Skyrim Spartan Ch 24: Riverwood, a God of War + Elder Scroll series Crossover fanfic

Skyrim Spartan

Chapter Twenty-Four

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

Dragonsreach was far larger than even Tarknir imagined. Ahead of him walked the jarl's son, Nelkir, who quietly led him deep beneath the great keep through halls and passageways that looked increasingly as if they were rarely ever used. It was not much of a surprise that the jarls of Whiterun would have dug into the rocky hill upon which the fortress was built over the centuries. But who could have known they had done it so extensively?

As he followed the boy in silence, Tarknir grew increasingly worried. He had to remind himself—for what seemed like the tenth time since he decided to accompany the boy—that the only reason he was doing all this was to figure out what exactly was going on with the jarl's son.

There was clearly something wrong with the lad. He was under someone's influence, but was it merely coercion or blackmail… or was it something more sinister like a curse? That would be troublesome to say the least.

Regardless, if Tarknir was lucky enough to figure out a way to help the boy, the jarl would certainly be indebted to him. And given the current state of things in Skyrim, Tarknir had a feeling that having the jarl's favor was going to be incredibly useful in the difficult days ahead.

Even if he couldn't help the boy directly himself, investigating the matter and bringing it to the jarl's attention would be almost as beneficial. Surely the jarl would find some solutions to save his son, and Tarknir would be handsomely rewarded for his efforts.

I'm really walking into the unknown here, he thought with a mental chuckle. His only comfort was the thought that surely nothing down here would be too dangerous. This was still Dragonsreach after all, the stronghold and home of the Jarl of Whiterun, and one of the safest places to be in all of Skyrim.

Despite that knowledge, worry still gnawed at him. Oh well. Too late to back out now.

Tarknir frowned as he stared at the back of Nelkir's head. So far, not once had the boy looked back to check if Tarknir was still following. And the boy hadn't uttered a single word either. It was making Tarknir feel even more uneasy. Not that he had any idea what to comfortably talk about with a boy less than ten winters old who may or may not have been under a curse, spell, or other form of control by unknown and possibly sinister characters.

He sighed. Sonji was going to have a fit if she found out how reckless he was being, playing hero. He probably should have told someone about what he was doing and where he was going, but it was too late for that now. Besides, it wasn't as if he saw anyone since he started following the kid around the keep. Which, come to think of it, was highly unusual.

Between the servants, the guards, and the jarl and his advisors… he thought they should have come across at least one other person by now. But Tarknir was certain he hadn't seen anyone else. It was as if the keep was empty. Not a good sign.

If anything went wrong… well, his wife would come looking for him eventually. With luck, his body might even be intact enough to be buried in the Halls of the Dead. He shook his head to banish such grim thoughts. Gallows humor, he thought it was called.

Tarknir turned around suddenly, thinking he heard footsteps behind him, but there was no one. The worry flared in his gut again, stronger than before. He forced the worry down and took a deep breath to calm himself as he continued following the boy.

Eventually, the boy stopped in front of what looked like an old, unassuming wooden door that could have been a supply closet. Two bands of slightly rusted steel reinforced the door, and the handle had a steel lock that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Nothing about it seemed special, looking like most any other door in this place.

A lone torch flickered nearby, the flames low as if it were close to burning out, and the light it exuded was dim and barely useful. Tarknir didn't know how far down they went, but the air was undoubtedly colder down here compared to the rest of the keep, though not cold enough to matter much to a pureblooded Nord like Tarknir.

The boy stood in front of the door and simply stared at it, as if waiting for something.

Tarknir, in an effort to ease the mounting tension he was feeling, was about to crack a joke about whether they were going to stare at the door all night or go in when the boy started talking.

"Hello to you too, lady. I've brought him here like you asked me to. You know, it was actually easier than you said it would be!" The boy sounded pleased with himself.

Tarknir frowned and reached for his dagger again. The feel of its wooden handle brought a sliver of comfort. Who in the world was behind the door? Why did they want the boy to bring Tarknir specifically? And why couldn't he hear them speaking? He waited for a response from the other side but heard nothing except the thudding of his own racing heart.

"Yeah, I did good, didn't I?" the boy said with a smile towards the door, as if he were really having a conversation with someone. A conversation that Tarknir obviously couldn't hear.

Either the boy was insane, or there really was something else down here. Something dark. For what creature would use a child for its purposes but a dark one? And a particularly fearless one too, daring to use one of the jarl's own children in his own home.

Tarknir gulped. He really should have brought a better weapon. And some reinforcements.

"Yeah, I get it. I'll be going then." The boy seemed sad and disappointed as he turned to face Tarknir. "She wants to talk to you alone," he said with a shrug before he walked off, humming some eerie singsong tune to himself.

"W-Wait! Who were you talking to just now?" Tarknir called after him, but the boy ignored him and kept humming along as he strolled away. "Boy! Come back here!"

Tarknir swallowed hard again as he watched the boy disappear around the corner. If somebody had told him even yesterday that he would feel afraid after being abandoned in the depths of Dragonsreach by a little boy, he would have laughed in their face.

But now…

He drew his dagger and turned around to face the door. "Alright, that's enough playing around. Whoever's in there, you better come out right now!" he called out, trying to keep his voice steady.

Nobody answered, yet somehow Tarknir felt he was being watched. He glanced down both sides of the hallway that he was in but saw that he was alone.

Bending at the knees and leaning slightly forward, arms out and at the ready, Tarknir took another step towards the door. "Look, I know you're in there. Just come out already and we can talk this out. No one needs to get hurt."

He moved closer to the door, ready for someone to jump out at him. Still there was no sound from beyond the door. Given how quiet it was, he began to think that there might not be anyone behind the door at all. The 'Whispering Lady' that had cursed and possessed the boy might be nothing more than an elaborate prank.

Tarknir sighed. Even if that were the case, he still had to make sure. Both for his own sanity and for the safety of the boy. And everyone else in Dragonsreach, for that matter. Maybe even the whole city.

Steeling himself once more, he reached for the handle and tried to open the door, but it was locked. The handle barely moved, and the door didn't budge at all. He tried again to make sure. It was definitely locked. Firmly too.

With a loud, long breath, he sagged against the door with relief, pressing his shoulder and the side of his head against the cold wood.

"Damned little bastard," Tarknir said with a chuckle as he thought of how the boy must be laughing his ass off by now. He really fell for it this time. He wondered how many others had fallen to this prank. Scared half to death by a boy who hadn't even grown hair anywhere beyond the top of his head. If anyone found out about this, Tarknir was sure they wouldn't let him live it down.

He laughed with relief as he gathered his breath and his thoughts. But then the temperature abruptly dropped a few degrees, making him shiver involuntarily. Unnatural cold strong enough to affect a Nord so quickly. His eyes slowly widened. Fear gripped him as surely as he gripped tight the handle of his dagger, which he now brandished before him, knowing full well that his dagger was useless against such magic.

The unnatural coldness was clearly coming from the other side of the locked door against which he was still leaning. He tried to pull away from it, but some unseen force held him fast.

Then he heard it. Heard her. A whisper in his ear like the scuttling of a spider. A whisper that came from behind the door. A whisper that made him shiver down to his very core.

"At lasssst."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

As predicted, within another day and a half, Kratos and company caught sight of the town of Riverwood sometime past midday.

When they were only about a mile away, Kratos allowed them to slow down to a much more comfortable pace, which everyone was grateful for. He rode as usual ahead of the lead group, the guardsmen still following a short distance behind.

Though this time, Hadvar was with them and followed right behind him. The legionnaire had taken it upon himself to be a guide of sorts as they neared his hometown.

Kratos cared little for the history of the town, but he listened in anyway. Perhaps there would be some use to the knowledge in the future, though he thought it unlikely.

According to Hadvar, the town was named Riverwood because it was founded along the banks of the White River, which wound its way through a heavily wooded valley before cutting across the plains of Whiterun and curling around where the capital city of the hold was built.

This appeared to continue the Nordic trend of naming things obviously and simply. While there was nothing wrong with that, Kratos did find it a little… disappointing.

The town had apparently started off as a mere logging camp in the wilderness before more people arrived in the fledgling territory of Whiterun looking for new lands and opportunities. Eventually, the camp turned into a village, and then a town, and it now stood as the second largest settlement in the hold.

