Chapter 8
(Heartfire, 4E 226)
The first year of Tavian's tour of duty was complete. Basic training was over, and he had made it through the rigorous training Legate Colecci had warned them about when they first came to Cyrodiil. Of the eight recruits in their contubernium, only he, Josef, Eva and Dorian remained. Rasha, the Argonian, had had to return to Black Marsh after the death of his father, and the three Imperial girls – despite their insistence that marriage was the furthest thing from their minds – had each found someone with whom they decided sharing a life was more important than a career in the Legion.
Dorian had distinguished himself for his talent with magic, and he was to receive additional training to become a battlemage. Eva found she preferred sword and shield fighting, while Josef – to no one's surprise – became proficient with two-handed weapons.
Only Tavian seemed to be floundering to find his niche. He did well with one-handed weapons, but disliked carrying a shield. The two-weapon style his father had taught him felt much more comfortable to him, but didn't seem to have a place in the Legion. He wasn't as good at magic as Dorian, though he was better than he had been before he'd joined.
So far, he had managed to get through basic without using his Voice, though he had been tempted on a number of occasions. Roald seemed to make him a target of most of the pranks he pulled, though the Nord failed to find humor in situations where he himself was the butt of the joke.
Along with others who had successfully come through basic training, Tavian had been given two weeks leave. He could go anywhere, do anything he wanted in that time, as long as he reported back at the end of the period to continue the next part of his tour of duty.
"Two weeks isn't long enough for a real visit," Josef reasoned, as they sat together in the mess hall for supper. "I'd barely get home before I'd have to come back."
"At least your family will be happy to see you," Eva sniffed. "Mine will only want to force me to come back home. I'm not going back to Falkreath for a long time – if ever!"
"It is a long way back to Skyrim," Tavian agreed. "Why don't you take the portal network to Winterhold?"
Eva frowned. "It's expensive," she said slowly, and Josef nodded. "Not everyone can afford that. I certainly can't. Not on a soldier's pay. And I'm not asking my parents for the money."
Tavian was silent. He hadn't thought about that. It occurred to him that his lifestyle before the Legion had been particularly privileged, and things he never thought about having had been completely out of reach for most people his age.
Everyone knew about the portals. Since the last war, the College at Winterhold had created several portals based on the ones the Alliance had used to move troops around their hidden bases, away from the prying eyes of the Aldmeri Dominion. After the war, the portals had been realigned to work between the major cities of Skyrim, Cyrodiil and High Rock – the three Provinces which were still a part of the Empire. Situated at the stable areas, and maintained by the liveries which still provided carriage service throughout the Provinces, the Portals were a faster, easier way to get around – if one had the money for it, of course.
"What about you, Tavian?" Josef asked. "Are you going back home on leave?"
Reluctantly, he nodded. "My parents sent me some money for the portal voucher," he admitted, seeing the brief flash of envy in Josef's eyes. Eva seemed not to care. She had made it clear she wasn't returning home. "Only now, with you two staying behind, I'm not sure I should go."
"Don't be ridiculous," Eva scoffed. "We're jealous, I don't mind admitting that. But it's because you have the opportunity of going. You can't help it that your family has money. You should go and be with your family."
"Aye," Josef agreed, plastering a smile on his broad face. "Go and have some fun. Do something exciting. You can tell us about it when you get back!"
The horn sounded to signal the end of the dinner hour, and the three left the mess hall.
"I have watch duty tonight," Eva sighed, with some reluctance. She had a stack of books by her bedside that she intended to read while on leave, and had hoped to get to them sooner, rather than later. "If I don't see you before you go, Tavian, be safe!"
He nodded as she hurried off to find the Officer of the Day to report in.
"I've got to see the smith about my sword," Josef said, chagrined. "I banged it up today in practice. Legate Agnete told me to get it fixed before the next roll call."
"When are you going to learn to do that for yourself?" Tavian teased. "A Nord who can't smith?"
