next to the watchtower. Irileth ordered her contingent to go help them, and they moved quickly to obey.

One of the watchtower guardsmen, who Irileth vaguely recognized, ran up to her and bowed her head, saluting with her fist to her breast.

"Sergeant Maveri, reporting, Commander Irileth."

Irileth nodded to her and surveyed the scene again, her lips pursed into a thin line. She had heard the reports from the guardsmen accompanying Kratos and had heard the tale from Rorik himself. But to actually see the battlefield with her own eyes, and the evidence of the dragon, was something else entirely.

The devastation over what appeared to be a brief fight was beyond her expectations. She shuddered to think of the damage the dragon could have caused if it had made its way over to the city. Could they have even brought it down on their own if it had attacked?

Perhaps with the combined might of the elite warriors from Dragonsreach, the noble clans, and the Companions, they might have stood a chance. But she had no doubt that the casualties and destruction in the city would likely have been incredibly high. Especially given all the defenseless refugees that now camped outside the walls.

As if Skyrim wasn't already dangerous enough, now they had to contend with the threat of dragons once again. And with a sizable contingent of guards heading west to deal with the Forsworn problem, she could already see the strain on personnel over the coming months.

Staring at the remains of the dragon, Irileth frowned. It was definitely larger than she thought it would be. She still could not wrap her head around the fact that it had become a skeleton like this so quickly. And so cleanly too—with her sharpened eyesight, she could see not an ounce of flesh left on the bones.

Then she fixed her intense blood-red gaze upon the young Nord woman standing before her.

"How close were you to the action? How much of the battle between Kratos and the dragon did you see?"

Sergeant Maveri raised her head. "I believe I saw everything, commander. I was right at the forefront."

"Good," Irileth said. She moved, walking past the sergeant and closer to the dragon's remains. "Come. Tell me what you saw, and don't leave anything out. I want every damned detail."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Two days passed quickly, and the three of them—Kratos, Anske, and Lydia—quickly settled into a routine.

In the early morning, right at sunrise, Kratos would meet the other two on the bridge in the courtyard of Dragonsreach. From there, the two women would run to the city gates and back. That was one lap. They were expected to do three. When they were finished with their running, Kratos had them do other exercises to strengthen their bodies.

At the end of the training session, they did some stretches, to make their bodies more limber and to aid in reducing the soreness of their muscles. They were then allowed to bathe, eat, and rest. Or at least Anske did. Lydia bathed and ate, but she did not rest like the younger girl did. Instead, she returned to Kratos, following him around and attending to him as was her duty as his personal housecarl, much to Kratos' annoyance.

Later in the afternoon, they would meet again, but at the grand balcony of Dragonsreach. There they would practice basic fighting techniques with a sword. Kratos had only shown them a few basic moves, ones that Spartan children mastered upon reaching the training age of 7 winters.

Until the girls mastered these basic moves, he would not teach them anything more.

On the evening of the third day since arriving in Whiterun, two days after the feast, Rorik came to visit.

Kratos had not seen him since the feast. The man had given up his quarters in Dragonsreach, preferring to stay in the Rorikstead encampment outside the walls with his people. Not because he was being humble—Rorik much preferred to sleep in a bed in Dragonsreach than a bedroll in a refugee camp—but because it was simply more convenient for him and for his people.

It was much easier and faster for him to stay in the encampment and deal with things right then and there as the leader of the Rorikstead survivors than to have to go back and forth between the camp and Dragonsreach every day, or to have anyone else who wished to speak with him make that journey.

Kratos was in his room when Rorik came knocking, and both Lydia and Anske were washing up after their second training session of the day.

"I'm meeting with the jarl," Rorik said after a quick greeting when he opened the door. "I'd like for you to join me, if you could."

Minutes later, Kratos was once again in front of Jarl Balgruuf. Though this time, they were not in the main hall. They were ushered into a small private meeting room further into the keep. The room was surprisingly simply furnished. A table of dark red wood stood at the center of the room with four chairs of similar make, two each on opposite sides. On top of the table were four mugs filled with water.

A light made of wood and deer antlers hung over the table, providing enough light for everyone to see clearly. There was one bookcase and a cabinet up against one wall and flanked by two potted plants.

Jarl Balgruuf was already there. Seated next to him was Proventus, his Steward. Behind them and draped on the wall was a large, slightly faded yellow banner emblazoned with the Whiterun crest.

"Jarl Balgruuf," Rorik spoke first, bowing at the hips slightly and lowering his head.

Kratos said nothing as he walked behind Rorik and then settled carefully into the chair across from Proventus. The chair creaked from the strain, but it held his great weight long enough that he was certain it would not break.

If the jarl or Proventus felt disrespected by Kratos' lack of proper greeting, neither of them showed it. They instead nodded in greeting to the dovahkiin, and Kratos returned their nods with one of his own.

"Take a seat, Rorik. And please, we aren't in public anymore. You can dispense with the formalities," Balgruuf said.