Two great lumber mills continued to operate in town to this day. One on a small island in the middle of the river, and in the heart of town, and the other on the far west bank of the river. Both mills used giant water wheels powered by the strong current of the river to saw massive logs into lumber and firewood, and the sounds of their workings carried across the water.

Despite the scale of the operation, and the constant logging over time, Kratos noted that the forest around the town was still thick with trees. Either the trees naturally grew quickly in this world, or there was some magic at work here. He was willing to bet it was magic. Divine magic, even. It was faint, and different than what he was used to, but he could sense it in the air.

The eastern edge of the town ran right up against the base of the Throat of the World, while the town's western edge was bounded by the Brittleshin Hills. To the south were rocky, wooded foothills that ran between the Throat of the World and the Jerall Mountains that separated Skyrim from Cyrodiil. And only three days' ride southwest lay the border between Whiterun and Falkreath Hold.

It was Anske who pointed the sight out first, far to their right as they continued to ride south towards the town. Great snow-covered dark stone arches and pillars that soared high into the sky marked a grand structure nestled halfway up into the side of the eastern portion of the Brittleshin Hills—they were rightfully mountains, but compared to the Jerall Mountains to the south and the Throat of the World to the east, they might as well have been hills.

"That is Bleak Falls Barrow," Hadvar told them as all eyes turned in that direction with great interest. "Once upon a time, it was a grand temple dedicated to the worship of dragons, or so we are told. Now, it is nothing more than a ruined tomb."

Partially cloaked in mist, the ruins were a sight far grander than anything Kratos had expected given what he had seen of this world so far. He squinted as if he might pierce through the mists and see it clearly in all its glory, but he could not, and he had to content himself with only a partial view for now. There would be time enough to have a better look when they ventured there tomorrow.

The group passed by a low stone bridge that crossed the White River north of town. The snow had been completely cleared from the bridge, revealing weathered stones partially covered in dark green moss. Across the bridge on the far bank, a road forked into two: one went south to follow the river into the western side of town, and another led farther westward towards the shrouded arches of Bleak Falls Barrow.

Anske continued to stare at the ruins in the distance. "Is it true that all the ancient Nordic ruins in Skyrim are inhabited by monsters?"

"Ha! It's an ancient Nordic ruin, Anske. Of course there are monsters there," Uthgerd said, brimming with enthusiasm as if recalling fond memories. "Sometimes bandits and criminals too. And traps. And draugr." Uthgerd paused, grinning. "Probably lots of draugr, actually. That place looks big enough to house a whole army of them, I reckon."

Hadvar nodded. "When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping into town to climb through my window at night, that sort of thing." He shook his head with a light chuckle as he gazed upon the ruins. "I admit, even now I still don't much like the look of that place."

"Draugr?" Anske said, a frown forming on her lips. "I've heard tales of them before. Undead warriors who can wield weapons and armor. Some say they can even use magic."

"Aye. I've seen some who could wield a few spells," Uthgerd said. "Though they break apart like any other foe when faced with the end of my hammer." She smacked a fist into the palm of her other hand, causing a few of their company to laugh.

"I've never fought any draugr myself," said Lydia, joining the conversation, "But some of the veteran guardsmen have said that magic-wielding draugr are rare, so we shouldn't have to worry about them too much. Most of the draugr use normal weapons like the rest of us."

Uthgerd let out a snort, glancing at the housecarl's new sword and shield. "I wouldn't call dragonbone weapons normal."

Lydia's face colored, then she cleared her throat loudly and pointed to somewhere in front of them. "Look ahead. A Khajiit caravan."

Almost halfway between the bridge crossing and the town gates, a group of rounded brown leather tents were huddled close together near the riverbank. A lone pine tree covered in snow, tall and old, towered over the otherwise exposed camp. Wagons were interspersed between the tents, and a group of pack animals grazed on thin grass, wet from the recently cleared snow.

Kratos had noticed them earlier before Lydia had pointed them out, and before the group had even passed the bridge. He counted about two dozen of the cat-like humanoids, though there might have been more in the tents.

Those Khajiit within eyesight turned to stare at their approaching party, feline eyes full of curiosity. Most of their attention was focused on Kratos, which was unsurprising, but a fair few warily watched the squad of guardsmen following behind Kratos' group.

A few of the Khajiit had daggers and swords at their hips, while others appeared to be archers based on the bows and quivers slung across their backs. Kratos couldn't help but wonder how proficient these cat people were as warriors. Their anatomies were similar enough to humans, but he was sure there were marked differences beyond simple appearances.

Since they were beastfolk, Kratos imagined them to be naturally stronger and faster than the average human. However, at the moment he had no way of knowing that for sure.

"There were some Khajiit camped outside Whiterun as well," Kratos remarked, remembering the much larger camp that he had seen well outside the city. Oddly enough, now that he thought about it, he could not recall seeing a single Khajiit within the city. Though that didn't necessarily mean there weren't any.

Hadvar spoke with a hint of sadness in his voice, "That's because most settlements in Skyrim restrict their entry. Especially those who travel in roaming caravans such as this."

At that moment, Sergeant Carsis rode up to join the lead group in time to hear the conversation, and he spoke up.

"And for good reason," the sergeant said with disdain. "Khajiit are usually nothing but trouble." The guardsman's hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he eyed the Khajiit with open suspicion. Some stared back at him, unflinching. "Many of them have been found to be thieves. They also often deal in illicit goods. Drugs in particular, like Skooma." He spat on the ground in disgust.

"Not all Khajiit are thieves and drug dealers, sergeant," Uthgerd said, her usual good cheer suddenly replaced with a cold seriousness. She stared at the guardsman, who was now riding next to Hadvar.

"Right, of course. I never said they all were," Carsis said as he shifted uneasily in his saddle. "Regardless, what I said is the truth. Because there has been a lot of crime related to Khajiit activities over the years, most major settlements in Skyrim restrict or even outright refuse them entry."

Nobody spoke as they passed the Khajiit camp under their watchful feline gazes and rode up to the gates of the town. A few of the guardsmen manning the gate waved them through without delay, seeing as how they were accompanied by guardsmen themselves. None questioned their entry. Carsis even greeted a few of the gate guards personally as they passed.

They traveled straight down the busy main road. Even though Riverwood was a big town, it was still a far cry from being called a city, and the main road was not crowded. Still, what few people there were moved aside to let their group pass unimpeded, staring at them with curious eyes.

"I've yet to see a Khajiit up close," Anske said, breaking the silence. "Some of them have traveled through Rorikstead before, but none ever entered the inn." The mention of her family's inn cast a sudden cloud over her features, and she fell silent.

"Perhaps we can talk to them later," offered Lydia. "If we cannot find a buyer for the mudcrab shells in town, I'm sure they would be willing to purchase them from us."

"You can try your luck with Lucan over at the Riverwood Trader," suggested Hadvar. "He and his sister run the shop together, and they're decent enough folk from what I hear."

"You mean you haven't actually interacted with them before?" Lydia asked.

Hadvar shook his head. "I was already enlisted in the Legion by the time they moved to town. I haven't been back home enough to have a chance to speak with them myself, but my uncle and aunt say they're decent people. And I trust their judgement."

Their group was garnering more and more attention as they rode through town. Between the massive pale warrior riding on an impressively large warhorse and the armed group that followed him, a contingent of guardsmen included, they were sure to be the talk of the town as people speculated on who they were and what they were up to while in Riverwood.

At the first major intersection in town, Carsis bid them farewell, taking the other guardsmen with him as they made their way towards the town's Guard Barracks. Though not before confirming with Kratos that they would set out at dawn the very next day.

Hadvar then brought them to the Sleeping Giant Inn close to the center of town, where he too parted ways with them, though not before inviting them to visit his uncle's smithy when they had the chance.

The inn was one of the larger buildings in town, with high well-thatched roofs and walls of thick wooden planks. There were steps from the road leading up to the front porch, where a sizable pile of firewood was stacked up next to the front doors.

A few of the chairs on the porch were occupied by people drinking and smoking on pipes. They eyed the newcomers with wary curiosity, their conversations ceasing as Kratos and company walked up the steps and entered the inn after securing their horses.