"I'm a disgrace to my race," Josef chuckled, unashamed. "See you later!"
As Tavian headed back to the barracks, he heard Roald call out to him.
"Hey, Dragon-Baby!"
Closing his eyes in frustration, he blew out a breath to calm himself before turning to face his adversary.
"Something on your mind, Roald?" he asked. No matter how much of a jerk the Nord was, Tavian refused to stoop to the demeaning last-name-only as a form of address.
"Heard you were headed back to Skyrim," Roald grinned. "Giving up?"
He must have been eavesdropping at dinner, Tavian scowled to himself.
"You wish," Tavian said. "I'm just going home to visit." On a perverse whim, he asked, "What about you? How are you spending your time off?"
Roald blinked. "Why do you care?" he demanded, suspiciously.
Tavian shrugged. "I don't, really," he replied. "I'm just trying to be nice. This is the Legion, and we're supposed to work together. That means we're supposed to get along with each other."
"What Legion did you join?" Roald sneered. "No one here gives a damn about us except as warm bodies. If a real conflict popped up, we'd be on the front lines getting killed faster than you can say 'Oblivion gate.'"
Tavian gave him a searching look. "Is that what you really think, Roald?" he asked. "That we're just numbers to them?"
Roald gave a derisive snort. "Don't tell me you believe all that bullshit about serving the Empire and rising through the ranks."
"Don't you?" Tavian asked, then shook his head. "Don't answer that. Obviously, you don't, or you wouldn't mock it. Tell me, Roald, why did you join the Legion?"
"You are stupid," the Nord lad scoffed. "So I can learn to fight better. That's what's obvious."
"Fight who?" Tavian pressed.
"Anyone who tries to push me around," Roald insisted, his voice going up a bit in volume.
"No one here is trying to push you around," Tavian said calmly. Something in his gut told him he might be on to why the Nord lad was such a jerk all the time. "The Prefects and Tribunes and Legates are tough because they have to be, to get us to do things the right way, but it's not personal. So, who are you fighting?"
"None of your damned business!" Roald scowled, and made as if to brush past Tavian, but the Dovahkiir side-stepped him and refused to let him pass. "Out of my way, Dragon-Baby," Roald warned.
"Or you'll what?" Tavian asked, again keeping his voice calm. Years of watching his parents de-escalate aggression between adversaries was beginning to pay off. His mother had a fearsome temper when her ire was up, and no one in their right mind picked a fight with his father, but both of them used every opportunity and every method in their arsenal to prevent a fight from starting in the first place. Tavian called on those tactics now.
"If you start a fight with me," he reasoned, "your leave will be revoked, and I'm not going to fight you for the same reason. I'm just trying to understand you."
"Why in Oblivion do you care?" Roald yelled, but it was clear something was upsetting the young Nord.
"You've been riding herd on me since we met," Tavian replied, not raising his voice. "I know Dirk was a friend of yours, but Dirk made a bad decision and he wasn't able to come back. The others of your group didn't make it through basic. You're the only one left, and I think you're putting on the tough guy act because you're afraid."
"You're touched by Sheogorath," Roald glared. "I ain't afraid of anyone."
Tavian shrugged. "Fair enough," he said equably. "Maybe it's not a person you're afraid of. Maybe you're afraid you'll wash out, too, and you don't know where you'll go after this."
Something in Roald's eyes sparked, and Tavian knew he'd hit a nerve. Before the Nord could get angry at his words, he added quickly. "That's why I'd like to invite you back to the Pale with me. Come spend a couple weeks at Heljarchen. Get away from here for a bit and think about what you'd like to do with your life."
What did I just do? Tavian thought, horrified. I just asked my nemesis to visit my home!
That quiet voice in his mind chuckled. It's a good plan, Akatosh approved. Perhaps all he needs is a good example.
There was an emptiness in his mind as the Dragon God of Time withdrew once more.
"Real funny, Dragon-Baby," Roald scoffed. "If I thought you were serious, I might take you up on the offer."