Rorik had remained standing after his greeting, and then relaxed a little after hearing the jarl's words. When Rorik settled himself into his chair, the jarl spoke again.

"Do you still intend to join the Guard in the western campaign?"

"Aye, I do, jarl." Rorik did not hesitate to reply. "I know those lands better than anyone else, and I have served with distinction in the Legion both as a soldier and an officer, as you know. I will be a great resource and benefit to the guardsmen on this campaign. Besides," he paused, a dangerous glint in his eye, "I have a score to settle with the Forsworn."

Jarl Balgruuf looked thoughtful as he nodded slowly. "A detachment of guardsmen will leave from the camp outside Whiterun at first light. You may join them. They will meet with the rest of the mustered guardsmen at Fort Greymoor. From there, you will march west and root out the Forsworn from our lands to secure the border. I have already relayed orders for them to include you in the command structure, but the overall command will be held by one of the guardsmen officers."

"I understand, jarl. I thank you for this indulgence," Rorik said with a quick bow of his head.

"Think nothing of it," Balgruuf quickly waved his hand. "It was my failing as jarl that your village was attacked by a small army of Forsworn. This is the least I can do to make amends. You just make sure you stay alive."

Rorik opened his mouth to speak, but the jarl continued talking and cut him off, this time turning his attention to Kratos.

"And what of you, dovahkiin?" He looked Kratos squarely in the eyes, and the big warrior stared right back at him. "What do you intend to do? You are, of course, welcome to stay in Dragonsreach for as long as you wish. You saved us from catastrophe by slaying that dragon, and there is a great debt still to pay between us. Even giving you the title of Thane has done little to ease that debt in my mind."

"I am leaving," he said.

The others were quiet, expecting him to elaborate, but he did not, and the silence stretched uncomfortably for the three others in the room. It was Proventus who coughed to break the silence and then spoke up.

"Well, you are the… uh… dragonborn, I suppose, and the Greybeards have summoned you. I imagine they should not be kept waiting, so it only makes sense for you to leave soon," he said with a weak smile, attempting to guess his travel plans.

Jarl Balgruuf nodded once at that. "Aye. You're right, Proventus, I had forgotten that they had summoned him. It would be wise to get to High Hrothgar as soon as possible then. Nobody ignores the summons of the Greybeards. Even a jarl would have to make the journey up the mountain if they were summoned, though none have been called up in ages."

"I've never been to High Hrothgar," Rorik said as he glanced between the other three in the room. "I heard climbing the Seven Thousand Steps is extremely dangerous."

"Aye. It is as you say," Balgruuf agreed. "I made the journey once. More than twenty years ago now. I left the city with a party of thirty and returned with little more than half our number. Some succumbed to the freezing cold that creeps up on you starting halfway to the top. The rest died fighting beasts that beset the path. Though thanks to our efforts, the pilgrimage was much safer for the rest of that year."

"Why not post guards and patrols along the path?" Rorik asked, reaching for the mug closest to him and taking a swig of water.

Balgruuf shook his head. "The Greybeards would never allow it. And nobody dares to incur their wrath."

Proventus gestured towards Kratos. "Surely the beasts that inhabit the Throat of the World would be no match for him. He's already slain a dragon, after all. What's more dangerous than a dragon?"

"There are plenty of dangerous beasts in Skyrim, Proventus," Balgruuf reminded him. "Perhaps none stronger than a dragon. But there are many deadly and dangerous enough to be wary of, even for someone as strong as he."

"The surest path to death is carelessness," Rorik agreed. Then he chuckled as he glanced towards the big warrior. "Not that I think Kratos would be so careless of course."

"Hmph." Kratos finally stirred, leaning back in his chair. It creaked and crackled from the movement, and Proventus gave it a worried look, as if it might break.

"When do you leave?" asked Balgruuf.

"Two days."

Balgruuf turned to Proventus. "Make sure he has everything he needs for the journey. Whatever he asks for, make it happen. Is that clear?"

Proventus grimaced but nodded his head in understanding. "As you say, my jarl."

Balgruuf turned back to Kratos.

"Did old Eorlund give you any trouble?"

"No."

"Good, good. And I trust that Lydia has been serving you well?"

"Hmm." Kratos hummed in response.

"I've heard that you're actually training her. Her and another young woman. The one who came with you when you first arrived in my hall."

"I am."

Balgruuf leaned forward in his chair. "If I may ask, who is this young woman exactly?"

Kratos did not answer, both because he was unsure of how to answer and also because he was unwilling to give one, and silence settled between them again. It was obvious that the jarl was fishing for information—Kratos figured that some of the guardsmen at the watchtower had already reported that Anske absorbed the dragon's essence, and they must be wondering if there might be two dragonborn in their midst.

This time it was Rorik who rescued the conversation.

"She is a villager from Rorikstead, jarl. Her father owned the Frostfruit Inn. Sadly, he perished in the Forsworn attack, and Kratos was kind enough to take care of her in his stead."