The front doors opened into a large high-ceilinged main hall filled with people drinking and eating to the sounds of a bard playing a merry tune on his lute. A long stone firepit ran down the middle of the hall, the fires burning hot with bright red coals mixed with fresh heavy logs added only recently. Over the firepit was a beam of wood held aloft by two thick poles on either end of the pit, and from it hung two whole pigs that looked about halfway roasted.

The air smelled of food, smoke, and alcohol, and the roar of conversation was a stark contrast to the relative quiet of the town streets that Kratos had passed through. The roar of conversation unsurprisingly died down briefly as people caught sight of him walking towards the bar before it picked up again, though not as loud as before.

Lydia and Anske followed closely behind him, with Uthgerd taking up the rear. The hammer-wielding warrior glanced around with an eager look on her face.

The man behind the counter, a middle-aged Nord, had just finished giving a couple of flagons to a serving girl when Kratos walked up to him. The man turned, raised his bushy eyebrows as he looked Kratos up and down, and then spoke in a dispassionate tone.

"Name's Orgnar. We got rooms and food. Drink, too, if you need it. I cook. Ain't much else to tell."

"Four rooms," Kratos said.

"We don't need that many rooms, master," whispered Lydia fiercely. "I'm sure Anske and I can share a room. Right?" The housecarl turned to Anske.

The younger girl gave her a nod. "I'm fine with that."

"If it's rooms you need, speak to Delphine," Orgnar said tiredly, then he walked away to check on the roasting pigs before Kratos could even ask who Delphine was.

Letting out an annoyed breath, Kratos turned and looked around the hall. There were two serving girls walking amongst the patrons. Neither seemed like they were this Delphine the man had mentioned, since he imagined she had an air of authority about her in this place.

Next to him, Lydia muttered angrily under her breath at the attitude of the innkeeper.

Kratos felt someone approach from behind him, and a second later, a voice spoke.

"Looking for me, big man?"

Kratos turned back around to see a woman had appeared behind the counter, likely coming from the half-open door on the back wall that he guessed led into a storeroom.

She was tall and fair-skinned, with hair the color of wheat. Her clothes marked her as a civilian, but Kratos could spot the soldier in her from leagues away. He could see it in the way she held herself so steadily, and in the cool, hard steel-grey eyes that stared up at him unflinchingly. Those were the battle-hardened eyes of someone who had been through the fires of war.

There was a long dagger on her left hip, her left hand hovered over it innocently enough, but he could see the minute tensing of the muscles in her hand. She was ready to draw the dagger at a moment's notice.

She had been more than a mere soldier, Kratos concluded easily enough. An officer most likely.

"You are Delphine?" Kratos asked.

Delphine nodded to him, then glanced at the others. "That's my name, yes. I take it you lot want some rooms?"

"Four rooms," Kratos repeated what he told Orgnar earlier.

She shook her head. "We've only got two available."

Kratos said nothing at first. Perhaps other places in town might have more rooms available. He was about to tell the others that they should check out other options first, but Delphine seemed to pick up on his thoughts and spoke up.

"The blizzard's been good for business lately, believe it or not. Every inn in town's been full as people have taken shelter from the heavy snows. Many have decided to stick around even now to let more of the snow melt and to wait for more roads and paths to open back up. You'll be hard-pressed to find any place with more than one room left, if at all, for the next few days. We are the largest inn in Riverwood, after all."

Kratos stared at her, and she continued to stare right back at him. There was no mistaking it now. She had been, or perhaps still was, a military officer. And a high-ranking one at that if he had to guess.

"Fine," he said, followed by a long, rumbling sigh. In truth, he did not want to spend the extra time and effort searching for other options anyway. They would simply have to make do with two rooms instead of four.

Delphine flashed a quick smile. "How many nights?"

"Five." Kratos did not know how long it would take to finish their business here, but five nights seemed reasonable enough to start.

Delphine nodded, then looked thoughtful as she considered something, her eyes running up and down Kratos' body one more time. "We don't have any beds for someone your size."

Kratos merely grunted.

With another shrug, Delphine said, "Alright then. You'll have to pay up front. Meals and drinks are not included. No refunds."

Kratos turned his head slightly, and Lydia understood his unspoken order as she stepped up to the counter. "That won't be a problem," she said and pulled out a coin pouch.

Delphine produced a ledger from beneath the counter along with a quill and an inkpot. "I need to write down a name for the rooms. For our records," she explained.

"Lord Kratos, Thane of Whiterun," Lydia supplied before Kratos could say anything, earning an arched brow from the innkeeper as the woman glanced between the two of them as if waiting for them to tell her it was a joke.

Delphine looked at their other companions, but neither Anske nor Uthgerd made any attempt to say otherwise. Then she gave Kratos a strange look before returning her attention to Lydia.

"Very well," Delphine said with obvious reluctance. "Lord Kratos, Thane of Whiterun it is. How exactly is that name spelled?"

Lydia's unwavering confidence suddenly faltered, the seriousness of her expression giving way to surprise and then embarrassment. She turned to Kratos but was unable to raise her eyes to look at him from the shame. Even Anske behind them, who had known him the longest, seemed to color with embarrassment as she too realized she had no idea how exactly Kratos' name was spelled.

Not that Kratos could blame them. The topic had never come up before, and it had been a long time since anyone had written his name down somewhere without actually already knowing how to spell it.

He might as well get it over with. He let out another sigh and proceeded to spell it out for the innkeeper, as everyone within earshot listened closely.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

The Riverwood Trader was an unassuming two-story wooden structure that stood at a central intersection along the main road of the town, prime real estate for a store such as this one. Either the owners were very fortunate, or they actually had a fortune since the land alone was likely expensive to purchase—certainly beyond the reach of the average citizen.

Constructed mostly out of stone set within a wooden frame, the ground floor of the store supported a second level above it made entirely out of wood and topped by a thatched roof. A set of exterior stairs towards the back of the store led up to a wooden balcony that wrapped halfway around the structure, held aloft by columns of thick wood.

Lydia had seen configurations like this many times before—the top floor was a residence that likely housed the owners of the store, while the bottom floor was the store proper itself.

Walking next to Lydia, Anske was quietly turning her head every which way as if to take in everything there was to see in town. Not that there was much to see in Riverwood. It looked like most other Nord settlements, with nothing particularly special to make it stand out.

Her bow slung across her back next to a quiver of arrows, Anske also had her father's steel sword at her hip and one of the dragonbone daggers Kratos recently gifted them. She had thought about leaving them back at the inn, but it was Kratos who insisted that they must all always carry their weapons with them.

Danger could spring up at any moment, Kratos had told them, so it was always best to be armed and prepared to fight at all times. Uthgerd had agreed, which was not surprising. Given what happened in Rorikstead, Lydia was also inclined to agree, though she was already used to carrying around weapons at all times given her occupation.

Lydia glanced back to where Kratos followed after them several paces behind. He was partially wrapped in his new dark fur-lined coat, which was not quite big enough to completely cover his entire body, leaving a gap at his front that exposed part of his scarred muscular chest and abdomen. Not that Kratos seemed to mind—even when he only wore pants, he never seemed to care how cold or harsh the environment was around him. A testament to his incredible mental fortitude, and his unbelievable physique.

Lydia thought the coat really did improve his appearance, making him look like some larger-than-life noble lord or perhaps, more fittingly, a great warlord or battle hero. Although… he also could be mistaken for a bandit lord since his default expression was surly, severe, and intimidating.

Lydia mentally winced at the thought. Perhaps there was some way she could get him to relax and soften up a little. Something for her to consider, at least, as she settled into her role as his first housecarl.

Kratos also appeared to be studying their surroundings as they walked, but where Anske's eyes were full of an almost childlike eagerness and curiosity, his were cold, calculating, and seemingly unimpressed.

Uthgerd had remained behind at the inn, presumably to eat, drink, and fight. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she would manage to find someone who was either foolish enough or drunk enough, or perhaps even both, to get into a fistfight with her before long. The inn was full of half-drunk Nords after all, and the sun was only now setting. There was still a long night ahead.

Lydia reached the door to the Riverwood Trader first and opened it to the sound of two people arguing from within.

"…have to do something about this! We can't just let this go," said a woman's voice. Despite it being tinged with anger and frustration at the moment, her voice was still pleasing to listen to.

"I said no!" said the gruff voice of a male. "No adventures. No theatrics. No thief-chasing!"