There was a desperate look in Roald's eyes of which he was unaware, and that Tavian didn't miss. He forced himself to smile. "I am serious," he confirmed. "I've got enough to pay for the portal passage. Meet me at the stables tomorrow at eight o'clock. Pack enough things for a couple weeks."
"And your parents are okay with this?" Roald ventured, suspicion in his tone.
"Of course," Tavian nodded. He'd have to do some fast explaining when they got the Heljarchen, he knew, but his mother and father would never turn away anyone at the door.
Eva and Josef, however, clearly felt he was out of his mind.
"You did what?" Eva hissed. She had crept to her side of the door between the men's and women's barracks in which they resided. There was no one to see her, as Gertrude, Narina and Selvanna had already moved out. She held the door open a crack so she could talk to them after lights-out.
Tavian repeated his plan.
"You've lost your mind," Josef said sourly. "All he's ever done is made fun of you. Of me. Of all of us."
"Are you sure you know what you're doing, Tavian?" Eva demanded. "I can't think of one good reason why you'd go out on a limb for someone who's tried nine ways to Sundas to get you into trouble."
"I think he needs this," Tavian said stubbornly. He judiciously didn't mention that his mentor also felt it was a good idea.
Eva shook her head. "Even if he does," she warned, "this isn't going to change him overnight. He's still a jerk, and they don't change their colors that easily."
"We won't know that unless we give him a chance," Tavian said.
"Hsst!" Josef warned. "Prefect's coming!"
They hurried back to their bunks, and pretended to be sound asleep when Prefect Agnete poked her head in the door.
As he drifted off, Tavian tried to convince himself that he was right, and that inviting Roald to Heljarchen was the right thing to do.
Julia bent over the ledger from Heljarchen once more. Her mother had been instructing her on household bookkeeping for some time, and had only recently turned the task over to her.
"I've been having some trouble focusing my eyes lately," Tamsyn had sighed with a wry smile. "Nothing to worry about, but tedious work like this gives me a headache, and it's something you should know how to do anyway."
Julia added up the column of numbers once more, taking into account the investments her parents had made in the Pale and deducting the expenses of running an estate as large as Heljarchen Hall. There were similar books kept at Hjerim, Proudspire, Breezehome and Lakeview Manor, which was a small cabin by Lake Ilinalta in Falkreath Hold that her parents sometimes used as a vacation spot. A Redguard woman named Rayya, whom her father had fought with during the war, was the Steward there.
There had been a house in Markarth – Vlindrel Hall – where she had been born. But as of last year, the Reach had finally been ceded to Madanach, the Reach King, and the Dragonborn had given the house to the newly-formed province to be used in whatever manner they saw fit. His Housecarl, Argis, had moved to Breezehome, to keep an eye on things there.
In the past year, she and her father had run up against a blank wall, attempting to learn more about the mysterious person who had been pulling Simon's strings in Windhelm. Simon himself had left the city as he had promised, and the last she'd heard about him, he had joined the priesthood to be an initiate of Mara in Riften.
At least he's far enough away where I won't see him again too soon, she shuddered, remembering the repulsive former strong-arm.
Whoever had been behind the plot to rid Windhelm of non-Nord races must have gotten word that the Dragonborn was involved, because he had simply faded away. Julia knew that not for one moment did her father believe he had given up.
"He'll try again someplace else," he'd said, "as soon as the dust settles, and he thinks enough time has passed that we've forgotten about it. I've seen this type of criminal activity before. It may take quite some time, but he'll rear his head up again. We just have to pay attention, and keep our ear to the ground."
He'd had to explain that metaphor to her.
In the meantime, Julia had thrown herself into understanding all the investments her parents had made in Skyrim. The results were mind-boggling. There was scarcely a town or village that hadn't seen some benefit or assistance from the Dragonborn. In the Pale alone were several entries in the ledger book, some of them decades old.