Balgruuf raised an eyebrow at that before his expression turned into a happy one, complete with a smile. "How very kind of you, dovahkiin."

"So, she's… his ward?" asked Proventus.

Rorik looked to Kratos, then nodded slowly. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

Both Balgruuf and Proventus looked thoughtful as another bout of silence descended upon the group.

Proventus once more took it upon himself to get the conversation going again. "Well, if there's nothing else… the jarl and I still have other matters to attend to before we retire for the night."

"Actually, there is one more thing," Rorik said as he clasped his hands together, elbows on the table. "A request, really."

"What is it?" Balgruuf looked at him curiously.

"It's about my people, jarl. I'm not asking for you to give them special treatment or anything like that, but… they've already had more than enough hardship and seen enough death, so if it's possible for you to help keep an eye on them while I'm away…"

"Worry not, Rorik. We will look after them," Balgruuf assured him. Next to him, Proventus frowned.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Anske and Lydia were waiting for Kratos outside his room when he and Rorik returned from the meeting with the jarl. Anske gave them a tired smile and greeted them both as they approached, while Lydia bowed respectfully. Whereas Anske wore casual clothes, Lydia was dressed in her full gear once more. Minus the shield, at least.

Kratos briefly wondered if she had any other clothing besides what she had on, since she didn't seem to change into anything else. Though he supposed he was in the same boat since he had no other change of clothing either, what little he had on anyway.

"It's good that you're here. I'll be leaving tomorrow at dawn, and you all will be leaving the day after, so this will be the last night we'll see each other for a long while."

"We're leaving?" Anske said with some surprise. She turned to Kratos, who nodded once. She seemed like she was going to ask more questions, but then decided against it and kept quiet instead. Even Lydia had a look of surprise pass across her face for a moment.

Rorik spoke. "Have you eaten yet? You should all join me at the Bannered Mare for dinner. I've already asked a few of the others to meet me there."

Anske answered immediately. "I'll go." But then she blinked and looked to Kratos. "If… that's alright?"

Rorik addressed the Spartan. "Who knows when we'll see each other again, friend? You should come. Meals and drinks are on me, of course. The Bannered Mare is renowned in the city as the best place to eat, drink, and be entertained all at the same time. It's my favorite pub!"

Kratos sighed. "Very well."

"Great! Follow me. And you, Anske. I'd like a word, please. If you would walk with me for a moment."

"O-Okay."

Rorik and Anske walked ahead, with Kratos and Lydia following behind them.

Rorik waited until they were outside and walking on the streets before he leaned close to Anske and spoke in a low voice so as not to be overheard.

"Do you know why Kratos pretended to be the dragonborn in front of everyone?" he asked her seriously.

Anske blinked in surprise. That was not something she expected to discuss with him.

"It's okay if you don't," Rorik said. "I didn't understand at first either. And I was… unhappy at the thought of deceiving people. Especially the jarl. But the more I thought about it, the more it started to make sense to me."

Anske had wondered about that as well, and the only reason she could think of for his behavior was that he was protecting her. Because she was still too weak, too unprepared to take on the mantle of being dragonborn. Whatever that actually meant. She voiced her thoughts quietly to Rorik, who nodded his head in agreement.

"That's exactly right. He did it to protect you, and honestly, I think it's a smart move," said Rorik, eyes glancing around at the people around them as they moved through the city. "Being dovahkiin… you must understand that it will bring a lot of attention. A lot of unwanted attention, specifically. There will be some good to come of it, of course, and it will certainly open doors and make you allies and friends, but there will be plenty of people with bad intentions out there too. People with ulterior motives who might want to use you. Or worse yet, even kill you."

Anske gulped. She hadn't really thought it through that far. Ever since she absorbed the power of that dragon, she had been unable to come to grips with the fact that she was supposedly dragonborn. Her. She was simply some unknown girl from a small village with no great lineage to speak of and no magnificent feats to be proud of.

In fact, the reason she was in turmoil and so down in the dumps was because she thought it was a mistake. She thought herself wholly unworthy of being dragonborn. How could she be? She knew nothing about the world except the stories she overheard from those who passed through her father's inn.

The only person she could see who deserved the title of dragonborn was Kratos himself. Merely looking at the big warrior was enough to inspire awe and admiration. Here was a man who appeared to be the physical embodiment of the ancient heroes of the Nords. Ysgramor reborn, as some of the villagers called him.

That's probably why the jarl and everyone else accepted his words so easily. After all, he did fight and slay a dragon practically all on his own, and he really looked like he could accomplish such a feat. Sure, Anske might have helped a little in the end by plunging that spear into its eye, but Kratos had fought it fiercely and brought it down himself. She had a feeling he could have finished off the dragon on his own even without her taking a stab at it.

"I'm not saying this to scare you," Rorik continued as he saw the mix of emotions that roiled over her face. "What I'm saying is that you need to be very careful about using the thu'um in front of people. It would be wise to use the cover Kratos provided you for as long as possible while you train and get stronger. So that when the truth finally comes out, you can fend for yourself in the event that Kratos isn't around."