A dark-haired, middle-aged man stood behind an L-shaped shop counter of dark wood in one corner of the store, and across from him was a beautiful woman, perhaps slightly younger than him, with carefully groomed hair tied up into a bun at the back of her head and two looping braids to either side of it.

Closer inspection revealed that the two of them had to be related since their facial features were far too similar to be otherwise. Their sharp noses were prominent on serious-looking faces with high cheek bones and sharp jawlines.

"Well then what are you going to do about it huh? Go on, let's hear it," said the woman.

"I will deal with it in my own way, sister. Now let's not speak of this again. We have customers," the man said with finality, noticing the new arrivals.

"Pfft. Sure, you will," mumbled the woman as she walked away to the other side of the shop, sparing a cursory glance over at Lydia, Anske, and then Kratos, before doing a double take at the massive warrior, causing her to nearly stumble into a shelf full of goods in the middle of the store.

The man behind the counter cleared his throat.

"Welcome, customers! Welcome," said the man with a seemingly genuine smile. "And do forgive us for the… unpleasantness that you might have just witnessed. Whatever you overheard, please don't think much of it. The Riverwood Trader is still open, so feel free to shop to your heart's content." He chuckled as he placed his hands on the counter and leaned towards them with an expression that meant he was eager to please.

The man's gaze drifted towards their equipment, and his eyes widened. His eagerness seemed to double, and his smile stretched his face further. No doubt he thought they were wealthy because they were walking around with some high-quality equipment.

Lydia wondered how the man would react if she told him that the great Eorlund Graymane himself had forged some of these pieces for them. Even she was still getting used to that fact.

"Is your name Lucan?" Lydia asked, remembering the name Hadvar had mentioned to them earlier.

"Oh? You've heard of me? I hope people are only saying good things," the man said with another chuckle. Then he stepped back from the counter and did a little bow. "Lucan Valerius, proud owner of The Riverwood Trader, at your service. We have the widest selection of goods in town, I guarantee it. But if by chance you can't find what you're looking for here, I'm sure we can help you locate it elsewhere."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Kratos did not linger overlong inside the store. There was nothing there that caught his interest, and the air grew stifling by the minute. Leaving Lydia to handle things, he stepped out into the crisp evening that had begun to settle upon the town, drawing the attention of many passersby who witnessed for the first time his imposing figure as he emerged from the store.

More than a few of the people who saw him stopped and stared, eyes alight with curiosity and wonder. Some whispered to each other and gestured in his direction, unaware or uncaring that he might notice. Strength was respected here in Skyrim, and from his abnormally large frame, it was clear to everyone who saw him that Kratos had to be very strong. He would be the talk of the town for several days yet.

Kratos paid them no heed. He was used to being the object of attention everywhere he went, even in his old world—though back then there were usually more negative emotions running through the crowds than positive ones. After all, he had been known by such titles as The Ghost of Sparta and The Fist of Ares, which often brought fear and terror into the hearts of all mortals who caught sight of him.

With a long breath, he suppressed the memories that threatened to spring up at the thought of his former titles. His fists clenched briefly at the effort, jaw tightening as he tried to think of something else. He was helped by a sudden commotion in the street, and when his attention returned to his surroundings, he realized he had been wandering aimlessly around the town and was no longer near the Riverwood Trader.

A terrified scream pierced the air, quickly followed by the cries of the wounded and the dying. Whatever was happening, Kratos surmised that there must have been multiple assailants given the speed at which the wounded cries resounded.

Further ahead, three figures in dark hooded robes stood amidst a bloody mess of bodies. Five in total. A sixth was being held by the throat by one of the figures, and she struggled to breathe, clawing desperately at the hand that held her in the air as if she weighed nothing. She was likely the one who had screamed.

Two of the five bodies on the ground were clad in the armor of the Guard, and from the manner they had fallen, it looked like they had been taken by surprise.

People who were far enough away from the sudden onslaught began to run, while a handful cowered behind cover nearby. Some ran into the nearest buildings to hide. Only two Nords remained standing in the middle of the road, and they drew their weapons, one with a sword and the other held a mace, but the three assailants didn't seem bothered by their presence at all.

Kratos had already lowered himself a fraction as soon as heard the woman's terrified scream, his legs spread into a wide stance and tensed like coiled cobras ready to strike. His hands too were at the ready, though he had yet to reach for the massive broadsword on his back. It was unclear yet if he would need it.

The woman's face was turning red as she wheezed, still struggling to breathe. The assailant who held her aloft didn't appear to be inconvenienced at all by her struggles against him. His hand remained firmly clamped around her throat. Kratos saw that she was unarmed. A civilian. Though whether or not she was innocent was unknown to him.

Kratos did not know these people, and still knew precious little about this land. Perhaps the people who were attacked deserved what they got. Or perhaps there was something else going on. Something that did not concern him. He would not act unless absolutely necessary.

"Stop playing around," one of the hooded figures said in a voice tinged with authority. It sounded male, though its features were hidden behind a black mask shaped like a skull, so it was difficult to say for sure. The other two wore similar masks, though less ornate than this one's.

The figure holding the woman sighed, then there was a sudden cracking sound, followed by the woman immediately falling limp, her head resting to one side at an obscene angle. The figure tossed her body to the ground and turned to face the one who had given the order, lowering their head respectfully.

"Forgive me, sir. I was too excited." There was a hint of insubordination in their tone despite their actions showing respect.

"Hmph." The leader of the trio waved the troublemaker off, and they stepped back obediently. Then the leader fixed his glowing red eyes upon Kratos. "Take him."

"You do not want this fight," Kratos warned.

The figure who had killed the woman stepped forward, red eyes flashing hungrily, undaunted.

The third figure, who had remained still and silent all this time, suddenly spoke, their own eyes glowing red as well.

"Rise."

Other than the woman with the broken neck, the bodies around them suddenly jerked to life. Either they hadn't actually died yet, or they were now undead. Some were still bleeding from their fresh wounds, yet they stood without appearing to be in pain despite their injuries. Their skin seemed paler, grayish, and their lifeless eyes were eerily colorless.

"V-Vampires!" cried one of the men who had remained to fight. He did not run, but his body trembled with fear.

The other man, slightly older, was quiet as he settled into a fighting stance. Though his expression turned grim.

Based on their reactions, vampires seemed to be formidable foes. Not that it mattered much to Kratos. All who faced him ended up dead or defeated, one way or another. He vaguely recalled hearing about them before, and that they had been causing trouble throughout Skyrim lately.

The third figure gestured towards Kratos purposefully, and the five undead rushed forward. Three of them were unarmed civilians, but two were armed and armored former guardsmen. They charged with their spears at the front of the pack, clearly able to use weapons, though not very well.

Kratos did not hesitate, nor did he take a step back. Instead, he lunged forward and grabbed the shafts of the incoming spears just beneath the spearheads with both hands, arresting their charge immediately. The undead thralls growled, struggling against his grip to no avail. The three in the back stumbled into the two guardsmen, before attempting to go around them.

The two men who had stayed to fight yelled a war cry then charged, one hesitantly, the other vehemently. The latter was the older of the two, and his eyes were filled with anger and sorrow. The eyes of an experienced fighter, and one who had seen death and destruction up close and had lived to tell about it. They fell upon the unarmed thralls in the rear, taking them down permanently with some effort.

Kratos pulled on the spears still in his grasp, and the two guardsmen fell forward as their weapons were ripped from them. In one smooth motion, Kratos eased his grip on the spears just enough for them to slide across his hands due to the momentum they carried until he grabbed them again tightly once he had a better handle on them. Twirling them around, he launched one right at the leader of the red-eyed assailants with such strength and speed that any normal person wouldn't have been able to dodge or block the attack in time given how close they were.

But these were no ordinary assailants. The leader didn't even move, unperturbed as the spear hurtled towards him. But it never reached him. The second figure stepped into the trajectory of the spear and drew a sword in a flash of speed, parrying the spear away, and it buried itself well past the steel spearhead into the wall of a nearby structure.

"Tsk!" the second figure let out as it lowered its sword.

Kratos figured it wouldn't be that easy and had already used the remaining spear to skewer the two undead guardsmen. With one arm, he then raised the spear and pointed it towards the three hooded assailants.

"I warned you," Kratos said.