"Hall of the Vigilant," she read. "Five thousand septims to rebuild and refit hall and grounds. Temple of Mara (former Nightcaller Temple): three thousand septims to clear debris and rebuild interior. Ironbreaker Mine, Dawnstar: five hundred septims to purchase new equipment."
It was the same in the other Holds across the Province. Some entries were less noteworthy: "Sarethi Farm, the Rift: eighty septims to Avrusa Sarethi for eight nirnroot plants."
"Why pay someone for nirnroot?" she had asked her mother. "We can grow it at the College."
"Because Avrusa knows more about the plant than anyone else," Tamsyn had replied. "She studied under Sinderion himself. You've read his book, The Nirnroot Missive, so you'll know just how difficult it is to cultivate the plant. Avrusa taught Sleeps-in-Blossoms at Winterhold, so that we could grow our own. I also helped her by collecting as many crimson nirnroot from Blackreach as I could, and she's managed to grow those now, as well. She supplies most of the alchemists across the Province with her crops, and I go down there three or four times a year, when I can, to buy whatever she has available. Sarethi Farm is becoming quite well-known. Avrusa's sister Aduri, has even finally come around to realize what a lucrative venture her older sister has going now, and is more helpful than she used to be in the past."
Julia nodded in understanding. The small, inconsequential things her parents did – because they could – had a huge impact on the lives of the people they helped.
But bookkeeping alone did not occupy every hour of her day. Her father was still the person most of the Jarls called upon when trouble emerged in their Holds. He called her into the library one afternoon and showed her a letter he had received from Jarl Thaddgeir of Falkreath.
"Dragonborn," the letter began, "I know you have helped many of the people of Skyrim in the past, and so I ask for your help now. I have had reports of a group of bandits taking up residence at Helgen. I've sent patrols into the area to sweep them out, but they have set up traps and watchtowers, and are heavily fortified. I've already lost a dozen good men and women to these cutthroats, and I don't wish to lose any more. I feel that you, with your particular talents, may succeed where my efforts have failed. Please help, if you can. I remain yours, sincerely, Thadgeir, Jarl of Falkreath."
"Helgen?" Julia asked. "Where's that?"
Marcus led her over to the map of Skyrim he had had framed and mounted on the wall. It was covered with handwritten notes, in both his writing as well as others. "Here," he pointed the place out to her. "Between the city of Falkreath and the village of Riverwood."
The small village of Riverwood, on the banks of the White River, had been burned to the ground during the last war, at the hands of the Dominion on their push towards Whiterun. But in the last several years, Jarl Balgruuf and many influential citizens – the Dragonborn included – had donated their time, labor and money to rebuild the town back to the way it had been before the war. Most of the citizens, Marcus had been relieved to discover, had fled before the Dominion arrived, hiding out in the caves and mines in the foothills around the Throat of the World.
Helgen, however, had remained a vacant eyesore, and a haven for less desirable occupants, such as now.
"Why are you showing me this?" Julia asked now, though a part of her quivered with excitement.
"Because I'm going to go there, and you're going with me," he smiled. "You've heard about the way your mother and I have explored caves, bandit lairs, ruins, and so forth. It's time for you to see how that's done, and to do your part. This is what it means to be a trouble-shooter."
Julia couldn't keep the smile from her face. Tamsyn was worried, of course, but she didn't attempt to dissuade them from going.
"Tavian will be coming home on leave soon," she reminded them. "Do you think you can both be back in time?"
"We'll be back before you know we're gone," Marcus assured her, and Julia gave her mother a hug for understanding what this meant to her.
Her father summoned Odahviing, and Julia's heart skipped a beat. She had assumed they would take the portal from either Dawnstar or Whiterun down to Falkreath.
"You have summoned me, and I have come, thuri," the great red dragon replied, as he landed heavily in the front yard at Heljarchen. "What is it you desire?"
"I need to get to Helgen, old friend," Marcus replied. "Julia is coming with me."