Anske let out a long breath. This was all too much. She had always wanted to go on grand adventures and see more of the world beyond the confines of Rorikstead, but she never actually imagined things would get this… complicated. And dangerous.

"The jarl and the others already suspect something, I think, and I imagine it's because the guardsmen who were there at the battle witnessed you absorbing the dragon's power. It's not like we can cover that up, after all. They would not lie about something like that."

Anske's head turned sharply towards him, worry in her eyes.

"Don't worry, at worst I think they believe you both to be dragonborn. There's no denying the strength and experience that Kratos has. They all saw him fight the dragon by himself, so they cannot outright dismiss that he may also be dragonborn. My theory is that they will think Kratos is an experienced dragonborn who came to pick you up from Rorikstead and train you. It's too much of a coincidence otherwise. Even I would believe such a tale, given the facts."

"So, what should I do?" Anske asked as they walked around a group of people standing in the middle of the road.

"Like I said, keep sticking with Kratos. Train under him. Learn from him. Follow whatever he says. For whatever reason, he does seem to care for you, more so than anyone else at least," Rorik told her. "But make sure you get to High Hrothgar sooner rather than later. The Greybeards can teach you all about being dovahkiin, and more importantly, they can teach you how to wield the thu'um. And that is your greatest source of power as dovhakiin." Rorik glanced back at Kratos, making Anske look too.

"Kratos may well be the best warrior in an age, and you can learn so much from him," Rorik said, "But he is not dovhakiin. He's only pretending to be. He's not even from Skyrim, so he knows very little about it even from his general knowledge. So, get to High Hrothgar and talk to the Greybeards. And as luck would have it, they're already waiting for you."

Anske turned her head to face the Throat of the World, her eyes taking in the enormous dark shape of the mountain against the starry night sky. Its peak was shrouded in moonlit clouds, and she tried to imagine what High Hrothgar was like and what the Greybeards were like.

"Well, enough about that. Those are all things for tomorrow and beyond." Rorik suddenly grinned, reaching an arm around her and squeezing her opposite shoulder reassuringly. "Tonight, we will think of lighter things and enjoy each other's company one last time before we go off on our separate ways. No frowns. No tears. Just smiles and laughter. Deal?" He winked at her.

Anske had never seen Rorik so carefree and cheerful before. He was always so serious, with some sprinkles of humor here and there. She wasn't sure if it was all an act, or if he really was feeling happy—it wasn't easy for her to think of happiness given all the troubles and tragedies that had befallen them lately—but she could not deny that his enthusiasm was infectious at that moment.

Despite her twisting emotions and her worries, she managed to give him a small smile and a quick laugh brought on by Rorik's abrupt change of demeanor.

"Deal."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

The Bannered Mare was a two-story high-roofed structure located next to the market of the Plains District. All the stalls in the market were closed at this hour, and many of the nearby shops too, but there were still plenty of people around because of the many pubs and inns still open—though some of those milling about were simply homeless beggars.

The roar of conversation, laughter, and music flooded out from the pub as Rorik opened the front door and ushered them all inside. Once Kratos stepped through the doorway, ducking down in order to fit, not only was there a wall of noise to contend with, but there was also a heavy mix of smells in the air—the smell of cooked meat, baked bread, mead, wine, burnt wood and smoke, and some traces of sweat and body odor. Altogether, this was the smell of a proper and popular pub.

The first floor of the pub consisted of a large common area centered around a big firepit. On either side of the firepit were two benches half-filled with people, some of whom were armed and armored. A chair sat off to one side close by and on it sat what looked to be a bard, given the instrument in his hands and the stylish and colorful clothing he wore.

There was a wide empty area next to the firepit that appeared to be for dancing, while the rest of the common room was occupied with tables, chairs, and people packed as closely together as they could be to maximize the space.

One side of the common room was dominated by a bar, behind which worked a Nord woman who was making and serving drinks. Every seat at the bar was filled, and the woman was working tirelessly to serve her patrons.

Across from the bar on the opposite side of the room was a door that seemed to go into the kitchens. From there, two servers moved in and out to bring food and drink to people.

The sudden appearance of Kratos resulted in the crowd slowly getting quieter as people gradually took notice of the giant of a man with skin the color of ash and muscles cut from marble. His massive greatsword still strapped across his back drew a lot of attention too. The conversations never fully died down, but for at least a full minute the pub was quiet enough that the crackling of the fire pit could be heard.

For some of the other patrons, they had already heard of this man—the newest Thane of Whiterun. Rumors had spread of the arrival of a dovahkiin, the first in hundreds of years, and that he had been named Thane. For the rest of the crowd, they did not recognize him, and were equally shocked as they were curious at his massive physical stature.