"Insolent fool!" The second red-eyed figure suddenly lurched forward, wreathed in gray-black smoke, wielding his sword with shocking speed. Far faster than anything Kratos had seen move in this world so far. He barely had enough time to move the spear in his hand to block the incoming attack, their weapons smacking against each other loudly.

The smoky figure moved to the side, repelled, but then launched another attack. This time, Kratos was barely able to dodge by swiftly stepping aside. His brows furrowed as he tried to comprehend what was happening. The smoke somehow allowed the assailant to move at extreme speeds, but was it a natural ability or some kind of magic spell? Or perhaps a magic item?

They were astonishingly fast, though nowhere near as fast as Hermes. And Kratos had caught that buzzing fly of a god with his own bare hands—mostly due to the Messenger God's far inferior skills in fighting, he was sure. But still. He could move fast if he wanted to. Faster than any normal human could hope to achieve.

The attacker tried three more times, only succeeding in scoring a cut that tore Kratos's coat at the left shoulder. But the attack failed to draw blood even though it should have. The attacker backed off for a moment, confused. Then, as if in frustration, it turned its attention to the two men who had been watching uncertainly nearby. They cried out in pain as the smoke-wreathed figure sliced them up. Blood spilled as they went down to the ground, though Kratos noted they were not dead. Yet.

The smoke dissipated, revealing the hooded figure once more. Its dark mask contrasted against the pale skin behind it, as its red eyes fixated on Kratos with what looked like a mixture of anger and annoyance. It turned to the third figure.

"This one's as tough as he looks. I'm going to need your help," the second assailant said with a scowl.

The third said nothing, but stepped forward, drawing a long, curved dagger that looked wickedly sharp.

The leader growled abruptly, stopping them in their tracks. "Stop. Retreat for now." Then it turned into a thick cloud of smoke that sped through the air, moving far faster than the speed its subordinate had displayed earlier.

The third figure had already sheathed its dagger as soon as the command was given, and without delay it followed after their leader.

The second figure hesitated, growling. It definitely didn't want to leave, but then it bared its teeth at Kratos, showing two abnormally elongated fangs as if to say this was not over, before sheathing its sword and turning to escape as well. Kratos reacted quickly, however, twisting and hurling the spear in his hands before the assailant could use its smoke ability and skewering the assailant in the thigh.

It howled in pain and rage, turning its head to glare at Kratos as it grabbed at its injured leg, but then turned into smoke anyway and fled. The spear clattered to the ground, covered in blood. Kratos stood there, a little surprised that the creature could still turn into that smoke-like essence even after being impaled like that.

In the distance, the sound of armored boots and measured yelling came, signaling the imminent arrival of the town guards.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Riverwood shifted into high alert after the attack. Every guard was called into duty, patrols were doubled, and even some of the townsfolk and adventurers present stepped up to help secure the town.

The captain of the guard, a steely-eyed Nord named Adray, ventured forth from the barracks in full armor to bark out commands and essentially provide a show of force to both calm the citizens and deter any other would-be criminals and assailants from trying anything for a while.

Although not as tall or as big as Uthgerd, Captain Adray was a formidable force in her own right. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail that barely went past her shoulders.

There were plenty of witnesses, so it was easy enough to clear Kratos of any wrongdoing with regard to all the deaths and injuries in the attack. But since Kratos appeared to be the target of the attack and was already present, the captain wished to question him immediately.

As a Thane of Whiterun, Kratos technically couldn't be detained unless there was hard evidence of a serious crime—Lydia herself explained this to him after they met up again and he explained the situation—and since he was clearly not guilty of anything in this incident, he didn't have to do or say anything to the guardsmen if he didn't want to. Even more so now that he was on an urgent quest for the jarl, which Sergeant Carsis was there to remind everybody of.

But Kratos decided to answer their questions and cooperate anyway, at least for that evening. He wanted to know more about vampires, and he was curious what theories the guard might have for the attack on him. He could not think of any reason why these vampires would single him out specifically, having not come across any of their kind before. A part of him still thought that he was simply a bystander they took interest in, rather than their target.

Kratos was led to the town guard barracks where he was brought to the captain's office along with Sergeant Carsis. Lydia and Anske, who had been following, were instructed to wait by the front desk of the barracks. They were not happy about it, but they complied.

The captain's office was sparsely furnished, with little in the way of decoration. There were two chairs for guests situated in front of a large wooden desk, behind which sat the captain. A banner with the Whiterun sigil draped the wall behind her, and a weapon rack was next to the desk, containing a few weapons that were within arm's reach.

The questioning was brief and to the point, seeming almost perfunctory. Kratos had little to add on top of the accounts of other witnesses, and the captain did not suspect him of anything more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, arguably, in the wrong place at the right time.

"They wore black masks made to look like skulls, you say?" Captain Adray said, looking troubled.

Kratos confirmed with a grunt. "You know of them?" he said.

"No, not really." She shook her head, frowning. "I have heard reports of unknown figures wearing black masks appearing throughout the province for the last several months. But little has been uncovered about them. Still… it would seem this group has become more and more active of late. Mostly kidnappings and thefts, though. Only a few incidents turned violent, like this one. To think they actually have vampires among their numbers…"

Sergeant Carsis said, "This is troubling news. When we return to Dragonsreach, I will report the matter to the jarl. I am sure he will want to look into the matter thoroughly. Vampires or no vampires, not only did they kill and injure the people of Whiterun, but they also attacked a Thane of Whiterun. And an attack on the Thane could be seen as an attack on the jarl himself."

Kratos figured the jarl was already aware of this group, just as Captain Adray already knew of the group's apparent activities across the province these last few months. But it was likely that the jarl knew far more than the captain about this matter, so it wouldn't hurt to ask when he next had the chance.

"Is it so unusual for these vampires to appear here?" Kratos was still getting used to the word for this new foe. He sighed inwardly. The number of potential enemies and threats seemed to grow every day.

Captain Adray shared a confused look with Sergeant Carsis. "Thane Kratos, forgive me, but… how much do you know about vampires?"

"I have never seen them before today."

"I see. Well, Skyrim has a long and dark history with vampires. They have existed for hundreds, if not thousands of years, and are some of the most powerful creatures to walk these lands," said the captain. "I've only been at this post for a few years, but as far as I know it has been decades, perhaps even centuries, since vampires last showed themselves so frequently and in such numbers."

"The ones I faced moved with unnatural speed," Kratos remarked.

"They are naturally stronger and faster than most men," the captain explained. "But it is said they have dark magics that allow them to move as fast as lightning, and to shapeshift into fell creatures of the night. And as you say you saw yourself, they can also turn into a smoke or mist-like substance."

Sergeant Carsis added, "They are cursed things, created by the Daedric Prince Molag Bal. Creatures of the night that fear the sun. It weakens them, you see, and direct exposure to sunlight can often kill them, burning their bodies as easily as a moth perishes in a flame." He paused. "Or so it is said. I've never actually seen a vampire die in such a manner."

Weak to sunlight? That was good to know. Kratos filed that knowledge away for future use.

"Indeed. The fact that they attacked not long after sundown means they are growing bolder, which cannot be a good sign." Captain Adray leaned forward, elbows on the table, as she rested her chin on her hands. She appeared to be in deep contemplation as they settled into silence for a moment.

"What other weaknesses do they have?" asked Kratos.

"Silver," said the captain, stirring from her thoughts. "They are also weak to silver. In that regard, they are similar to werewolves. Both creatures are weak to silver, for reasons that are beyond me."

Kratos nodded once. It was good enough to know that silver was effective against them. Knowing why it worked was of little consequence to him.

"And fire," said Sergeant Carsis. "Fire arrows and fire magic work well against them."

Kratos thought fire worked well against most foes, but he mentally noted that fire was apparently particularly effective against vampires. Since the sergeant seemed insistent on it, and the captain had not disagreed.

Kratos suddenly remembered the two Nords who had stood their ground and helped to fight against the vampires. When he asked about them, the response he received surprised him.

"Their wounds were serious, but they are alive and being tended to," said the captain. "To be safe, we have put them in chains and have guards watching them at all times until we can be sure they are free of infection."

"Those men were brave to stand against these vampires. Why have you put them in chains?" Kratos stared at the captain so intensely that she looked away.

"We are only being cautious, thane," she said, speaking quickly to assuage the suddenly menacing warrior. "They were injured by vampires, so they might be infected. If they are, in a few days' time they'll turn into vampires or thralls."