"Drem yol lok, Dovahkiir," the firedrake greeted her, and Julia bowed her head in respect.
"Drem yol lok, Odahviing," she replied. "It's been a long time since I've seen you."
"But I have seen you, Dovahkiir," he countered. "A dragon's eyes are sharp, and I have seen you when I have flown over your home. You have grown, but not by much. Is this as big as you will get?"
Julia was not insulted. Her mother's Breton heritage was responsible for her shortness of stature, just as her father's Imperial blood gave Tavian his height.
"Dii kopraan aal kos mal, nuz dii rot los ni," she reminded him. My body may be small, but my words are not.
"Indeed not!" the dragon laughed as they climbed on and he launched himself into the sky, still rumbling in amusement. "You are indeed your mother's daughter!"
Julia never tired of her flights on Odahviing's back. From the time she was a little girl, she had never feared the firedrake, trusting that her father's Voice kept the dov in line. Now and then, her mother would cast a spell to call another dragon, and after some time had elapsed, an emerald green female dragon – the only one known of her kind – would land in the yard. Golmonah, she was called, and it was clear there was a deep bond of friendship and trust between the dragon and the Arch-Mage.
As she grew older, part of her wished she had her own dragon friend, but both her father and mother had cautioned her that – with the possible exception of Golmonah – most dragons were not to be trusted.
"Not even Odahviing?" she had asked.
Her father had shaken his head. "Especially not Odahviing," he told her. "Aside from Paarthurnax, he's probably one of the oldest dragons in Skyrim. And the only reasons he listens to me is because one: I respect his autonomy, and two: he knows I can best him. If he ever thought I was too weak to beat him in a fight, he would challenge my right to call upon him."
Julia had reflected on that, many times, and had sadly come to the conclusion that her father was probably right. It didn't keep her from wishing things could be different, however.
Marcus directed Odahviing to take them to Lakeview Manor, his cabin on the shores of Lake Ilinalta.
"We'll walk to Helgen from there," he told the firedrake. "I'm not sure what we'll find, and I don't want to alert them of our coming."
The 'Manor' was really just a simple, one-room cabin of wood, stone and stucco. Smoke drifted lazily out of the chimney through a wood-shingled roof. A garden plot was planted with cabbages, potatoes and other assorted vegetables, and a cow bawled from a pen on the opposite side. Chickens had scattered when the dragon had landed, but were coming back now that he had gone. Beyond the garden plot, Julia could see a smelter, workbench, anvil and grindstone – her father's outdoor smithy.
Rayya was waiting for them when Odahviing dropped them off, and had a lunch prepared for them inside. It was a simple meal of bread, cheese, fruits and wine, but it was filling, and the Redguard Steward filled her employer in on the events of the Hold while they ate.
"Jarl Thadgeir is having you clear out Helgen?" she blinked, when he explained the reason for their visit. "Do you need my steel, my Thane?"
"Yes, Rayya," Marcus nodded. "I do. This is a training exercise for Julia, as well, so we'll need to keep her safe."
It rankled a bit, Julia thought, to know that her father still felt she needed protecting, but she found her inner wellspring of calm and allowed the irritation to dissipate. In all fairness, as talented as she might be, she still didn't know what to expect in the ruins.
The Steward made a noise that sounded like a hum of pleasure as she went to a chest in one corner that held her personal belongings, pulling out two gleaming, curved scimitars. She examined them carefully before announcing she would be in the smithy if they needed her.
"Are we going to go to Helgen after lunch, Dad?" Julia asked.
"Not quite yet," he replied, shaking his head. "I think I'd like to talk to Jarl Thadgeir first. Rayya seemed surprised by his decision to finally deal with Helgen. It's been almost thirty years, after all, since the place was laid to waste. And it's been over a decade since the end of the war. Why now? Why not earlier?"
Julia shrugged helplessly. Her father grinned smugly.
"See? Too many questions. Not enough answers."