Rorik paid no attention to them as he led his group to a table where a few people were already sitting. Kratos recognized everyone there. Tarknir. Sonji. Leesa. Vors. Jouane. Even Reldith was there. Anske's face lit up seeing them all looking well and with smiles on their faces as they greeted the new arrivals. Well, everyone was smiling except for Reldith, but that was normal since nobody had ever actually seen her smile before.

Rorik shook hands with everyone, Kratos gave the group a nod, and Anske hugged them all. Reldith seemed rather uncomfortable, but she did not push the girl away. They all settled down as a brown-skinned woman with black hair and a dirty apron over her clothes came around with a tray full of food and drink. She started to set them down on the table with the speed and efficiency of an experienced server.

"Thank you, Saadia," Sonji said as she leaned against Tarknir's shoulder, one arm wrapped around his.

The serving woman inclined her head and flashed them a smile. "You're welcome. Is there anything else I can get for you all?"

"More mead, lass!" Vors said with a burp, eliciting some laughter from the group.

Leesa glanced sideways at the sergeant, a half-hearted scowl on her wrinkled face. "You had best not puke on me. Or anyone else for that matter."

Vors shrugged, grinning. "I'll do my best not te!"

"Tsk." Leesa shook her head.

"I hope you don't mind, old friend," said Jouane as Saadia went to refill Vors' mug. "But we went ahead and ordered something for everyone already." The old Breton reached for a large loaf of bread and proceeded to break it up into pieces for everyone to share.

"I don't mind at all," Rorik said with a grin as he took a few big gulps of the fresh mead that had been placed in front of him. He smacked his lips and let out a satisfied sigh. "Nothing like some Honningbrew Mead to cheer up the spirit after a long day. Long week, rather."

Vors pounded the table and grinned, his scraggly beard damp with spilled mead. Evidently, he had already been drinking prior to their arrival. "Aye, Honningbrew's the best local mead in Whiterun. But it still ain't better than Black-Briar."

Tarknir grinned. "You want to buy us all a round of Black-Briar then, Vors?"

Vors started to sputter. "W-Well… uh… let's just enjoy our local mead then, aye? We must take pride in Whiterun's best."

Everyone except Kratos, Anske, and Reldith laughed. The elf was silently studying both Anske and Kratos and had barely moved in her seat. Kratos, meanwhile, was simply taking it all in. Looking at everyone at the table and beyond, taking stock of the surroundings.

Rorik noticed and thought that they perhaps didn't understand why they were laughing, so he explained that Black-Briar mead was more expensive than Honningbrew.

"Don't get me wrong," Rorik said as he took another sip from his mug, "Black-Briar is definitely very good. But it's the biggest meadery in all of Skyrim, and their mead is renowned throughout the Empire, so they charge a premium for it. That's all well and good, but if you don't have much coin, would you rather drink four bottles of Honningbrew or two bottles of Black-Briar? They cost the same."

"I'm not the best at arithmetic," Tarknir added, "But I know four is more than two. And the more mead, the better."

Another round of laughter rang out as they all reached for the food placed in the middle of the table. There were steaming plates of vegetables and meats—both pork and beef. There was even one big plate with a full chicken, and Sonji took it upon herself to cut that up for everyone.

Saadia returned with a fresh mug of ale for Vors, who thanked her profusely. His face was turning a deep shade of red. Everyone had at least one mug in front of them. Even Anske had been given one and she looked at it warily.

Rorik raised his mug and looked around the table. "A toast then, my friends."

Everyone raised their mugs, including Leesa and Reldith. Though those two had less enthusiasm about it than the rest. Even Kratos took part—notably, he had been given a tankard instead of a mug given his size.

Rorik's voice was strong and somber as he spoke. "To those who are no longer with us, and to those who are still here. May they rest in peace, and may the Divines watch over us from this day until our last day."

"Hear, hear!"

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Uthgerd eyed the new group with keen interest as she downed another mug of mead, her fifth of the evening. Specifically, she stared at the massive mountain of a man who looked like he ate rocks for breakfast. A part of her was afraid, judging this man to be someone she could not best. But a larger part of her wanted to challenge him and test herself regardless.

She let out a loud burp, eliciting some chuckles from a few people nearby. They knew who she was, and because of that they already knew what she was thinking and were eagerly awaiting the entertainment to come.

Mikael, the bard, rose from his seat and played some rousing tune, and that only served to excite Uthgerd even more. The noise in the pub grew louder as the people became more animated, their spirits lifted further by the bard. A few Nords drunkenly danced, spilling mead and laughing boisterously.

A few people began to clap to the beat as the music reached its climax, and soon half the pub was clapping and watching the dancing drunks. They laughed and jeered and a few even got up to join them.

Uthgerd paid them little heed. Her eyes remained focused on the table of new faces, and on the pale warrior with the spiraling red tattoo. They appeared to be near the end of their meal, and now would be the perfect time to issue her challenge. She was not so rude as to interrupt them in the middle of their meal, which was why she waited.