"They might also die," said Sergeant Carsis. "Hopefully they're lucky and they'll recover without any complications. They'll be released then if nothing happens. But if they turn…"

Kratos frowned. "Explain."

Captain Adray answered, "As we mentioned, vampires are cursed creatures. Their very blood is tainted, and they are able to spread their condition to others through direct blood contact. Bites or even scratches from a vampire could potentially infect someone with their disease, passing on their curse and turning someone into a vampire or a thrall. Either case is bad, of course. But sometimes people get lucky, and they aren't infected even if they're hurt by a vampire."

That made dealing with vampires a far deadlier prospect than Kratos initially thought. They were already incredibly dangerous to begin with, given their preternatural strength and speed, but now they were even more dangerous. Almost as dangerous as dragons.

"If they are infected. How long does it take until they turn?"

"Three days," replied the captain. "Give or take a day," she added with a shrug.

"You say it is a disease, and also a curse. Which is it? Can it be cured?"

Both the captain and the sergeant shared another look.

"It is both a curse and a disease. And no, it cannot be cured. Not as far as I'm aware, anyway," Captain Adray said with a sorry shake of her head.

Sergeant Carsis also indicated that he didn't know if it could be cured.

Well, in that case, there was nothing Kratos could really do. He only hoped that those men were indeed lucky enough to not be infected.

"Tell me again who was responsible for creating these vampires."

"Molag Bal," the captain told him. "The Daedric Prince of Domination, Rape, and Corruption."

Molag Bal. He would remember that name.

When another bout of silence ensued, and there didn't seem to be much else to discuss, Kratos finally got to his feet, the chair beneath him creaking one last time almost as if it were sighing in relief.

"I am leaving," he said.

The captain stood as well, lowering her head respectfully to Kratos. "Yes, of course. I won't keep you here any longer. Thank you for cooperation, Thane Kratos. And thank you for fighting against those vampires. Had you not been there, I fear more innocents would have died before we arrived."

Had I not been there, it's possible nobody would have been hurt at all since they might not have attacked, Kratos thought, but he kept that to himself. He was still not sure if he was actually the target of the attack, but he could not deny the possibility.

"Sergeant Carsis, if I may speak to you for a moment?" Captain Adray said as the sergeant prepared to leave with Kratos.

The sergeant did not look surprised at the request when he stopped midstride. "Of course, captain." He briefly turned to Kratos. "We are still leaving tomorrow morning, thane?"

"At dawn," Kratos confirmed, then he left. There was even less of a reason to delay things any longer.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Kratos left the barracks and returned to the inn with Lydia and Anske in tow. They had spoken little on the way, passing by several patrols of guardsmen and mostly empty streets. There was an air of fear and tension throughout town so thick as to be nearly palpable, but nothing eventful happened, and they made their way safely to the inn.

Uthgerd was at the same table that they had left her at, though she was now drunk. When she heard of what had happened, she fumed at missing out on a chance to fight against vampires. Apparently, she had fought against them before.

"Tough bastards, those red-eyes," she had said with a hard edge to her voice, seeming to sober up for a moment, before a bout of hiccups reminded her that she was still drunk.

What apparently made matters worse was that she could find nobody to brawl with her, especially now that the threat of vampires loomed over the town. Fighting vampires at full strength for most people was already a daunting task, what more if they were bruised and bloodied from a fistfight with a drunken bear of a woman?

Still, she bitched about it, and Lydia and Anske had to almost drag her back to their room before she made a fool out of herself, or embarrassed them, any further.

Kratos's appearance caused all the chatter in the inn to die down as everyone's attention turned to him. Then someone abruptly stood and raised a mug of something to him, drunkenly yelling a cheer, and soon the whole inn was roaring with cheers, applause, and laughter.

Through it all, the innkeeper, Delphine, watched Kratos like a hawk as he passed through the now rowdy hall. Her piercing gaze irritated him, and he briefly considered glaring at her to get her to stop, but he decided it was not worth the effort nor did he want her to know she had affected him so.

He figured that what he had done—fending off the vampires mostly on his own—had already spread throughout town, hence the reception he had just received. Soon enough, if not already, news of how he gained his title as Thane, and the claim of being Dragonborn and summoned by the Greybeards, would reach their ears too. What would their reaction be then?

He quickly retired to his room, shutting the door behind him with a relieved breath as the noise from the main hall was dampened considerably by the thick wooden door. Whoever built the inn had done an excellent job with its construction.

One corner of the room had a folding standing divider that hid a long stone washtub. There was a stool nearby, upon which was a bar of soap and a thick sponge. Several towels were folded atop a table pressed against the wall.

Surprisingly, the tub was filled with water. Hot water. Somebody had recently filled it, it seemed. Kratos did not recall paying for a hot bath, but perhaps that came with the room price. Or was it a reward from the innkeeper for what he had done earlier?

Whatever the reason was, a hot bath sounded like a welcome idea at that moment, so he disrobed and climbed in. It was a tight fit, given his bulk, but he managed to maneuver himself in such a way that he was comfortable. The water was at a perfect temperature, and the light steam that rose from it covered the rest of his body above the water.

For the first time since he arrived in this world, he actually allowed himself to relax. He shut his eyes, relishing in the moment, before he felt himself drifting off into a thankfully dreamless sleep. A rare occurrence, but one he welcomed easily whenever it came.

At some point, he was roused awake by the fact that he felt something scrubbing along his body. Confused for a moment, he managed to regain enough consciousness and awareness to realize that someone was scrubbing his body with the sponge and soap.

His hand moved, splashing water as he grasped the forearm of the person scrubbing him in a firm but careful grip, stopping them from continuing their ministrations.

"Ahh!" cried a female voice.

"What are you doing?" Kratos said as he opened his eyes. He had guessed who it was even before he acted, but the voice now confirmed it.

"F-Forgive me, master. I thought that… you see… you… well… when I saw you… I mean… the bath… I was only…" Lydia struggled to put words together, her face turned away to hide how red it was.

"You do not need to help me bathe. I can do that myself," he stated clearly. "Do you understand?"

Lydia nodded, still unable to look him in the eye. "Y-Yes, master. I understand."

She had stripped herself of her armor and her outer garments. Perhaps the heat had gotten to her, for she was only in her smallclothes, revealing a well-toned figure that was rather appealing. Frowning at the thought, Kratos looked away and let go of her arm. She pulled it back almost immediately as if the water had scalded her. Then she seemed to think twice before reaching back out with her hand to offer the sponge to him.

Water sloshed in the tub as he sat upright and accepted it, feeling the soapy sponge in his hand. When she made no move to leave right away, he gave her a look, and she immediately apologized, bowed, and left. Though she stayed in the room—they were sharing it, after all.

A short while later, he was dried and clothed again as he left the little bathing alcove and went to his bed.

Lydia was on her bedroll on the floor between his bed and the door. Her armor and clothes were close by, and her sword was right next to her. Kratos could not see the dagger, but he assumed it must be under her pillow, or somewhere else nearby. She was turned away from him, facing the door, but he could tell from the way she was breathing that she was not yet asleep.

"It is your turn," he said as he carefully slid into the bed, tucking his legs in such a way so as to fit comfortably.

"My turn?" Lydia echoed. "I'm sorry, master. I don't understand."

"You may bathe now, if you wish."

There was a pause before she responded.

"Oh."

Another bout of silence.

"I was going to wait until morning to use the bath in the other room," she said.

"Hmph. If that is what you wish." Kratos turned to face away from her, giving her the option of privacy in case she changed her mind.

Sure enough, after a while, the rustle of fabric sounded. It seemed like Lydia was getting up. Then there was a long pause, before Kratos heard more fabric rustling, followed by the soft pattering of footsteps. Then eventually, he heard the faint sloshing and splashing of water.

With a soft snort, he allowed himself to drift off again. This time, he dreamed, and his dreams were full of war and carnage. And his opponents all had glowing blood-red eyes.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

When dawn came, Kratos and company were greeted by a blanket of fog that seemed to stretch across the whole valley. Visibility was limited to only a few hundred paces away, which wasn't ideal, but Kratos said they would make do, so they set off anyway.