They cleaned up the cabin after their meal, though Rayya had returned before they finished and insisted she should be doing it for them.
"Nonsense," Julia smiled, shaking out her washcloth over the fire. The crumbs ignited before they hit the coals. She hung the damp cloth on a nearby hook as her father pushed the table back against the wall and set the chairs on either side. "We're all ready to go, now, and your swords are ready for action!"
Rayya allowed one side of her mouth to curl up. The Breton girl's good humor was infectious, but the Redguard woman seldom cracked a smile.
They walked into Falkreath together and proceeded down the bustling street to the Jarl's Longhouse. Julia had to trot to keep up with her father's long strides. There were so many people! She had been to Falkreath once or twice in the past, but she never remembered it as being this populated.
It wasn't just Nords, either, she noticed. Many were Imperials – probably come up from Cyrodiil in the south – but there were at least as many other races represented. Bretons from High Rock, Redguards from Hammerfell, Khajiit from Elsweyr. Why had they all come to Falkreath Hold?
They were admitted at once into Thadgeir's presence. The old Nord was ancient, Julia thought. Lean, muscular despite his age, with long gray hair held back from his face by a unique crown of gold and deer antlers, embedded with jewels, Jarl Thadgeir still commanded an imposing presence in the Longhouse. Hovering nearby was his Steward, an Altmer woman named Nenya. In front of him lurked the largest Nord female Julia had ever seen. She glowered over everyone, with her hand firmly on the hilt of her greatsword, which she wore at her waist. Upon seeing the Dragonborn, however, her eyes lit up.
"My lord," she announced over her shoulder, "the Dragonborn comes." There was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes as she spoke, and Marcus gave her a look that clearly asked, Really?
"Good to see you, too, Ursine," he chuckled ruefully. "How've you been?" They clasped wrists.
"Better for seeing you today, Dragonborn," the woman grinned. She stepped aside to allow him to approach Jarl Thadgeir.
"Dragonborn," boomed the Jarl, and Julia's eyes widened. She hadn't expected such a robust voice from a man who looked to be eighty years old if he was a day. "It's good of you to come! You got my letter, I take it?"
"I did, Jarl," Marcus nodded respectfully. "May I present my daughter, Julia?" he gestured, and Julia gave a respectful bow. "You already know Rayya."
"That I do, that I do," Jarl Thadgeir smiled. "Julia, you are most welcome here. Well, I won't beat around the bushes. I'll get straight to the point. There's a group of bandits holed up in Helgen. That's not really a surprise. We've had problems with the ruins off and on since before the war. But I imagine you saw all the people in the streets outside?"
Marcus nodded. "Population boom?" he asked.
Thadgeir shrugged. "More like immigration boom," he said sourly. "And I don't have room in the capital here to put them all. As you can imagine, the way this city was built doesn't allow much room for expansion. We're hemmed in on three sides by stony mountain ridges, and on the fourth by the millpond and its tributary, and our rather huge cemetery."
"You're looking to relocate some of the people here," Marcus surmised immediately.
"I am," Thadgeir confirmed. "And the best place for that is Helgen. But I can't ask people to move there, to try and rebuild the village, if it's inhabited by a band of thieves and cutthroats. So, will you help me?"
Julia watched her father's face as the Jarl's plan unfolded. "Jarl Thadgeir," he replied, a smile spreading over his face, "I would be glad to!"
Not long after, the three of them – the Dragonborn, his daughter and his Steward – were headed up the road to Helgen. The afternoon was wearing on, but Julia could hear her father humming under his breath.
"You seem happy about this, Dad," she observed.
"I am, honey," he smiled. "Helgen is a sore that's been bothering me since I first came to Skyrim. While Siddgeir was Jarl, nothing happened to the place. He let it lay in ruins, and it gave the Dominion a foothold in Skyrim during the last war. I'm glad to see Thadgeir finally getting around to doing something about it, rather than just talk."