Uthgerd got to her feet, her heavy armor clinking from the movement. She was tall, even for a Nord woman. As tall as most men, and just as large. Her muscles were corded knots, thick and powerful. The result of vigorous training and the blood of her ancestors.

She strode through the Bannered Mare, bumping into a few people and causing some angry mutters, though none dared to actually confront her. Most people here knew who she was and what she was capable of.

When she arrived at their table, everyone present turned to stare at her, most with looks of confusion. A few looked at her with curiosity. But her quarry did not deign to look at her at all, and she felt a flash of annoyance.

Her eyes hardened as she swept her gaze across each face.

"I am Uthgerd the Unbroken, and I've come to challenge you to a fight." Her gauntlet raised, she pointed an armored finger at the bald, musclebound warrior.

One of their number spoke up. A man with the countenance of a soldier and the voice of an officer. "Well met, Uthgerd. My name is Rorik, and I'm the leader of this group. Is there a problem?"

She spared him a glance as she lowered her gauntlet. "No, I have no quarrel with you lot. I simply wish to fight him."

"You wish to fight him? Are you sure?" Rorik seemed at a loss, and so did some of the others in the group.

Uthgerd nodded once. "Aye."

Rorik looked around the table, then to the warrior she was challenging, before turning back to her.

"Why?"

Uthgerd rolled her shoulders to loosen them. "The heat of battle is the fire that forges the strongest blades. It's an old Nord proverb. That, and a true Nord never misses a chance to test her worth," she explained.

"Well, Uthgerd. In case you were not aware, the man you are challenging is Kratos, a Thane of Whiterun."

"Kratos," she repeated the man's name. It was a strong name. Unique. A name that was likely to go into legend. The fact that he was a thane, and she figured he was the new thane everybody was talking about just by looking at him, meant that he was already on his way to the highest echelons of prestige among warriors.

"Yes. Knowing that… you still wish to fight him?" Rorik asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

"Aye. There's nothing I would want more than to test myself against him." She finally addressed the man directly. "So, Thane Kratos. What say you?"

A woman in armor next to the pale warrior leaned close to him and whispered some words. Uthgerd thought her face looked familiar, but she could not recall exactly who it was or where she had seen her before.

Her target finally looked at her, and in his heavy dark eyes she saw… nothing? There was no fire in those eyes. No spark of excitement or even annoyance at her actions. She was publicly challenging him and yet he was not even reacting in the slightest. It almost seemed as if he was… unimpressed. Bored, even. Did he think so little of her?

"No weapons. Only fists. What say you?" she said, her fists clenched as she felt her own anger rising.

He stared at her for what seemed like an eternity. Then he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"No."

Uthgerd was dumbstruck. The answer was so unexpected, she even took a step back, as if she had been slapped. Not once did she even think her challenge would be refused. No honorable Nord, especially an experienced and decorated warrior, would ever refuse a challenge like this.

She glared at him. Kratos had already looked away, his massive arms crossed over his chest.

There were two reasons she could think of for his refusal, and both infuriated her even further. The first was that he thought so little of her that fighting her would be a waste of time. That she was not worth the effort. The second possible reason was that he was afraid of losing to her. That his muscles, his demeanor, they were all for show. And behind that façade was a coward and a weakling.

Uthgerd would not stand for either of those. Her fury rising, she took a step forward, murderous intent pouring out of her.

"Coward," she growled. "How can you be a Thane when you're too scared of a little fistfight?"

The woman next to Kratos rose to her feet abruptly, blocking her view of him as she glared right back at Uthgerd. Even though Uthgerd was a head taller than the woman, she stood against her anyway. And there was no hesitation in the woman's eyes either.

"Thane Kratos has spoken, Uthgerd," said the woman. "Please leave."

Uthgerd poked a finger hard into her chest, making her lean back. "Oh? And are you going to kick me out if I don't leave? I'd like to see you try, little girl."

"My name is Lydia, personal Housecarl to Thane Kratos," the woman replied testily.

It happened quickly, and Uthgerd had to admit the woman was faster and stronger than she initially gave her credit for. Catching Uthgerd by surprise, Lydia grabbed Uthgerd's outstretched arm with both hands and pulled, twisting her smaller body as she did so to use the strength and momentum of her whole body against the larger woman.

Lydia then tried to slam Uthgerd headfirst into the table by using the warrior's arm as a lever, leaving her in a disadvantageous position with her right arm in an armbar and her body pressed against the table. She would have succeeded were Uthgerd not as strong and as quick as she was.

Uthgerd used her other hand to stop herself from hitting the table, her palm slapping loudly against the wood, while she stiffened the arm that was caught in the woman's grip, pulling against her and stopping her momentum.

Rorik, who had been sitting next to Lydia, was thrown backwards off his chair from the commotion. The bard continued to play the rousing melody despite the fight going on, and most everyone's attention now turned to the unfolding brawl.

The staff of the Bannered Mare frowned, but fights were a regular occurrence in pubs, and they knew that if things got out of hand other people would step in. At worst, the guardsmen who patrolled outside would have to be called, but it was rare for them to have to intervene.