Captain Adray was there too. She accompanied them up until the northern gate, where she bid them farewell and good luck. She also thanked Sergeant Carsis for agreeing to transfer two of his men over to her to replace the men she had lost in the vampire attack. They were down to ten guardsmen now, including the sergeant.

This time, they traveled as one big group, the guardsmen taking up defensive positions around them. Sergeant Carsis led the way this time, followed closely behind by Kratos and his three companions.

Once they crossed the bridge north of town, the sergeant sent two of the guardsmen ahead to scout the road. They progressed slowly, almost too slowly for Kratos, who was growing impatient. When the scouts returned, reporting that the way was clear, they sped up their pace at last.

Anske began to ask questions about the types of beasts they might come across around here, and both Lydia and Uthgerd were more than happy to answer her. Wolves, bears, and lions were more common than people thought. Then there were the trolls, fierce cave-dwelling beasts with mysterious powers of regeneration. The mountains were littered with numerous caves, which was why trolls were frequently encountered along mountain paths—Frost Trolls, in particular.

So far, they had been lucky enough not to have even glimpsed one.

Eventually, the road forked again. One way meandered south through the forest and on to the rest of the valley. Sergeant Carsis told them that if they followed that path, they would end up in Falkreath Hold, and eventually Falkreath City itself—again, Nords were clearly not renowned for their naming skills. Kratos supposed it made things easier to remember, at least.

The other path—mostly covered in snow now—went north, up into the mountains—or hills, rather. The Brittleshin Hills they were called, after all. Strangely, there were multiple tracks in the snow, perhaps only a few days old. Carsis brushed it off as hunters or the like, and they turned northward, ascending the rocky slopes as they followed a path partially covered in snow and marked only by the tracks of whoever had come before them.

Some parts of the path, they discovered, were made of cracked and weathered stone beneath all the snow. At some point in history, the path might have been entirely paved, but time and the likely lack of maintenance had ravaged the paving stones, and nature had reclaimed most of the path.

Again, Sergeant Carsis sent two scouts ahead to check the path. And again, they slowed their pace to give the scouts time. Kratos shook his head, wondering if the man was only being this cautious because of the mist, or if he was a cautious person by nature. But he kept quiet for now. He would not have to suffer the man's company for much longer.

Once they retrieved this dragonstone, the sergeant and his men would return with it to Dragonsreach with all haste to present it to the jarl.

The foliage around them lessened as they made their way up the mountain, carefully following a winding path that carved up the mountainside. The mist thinned the higher they went, until at last they made their way near the top of the closest peak of the Brittleshin Hills. They were still a few hundred feet shy of the peak, but they were far closer to it now than they had been earlier.

From there, the path wound around the mountain, and when they reached the backside of the small mountain, the mist was thin enough that they saw Bleak Falls Barrow in all its glory, basking in the morning sunlight.

Bleak Falls Barrow had been built into the rock between the next two mountain peaks. Tall spires of dark stone flanked grand arches of similar make, beneath which were carved a multitude of steps leading up to a large flat area. From there, more steps led further westerward up the mountainside where the face of the temple was carved into the rocks, making for an impressive entrance.

Kratos thought the whole thing resembled the skeleton of a great beast, with the arches acting like ribs. A dragon, most likely. Hadvar had mentioned that it used to be a temple to the creatures after all, and Kratos could see it now. It had the look of one, grand and majestic in its own way, even if it was not ornate. Different from the temples to the Greek Gods but evoking a similar feeling.

A flock of white-feathered birds fluttered around the ruins, but strangely, none seemed to land upon the stones. In fact, they seemed to avoid the stone structures entirely.

"It's beautiful," Anske said, "And so peaceful. Is it really going to be as dangerous in there as you all say it will?"

"Sometimes, the most peaceful of places can be the most dangerous," Uthgerd said sagely, which was a strange thing to witness. She gestured towards Kratos. "If you saw Master Kratos asleep by the side of the road, you would think he was quite peaceful, would you not? But that doesn't make him any less dangerous."

Lydia frowned at the example Uthgerd gave, looking at the bigger warrior disapprovingly, while Anske briefly smiled.

"I understand," Anske said.

Kratos was not sure if he liked being used in such an example, as effective as it might have been to convey Uthgerd's point, but before he could even think to say anything, the scouts returned with haste, drawing everyone's attention.

"The way ahead is clear," one of them reported, sounding troubled. "But there are people stationed at the ruins, armed with bows and various melee weapons. We think them to be bandits."

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

"Girl, come with me," Kratos said to Anske. "Everyone else stays here. Wait for my signal."

"But, Thane Kratos—" Sergeant Carsis could only watch as Kratos galloped ahead, Anske not far behind. Neither Lydia nor Uthgerd even bothered to protest.

Kratos and Anske did not ride too far ahead before Kratos slowed their pace.

"You heard of the situation ahead?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Repeat it for me then."

"The path is clear up ahead, but there are bandits positioned at the entrance to the ruins. At least… uh… six of them, every one of those six armed with a bow and a melee weapon," she said, recalling what the scouts had told them in their full report.

Kratos glanced at her. "What else?"

She thought for a moment but couldn't think of anything else to add. What was she missing? That was everything, wasn't it?

"What. Else?" Kratos asked again, impatient.

"I... I don't know." Anske lowered her head in defeat, biting her lip. "I'm sorry."

"What did I tell you about being sorry?" Kratos boomed, causing Anske to jump in her saddle and both horses to whinny nervously.

Heart pounding in her chest, Anske looked up at him. "I'm sor—" she shook her head. "I'll be better," she said instead.

Kratos gave her a nod before he too visibly collected himself. Then, he said, "Surviving in a harsh world takes more than strength of arms, girl. You must also have a sound mind. Before, I taught you the basics of how to wield weapons. Now, I am trying to teach you how to think. Now, again! Tell me what other important information you left out from the scout's report."

Anske thought long and hard as they continued down the path. She gazed ahead, and then behind, noting that they were halfway through a curve shaped like an 'S.' That was when she remembered. The path! It was about the path.

"There's no cover," she finally said, smiling at her own success, however minor it was. "There's no cover along the path leading up to the base of the steps that go up to the ruins."

"Good. You remembered. But what does that mean?" Kratos stopped their horses this time, just before the path turned and they would become visible to the bandits far ahead.

"It means… we can't travel down the path. We have to find another way," she answered uncertainly.

Kratos looked at her. "Why?"

"Because the bandits have bows. And the high ground. Without cover, they can start picking us off before we even reach the steps."

"But it is the shortest route. The surest route. We have shields and numbers."

Anske thought it over before she shook her head. "We don't have enough shields for everyone. We'd lose too many that way."

"We have the numbers. Even if we lose a few, we can clear the bandits out and take the entrance without issue."

Anske stared at him, and he stared back, waiting for an answer. She knew he was testing her, but she wasn't sure how well she was doing, or if she was even answering the way he expected her to. She took some comfort in the fact that he did not appear to be angry again. Not yet at least. That meant she must have been doing well enough so far.

She thought for a while longer before finally responding. "But that's only the entrance to the ruins. What if there are more bandits inside? And other dangers like… like draugr and monsters? We might not have the numbers advantage for long, if at all." She paused, then added. "Besides, every life counts. Right?"

Kratos frowned, and looked on the verge of admonishing her, but then he frowned even deeper and then shook his head, grumbling to himself.

"A good start," he said at last. "Sometimes the most direct route is not the best route. Do you understand?"

Anske nodded. "I understand, Kratos." She had passed the test and was glad. Until Kratos posed another challenge for her, and she realized she was not yet finished with her lessons.

"Tell me how you would do it."

"How I would…?"

"How would you approach the ruins? Give me at least two options." Kratos looked up ahead, then checked their surroundings. "Take your time to think."

A gentle breeze stirred, the first signs of the wind. The mist was almost entirely gone now, some of it still stubbornly clinging to the ground far beneath them around the base of the mountains.

Anske looked around, noting that the ridge that the immediate path ahead curved around was not too difficult to climb. Perhaps there was a way to get to the ruins climbing over or around it on the other side. Even if they could not climb around or through, maybe they could position archers up there to pick off the bandits first. She relayed her thoughts to Kratos, who nodded.

"That counts as one option," he said, and Anske felt a swell of confidence.