"I can understand now why Jarl Thadgeir wants to clear the place out," Julia mused, "but why are so many people coming into Skyrim now? And why Falkreath? Why not head to Whiterun, or Riften, or someplace else?"
"Good question," Marcus approved. "My instinct tells me that most are coming through from Cyrodiil—"
"I saw Khajiit and Dunmer in the crowds, my Thane," Rayya put in, "as well as some of my people. They aren't all Imperials."
"No," Marcus allowed, "but my guess is they were already in Cyrodiil, just waiting for clearance to be allowed into Skyrim. As for why the influx, and why now? Who knows? We may find that out as we go along."
As the shadows lengthened, they drew nearer to the stone and timber walls that encircled the ruined village of Helgen.
"How many ways are there into the ruins, Thane?" Rayya asked.
"Three, if I remember correctly," the Dragonborn answered, "but my memory is a bit…hazy on the details. There was a lot going on at the time." His face was bleak, and Julia knew he must be remembering his first experiences in Helgen. Her mother had been there, too, and she was the one who had told Julia, when she was old enough to understand.
"Mom said one of the gateways collapsed when Alduin attacked," she offered now. "Only the north and east gates remained intact."
"Then we'll have to go around," Rayya murmured.
"There are caverns and tunnels under the Keep," Marcus advised. "Once we clear the exterior, we're going to have to check what remains of the buildings to make sure there's no one lurking there before we get into the Keep itself."
Rayya nodded her understanding, loosening the scimitars in their sheaths.
They worked their way around to the north, keeping as much of the rugged landscape between themselves and any observers from the ruins as they could. When they got within sight of the gate, Marcus used his Aura Whisper, as Julia silently fired off a Detect Life spell.
"I see eight, Dad," Julia said softly.
"Really?" her father queried, amused. "Because I see many more than that."
"Your thu'um has a longer range than my spell," she pointed out.
"True enough," he allowed. "You see the one at the top of the tower?"
Julia looked up. "I see him," she nodded.
"When we get inside, keep that in mind," her father said. "He'll be able to see pretty much everything from his vantage point, and he can pick us off one by one before we can get to him."
"That's if he's shooting a bow with anything stronger than iron arrows," Rayya sniffed. "You aren't wearing armor, Miss Julia," she added softly, "so I suggest you hang back and let your father and I be your shields."
"I have armor," Julia hissed back, remembering to keep her voice low. "I just haven't cast it yet. I'm waiting until we get closer."
They found the gate locked, to no one's surprise. Marcus examined the latch that had been built into the heavy wooden doors.
"It's fairly new, and not that difficult," he announced in a low voice. "Julia? Have you ever picked a lock?"
It was a simple question, but it took her by surprise, and her eyes widened. Did he know about the time she and Tavian broke into the wine cellar? She had been ten and Tavian was six. Both were curious to know what wine tasted like, since the grown-ups all seemed to like it so much. But her mother insisted they were far too young to drink it, and made sure to lock it away whenever it was not being consumed. She kept the key on a chatelaine she wore at her belt when she was home at Heljarchen. Lydia kept the keys when her mother wasn't home.
But she had found some curious objects in a forgotten drawer: long, thin spindles of metal with a slight hook at one end. Tavian thought they were crochet hooks, but Julia had never seen any like these. And a curious conversation overheard when Master Brynjolf had come to visit made her determined to see if these were the lockpicks he had mentioned.
It took several tries, but she had gotten the lock open on the door to the wine cellar, and she and Tavian had snuck in. They pulled a bottle out of the closest rack, worked the cork off and took turns drinking. It tasted horrible. Tavian said as much.
"But it must be good," she had insisted. "The grown-ups like it!"
Noises overhead made them hide the bottle and sneak back upstairs. But neither of them forgot about it, or the giddy feeling they had while drinking it, even as bad as it tasted to them. A few days later they tried again. And again. And again. Until they finished the entire rack of bottles, certain that grown-ups must be stupid to want to drink anything that tasted as bad as wine.