Lydia was herself momentarily surprised that Uthgerd was able to stop her move, and she immediately kicked at Uthgerd's legs to try and unbalance her. However, Uthgerd was prepared for that, and turned her leg enough that the kick was mostly ineffective, especially against the thick armor that protected her legs.

Lydia winced, her shin connecting with the heavy armor, and the failed kick actually left her slightly off-balance instead. Uthgerd used that moment to lower her body and twist backwards, pulling the woman towards her as she swung her free hand towards the woman's ribs.

Lydia reacted quickly, dropping her elbows while still not quite letting go of Uthgerd's arm, and Uthgerd's fist glanced off her elbow and grazed her side instead of hitting squarely. A knee drove itself into Uthgerd's gut right after and she grimaced, but it surprised her more than doing any meaningful damage. This woman was a decent fighter.

Uthgerd growled and using all her strength she finally ripped herself away from Lydia and they both staggered back a few steps. They were both breathing hard, sweat forming on their skin.

People had cleared away to give them enough space, and out of the corner of her eye Uthgerd saw that Kratos had finally gotten to his feet. She faced off against Lydia and smiled despite the anger running through her. If she could defeat his housecarl, Uthgerd was certain that Kratos would have to fight her to get some revenge.

Lydia moved first, arms up and ready for a fistfight, perhaps trying to rely on her speed and agility over Uthgerd's pure strength. But Uthgerd was no slouch in the speed department either. Lydia peppered her with jabs and dodged Uthgerd's own. She was a decent fighter, but Uthgerd had been in hundreds of fistfights, and already she could see the openings and the weaknesses of her opponent.

With a feint, Uthgerd managed to get past Lydia's guard as she finally took the fight seriously. Lydia leaned her head back, managing to avoid most of the blow, but her fist still hit her chin with enough force to snap her head back. That was going to sting.

Taking advantage, Uthgerd closed in swinging, leaving no room for her opponent to counter. Lydia was forced into the defensive, her arms battered from blocking. With a wide haymaker, Uthgerd made Lydia stumble as she hit the woman in the side.

Lydia tried to throw a straight punch right into her face but Uthgerd leaned her head to the side, stepping forward and twisting her body to slam a powerful punch into Lydia's gut. The housecarl doubled over, dropping to one knee, and Uthgerd took the opportunity for a follow-up punch that smacked into the left side of Lydia's face, whipping her head to the side and causing her to drop to her hands and knees.

Still angry, Uthgerd cocked her arm back one more time, preparing to end the fight by knocking the housecarl out. But then a large hand with a powerful grip grabbed her shoulder, immediately and easily stopping her attempted knockout blow. Her muscles strained from the abrupt halt to their movement, and pain shot through her arm and across her shoulders.

"Enough," said Kratos from behind her, his deep voice rumbling.

Angry at being stopped, Uthgerd spun into his body, driving her elbow into his gut. Kratos barely reacted, and in truth Uthgerd's elbow erupted in pain. It felt like she had tried to hit a stone wall. Even angrier now, she shoved with all her might, pushing him back a step, and giving her enough space to cock an arm back and smack it right into his chest.

There was a loud thud as her gauntleted fist connected with his flesh with all the power she could muster. Kratos let out a breath, though whether it was from her punch or not, it was hard to tell. Her entire arm, still tingling with pain earlier, erupted into even more pain as she once again felt as if she were punching a boulder instead of human flesh.

With impressive speed, Kratos' hand grabbed the front of her chest armor, fingers somehow finding enough purchase, and with one arm he easily lifted her up. Uthgerd quickly found herself dangling in midair with her legs flailing, but it was only for a second, because the next second Kratos slammed her into the ground with the resounding smack of metal against stone.

All the air rushed out of Uthgerd's lungs as pain exploded across her entire body. Her head whipped into the ground and she found herself reeling in more pain. Her vision blurred and she found it difficult to breathe. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Kratos towering over her, his face as impassive as if he had not easily tossed around one of the strongest people in the room like she was nothing.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

The crowd was silent, and even the bard stopped playing as all eyes stared at Kratos standing over the infamous Uthgerd the Unbroken.

For the first time that evening, and the first time in a long while in fact, the Bannered Mare was completely quiet. And then, as if waking up from a shared dream, the crowd erupted into cheers. Though not everyone was cheering, as some grumbled about the end of the fight—money changed hands across the pub, and it was clear that those who were unhappy had bet on the wrong side.

Jouane and Rorik rushed forward to check on the downed Uthgerd, and the woman behind the bar also appeared, her expression one of worry. Tarknir stepped closer as well, peering down at the unconscious woman curiously.

"She'll live," Jouane said as he checked her vitals. Then his hand glowed with magic as he healed her injuries. He did not elaborate on the extent of those injuries as he worked.