She tried to think of other ways to accomplish the task before her. Now that there was less pressure on her, she toyed with various ideas that were admittedly outlandish, such as using magic to turn them all invisible or building catapults and bombarding the enemy into submission. Instead, she settled with taking the long route and climbing the far mountain and dropping down on the unsuspecting bandits.

Kratos snorted. "Yes, that is an option. But a weak one. I do not accept it. Try again."

"What!" Anske looked incredulously at him, but he was as unlikely to change his mind as the sky was to turn green.

She gave several more options, each of which Kratos called weak to varying degrees, until finally she thought she exhausted all possible options and could think of nothing else that might satisfy him. But clearly there had to be something she wasn't thinking of, an option that he already knew would work better than all the other ones she had offered.

When it seemed like an hour had passed, though really it was only a quarter of that, she gave up.

"You are giving up?" Kratos said with the barest hint of surprise.

She lowered her head in defeat once more. "I am. I can't think of an option that would satisfy your standards. At least not with my current knowledge and experience. And… I'd rather not waste any more of our time."

Kratos studied her for what seemed like a long while, but was only a dozen or so seconds, then said, "There is a common thread between your other suggestions, one that made me reject them. Think on it and tell me what it might be."

Feeling mentally tired, Anske nevertheless considered what was the common negative factor among her suggestions. It took her longer than she cared to admit, but she finally understood, and she was glad that for once Kratos seemed to be quite patient with her.

"They would all take too long," she said. "And we don't have all the necessary resources on hand for at least half of the other suggestions."

"Correct." Kratos looked up at the partially cloudy sky. "Many of your suggestions would take more than a day to implement. Some would take several days. While we are not in a rush, completing tasks in a timely manner is better than taking too long."

Kratos turned back to face her. "There are many things to consider when coming up with a battle plan. Some of the most important ones are: objectives, terrain, weather, personnel, equipment, morale, supplies, and time. I said that many of your other suggestions took too much time, taking more than a day at best to accomplish, especially with all this snow. What if we waited half a day instead. What would happen then?"

Anske looked thoughtful. Half a day meant… "It would be nighttime!" She felt so dumb for not thinking about that sooner. "We could advance under the cover of darkness. We could even take the path directly, as long as we don't light any torches, and the moonlight isn't too bright. Perhaps if we had cloud cover…"

Kratos leaned forward to pat his horse's neck, waiting for her to finish her rambling. She had done fairly well, even if he did have to prompt her and help her at times. It was a decent start.

"So, what option are we taking then? Do we wait until nightfall or are we climbing the ridge now?" Anske asked when she realized Kratos was barely paying attention to her rambling anymore.

Kratos suddenly dismounted, and then handed the reins of his horse over to Anske, who took it with a puzzled expression.

"Go back to the others. Bring them here." He marked the spot by rubbing a line in the snow all the way to the dark dirt underneath with his boot. "Then wait for my signal."

Anske still looked perplexed. "What are you going to do?"

"I am going to run down the path and clear the way to the ruins."

"But I thought you said—" Anske started to say, but by then Kratos had already turned and started running. He moved so fast, much faster than anyone she had ever seen run before. Especially with this much snow on the ground. He was already well down the path by the time Anske realized she had yet to move herself.

What was his signal going to be? He never told her.

Shaking her head, she quickly kicked her horse into a gallop in order to fetch the others, but not before she heard the cries of alarm from the bandits echoing across the mountainside as they caught sight of the fast-approaching Kratos.

Ω=o=Ω=o=Ω

Snow and rocks kicked up behind him as Kratos bounded down the mountain path that led straight to the base of the stone steps cut into the mountainside. The steps, for some mysterious reason, were not covered by any snow at all. In fact, there was no snow covering any of the dark stones used for all the steps, platforms, and other exterior floor surfaces of the temple. The only snow that seemed to have stuck was on top of the arches and pillars that towered over the steps and platforms.

Not that Kratos cared. It only made things marginally easier for him not to worry about his footing in the snow, and that was as much thought as he was willing to spare on the matter.

The steps were wide enough to accommodate fifty people of Kratos' size ascending the steps shoulder-to-shoulder. Most people would be impressed by the size of not only the steps, but of the temple as a whole, but Kratos was not one of them.

By the time the bandits even noticed him coming, he was already halfway there. Each powerful stride ate up a lot of ground, and the first arrows started flying and missing wide when he was only a few paces from the stairs. There were at least a hundred and fifty steps to the first platform, from which four bandits were firing down arrows at him.

He leaped up and from side-to-side as he ascended the stairs, most of the arrows coming his way not even close to touching him. The few that did hit him either broke upon impact or bounced off harmlessly. It had been a small gamble, but a gamble nonetheless, that these bandits did not have magical weapons. Conventional weapons had no hope of harming him at all, so there was nothing to fear from them.

And even magical weapons, depending on their strength and the type of magic imbued, could be anything from barely noticeable to mildly annoying all the way up to painful and potentially life-threatening. The likelihood of facing anything on the painful, life-threatening end of the scale was close to zero in this situation, he was fairly sure.

When he reached the first bandit, he grabbed the hapless man by the throat and then swung, launching him at the next closest bandit. The force with which he threw the first bandit broke the man's neck, and then several bones, including his spine, broke upon impact with the second bandit. The second bandit received several broken bones from being hit by his comrade as well, tumbling down the stairs painfully and breaking more bones in the process.

The third bandit dropped his bow and drew his mace, swinging wildly at Kratos as he approached. The God of War stopped short of the man's reach, the mace whooshing through the air in front of him, before he lurched forward, grabbing the man by the face and then smashing him down into the ground, crumpling him in half with the horrible sound of snapping bones before cracking the stone floor of the platform in the process of crushing the man's skull.

The fourth bandit screamed and started running up the stairs towards the second, smaller platform, at the other end of which was the massive double doors of stone that marked the entrance into the ruined temple. The fifth and sixth bandits—there were indeed only six of them out here—started firing their bows belatedly, still somewhat in shock at what they were witnessing.

Arrows whistled through the air again, but they were so afraid that their aim was truly terrible. And again, their regular arrows could not so much as think to scratch the skin of the God of War. Only a being with supernatural strength and power could ever hope to hurt Kratos with a normal weapon.

The fourth bandit stumbled on his way up the steps, falling down and groaning in pain. He tried to scramble up on all fours, leaving his bow behind, but Kratos was already upon him. Grabbing him by the back of his coat, Kratos launched him into the air, and the man started screaming in terror. He smacked into one of the giant stone arches overhead, bouncing off with a pained cry, before falling to his death, screaming the whole way.

The sixth bandit turned to the fifth and yelled at him to go inside to warn the others while he bought some time. Kratos drew the giant broadsword across his back, lined it up, and then heaved with considerable might, sending the blade flying straight and true as if it were a spear and not a heavy two-handed broadsword. It skewered the fifth bandit all the way to the hilt, such was the force with which Kratos had thrown it, stopping the fifth bandit in his tracks, and killing him instantly just as he was about to open the double doors of the temple.

The sixth bandit, visibly shaking and undoubtedly terrified, dropped his weapons and begged for mercy. He started spouting some nonsense like who he was, why he was here, and how he promised to never do anything bad ever again in his life if only he were allowed to live. He said other things as well, and he might have sworn a few things to whatever gods he believed in as if it might make his case more compelling.

Kratos cared little for any of that and did not bother to pay any attention to the man's rambling.

He retrieved his blade from the fifth bandit's corpse, cleaning the blood off of it with the cleanest parts of the dead man's clothes even as he looked around to make sure there were no other hostiles. All the while, the remaining bandit cowered and cried. Kratos was certain the man had pissed himself, for there was a scent of it in the air, and he crinkled his nose in disgust. Or perhaps it was coming from the corpse.

When the blade was completely clean of blood and gore, he returned it to its sheath across his back, and then finally turned to the blubbering mess of a bandit. There were some questions he needed answered before he decided the man's fate.

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: Merry Christmas everyone! Thank again for all your support, as well as your comments/reviews, critiques and praise both. :) As I've said before, I'm slowly but surely trying my best to improve as a writer, and I hope I can continue to entertain and interest you all with my stories. Cheers!

Edit | 12/30/23 - It finally snowed where I am, and that made me remember that there's supposed to be a lot of snow on the ground after that freak blizzard many chapters ago. The last parts of this chapter I had forgotten to add snow, so I rewrote some parts. Also fixed a few typos.