It had been several months later that their mother announced it was time to try the wine they'd put up in the cellar.
"I was sure we had more bottles than this," she had frowned, seeing how few remained. Shrugging, she'd brought one upstairs and opened it for the grown-ups to try. At first taste, however, Gregor choked, Lydia gagged, and Marcus spat his into the fireplace.
"Ugh!" Tamsyn gasped. "What went wrong? It's all gone to vinegar!"
Julia made Tavian swear to never divulge their escapade, though they sometimes laughed about it in private.
Now, the twinkle dancing in her father's eyes, which she could see even the moonslight, told her he knew.
Silently, glad the darkness hid most of the flush of shame she felt rushing to her face, she took the pick from him and worked at the lock until it opened. She handed the pick back to him, but he waved her off, and handed her a few more.
"Keep them," he murmured, for her ears only. "You never can tell when they may come in handy." He pulled the gate open only wide enough for them to pass through.
"I'll take the road to the right," he whispered to the two women. "Rayya, go with Julia. See if you can clear this side around to the tower."
The Steward nodded, and beckoned to Julia to follow. They found they could only proceed a short distance, around to where the east gate stood, before their way was blocked by charred timbers and tumbled stones. Yet Julia's Detect Life spell showed her more life forms beyond the debris.
"Maybe there's a way through the building?" she ventured, and Rayya nodded.
"It's worth a try."
A sudden "FUS RO DAH!" from the other side of town told them that the Dragonborn had found some of the bandits. Both women were torn between rushing back to help, and proceeding along their directed path.
"I think if Dad was really in trouble," Julia reasoned, "he'd call for it. And we'd hear that, too."
Rayya's brow was knit with concern behind her face paint. Her first loyalty was to the man she still considered her Thane. But he had charged her with protecting his daughter, and that had to take precedence.
"We'll keep moving then," the Redguard woman decided. "We need to take out that sniper on the tower."
They found a way through the back wall of a burned-out building. The alleyway behind it ended in a pile of debris that wasn't too difficult to clamber over. On the other side, however, they heard rough voices, coming towards them from what once must have been an inn. Three bandits charged out of the ruined building, weapons at the ready, and Rayya leaped in front of Julia, brandishing her scimitars.
"Stay behind me!" she ordered, as she engaged with the largest and strongest of the brigands, who was wielding a steel warhammer.
Julia, however, had other ideas, as she summoned the magicka within her and cast a lightning rune on the ground directly in the path of a Nord woman wearing fur armor and carrying an iron mace. Unable to stop her momentum or switch directions so quickly, the woman stepped right in the middle of the rune and set it off. The blast threw her backwards a dozen feet, and she lay there, twitching and convulsing as the electricity of the shock spell held her immobile.
Something whizzed past her head just then, and Julia saw a Bosmer archer in hide armor duck behind the corner of the ruined inn. Putting up the ward her mother had taught her, which deflected missile weapons, Julia waited with the ward spell in one hand and a fireball in the other until the archer showed himself once more. She launched the spell and put up her ward in self-defense, but the Bosmer evaded the blast, shooting at her with his bow. It plinked off her shield, and he frowned as he realized that his shot had been wasted.
Rayya dodged and whirled around big Nord with the warhammer, who was getting winded trying to keep up with the lightly-armored Redguard. There was a smug, almost feral grin on the Steward's face as she continued to strike out, drawing blood, while blocking or dodging all his attacks. In frustration, the big Nord roared out a wordless battlecry, and Julia stiffened, suddenly terrified. She had heard Gregor bellow out something similar, but it had never been directed at her, and it had always seemed reassuring when Gregor did it.
This time, however, it sent a shiver of horror through to her core, and – unable to stop herself – she bolted for the perceived safety of the tower, not far away.
"Julia!" Rayya yelled, but was unable to follow the Breton girl.
"Now you're mine!" the Bosmer archer gloated, drawing his bow on the fleeing mage.