The staff woman let out a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness." Then she addressed Kratos, lowering her head respectfully. "My name is Hulda, honored Thane, and I own the Bannered Mare. Apologies for the trouble. Uthgerd is not a bad woman, she's just… a bit hotheaded, that's all. And fights are not uncommon here. If you'd like, I can offer you and your party a round of drinks on the house."

"We'll take it!" Tarknir said with a winning smile, and Rorik shook his head and chuckled.

Kratos let out a grunt and Hulda left to go get them that round of drinks. The rest of the pub seemed to go back to their own business, as if nothing had happened. Though the chatter had more excitement than before—it was likely they were still discussing the fight.

Anske moved to Lydia's side, crouching down since the housecarl was still recovering on her hands and knees.

"Are you alright?" asked the younger girl.

Lydia nodded slowly. "I'm fine. I think." She winced from the pain. It had been a long time since she had been in a proper brawl like that.

"She's strong," Anske said, looking over to where Uthgerd was sprawled on her back.

"Yes, she is," Lydia managed to bite out. Her abdomen was still hurting and her face too. Her muscles, still sore from all their training, were definitely exhausted from the short brawl.

When she saw Kratos step towards her, Lydia bowed her head in shame. "I'm sorry, my Thane. I was not strong enough."

"You did well," said Kratos, reaching with his hand to help her up.

Lydia looked up in surprise and Anske patted her shoulder.

"You fought bravely, Lydia. I think you did really well too," Anske said with confidence.

Smiling despite herself, Lydia accepted the praise. The words from Kratos were especially meaningful to her. It felt like all the struggles she had to endure up to this point had been worth it. She reached forward to grab Kratos' hand and she pulled herself to her feet with his assistance.

Anske stayed next to her in case she needed support, though it was unnecessary.

When Jouane finished with Uthgerd, he stood, wiping some sweat from his brow with his sleeve. "She'll be right sore tomorrow, that's for sure. But she won't have any permanent damage… except maybe to her pride."

Rorik sighed. "Nobody died, and nobody got seriously hurt. That's the best outcome you could get from a Nordic brawl."

"Uthgerd the Unbroken…" Tarknir said thoughtfully. "Perhaps we should call her Uthgerd the Unconscious instead."

"Tarknir!" Sonji smacked him in the arm, having joined the group where they were standing around Uthgerd.

Rorik tried not to laugh while Sonji admonished Tarknir some more.

Jouane stepped forward to examine Lydia, and after some healing, he managed to ease much of her pain. Enough so that she could at least stand straight without hurting. The sting on her face was still there, but noticeably less painful than earlier.

"It will still bruise, but not as badly," he told her, and she thanked him as he stepped away.

Hulda and Saadia came around with their free round of drinks, and suddenly Vors was among them, grabbing his share.

"That was bloody brilliant!" Vors cackled drunkenly as he tipped his head back and chugged on the fresh mug. A third of the mead spilled out onto his beard and down his front, but he didn't seem to care.

Anske approached Jouane. His healing magic reminded her that she still needed to start training on how to control her magic.

"Unfortunately, I'll be leaving with Rorik tomorrow," Jouane said apologetically. "And I hear you'll be leaving the day after us as well, so you're not likely to find anyone able to teach you magic on such a short timeframe. But perhaps you can buy or borrow a book about the basics of magic. I'd check the shops around here. You're bound to find one. At least reading up on it will guide you and you could try to practice on your own until you find a teacher."

Anske bit her lip and nodded, feeling a little disappointed that she wouldn't be able to advance her magic meaningfully anytime soon. There were so many things she still needed to learn and improve upon.

"You should ask Reldith for advice," Jouane said as he turned around to look for her, but the elf was nowhere to be found. The spot where she had sat next to Leesa was empty, and Leesa herself appeared to have passed out, her head down resting on her folded arms on the table. She appeared to be snoring.

Tarknir furrowed his brow. "Hold on. Where did Reldith go? I didn't even see her leave."

Sonji shrugged. "Reldith left without a word right after Kratos ended the fight."

They all stared at the door, wondering where the elf had gone off to.

o=Ω=o

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

AN: Thank you to everyone who has read up to this point, and especially to those of you who left reviews - even the ones who disagreed or disliked things I've done, I appreciate you at least spending the time to read and react. I'm still improving with my writing in all aspects, and I welcome most critiques and differing viewpoints as long as it's done respectfully.

I'd like to give a very big shoutout to asia943 for supporting my writing. She became my first patron and this was the first time anyone actually paid me for my writing, so I will forever remember you and thank you for that. You have no idea how amazing that felt, especially during such a difficult time in my life. So thank you from the bottom of my heart.

That being said, my life has been a right mess the last several months - between troubles at work and breaking up with my girlfriend, I've been very much in chaos and unable to be in the proper headspace to write. Now, things are a little better. I will endeavor to update more frequently, and I thank you all for remaining patient and understanding.

The next chapter will have us leaving Whiterun finally and moving on to some more adventures. :)

Wishing you all the very best,

Bard The Chronicler