Faendal sat on the Riverwood Trader's porch, feeling utterly bewildered.

He'd only just returned to Riverwood, ready to excuse himself from a day of work at the mill, only to find that an extra squadron of Whiterun guards had been posted here already. After questioning one, it seemed apparent that someone had beaten him to the Jarl with news of the dragon. But who could have known? Who would have made the trip? And why? Sven certainly hadn't, and the other villagers were going about life as usual, so it couldn't be them.

The sound of approaching footsteps stirred him from his contemplation, and he looked up. Before him stood an older man. He was wearing simple clothes, two iron swords on his hips, and a black patch over his left eye. He had slung an iron breastplate over his back, and seemed to be heading for the Trader's door.

The man glanced down at the openy staring elf, stopping in his footsteps. Odd. Faendal had assumed he was in the stranger's blind spot.

With a friendly smile, the man turned towards him. "Can I help you," he asked, his voice warm and kind.

Faendal blinked, then cleared his throat, getting to his feet. "I... Look, I'm sorry," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to stare. We just don't get many visitors here." He held out a hand. "I'm Faendal. I work over at the mill."

The man nodded, shaking the elf's hand with a firm grip. "Bradley," he said, motioning to the Trader. "I'm just stopping by to grab some supplies and head up to the barrow. You wouldn't happen to know the way, would you?"

Faendal couldn't help but blink again. "Uh, yeah? Bleak Falls Barrow?"

"That's the one," Bradley answered with a nod. His smile hadn't wavered a bit. "I'm unfamiliar with the area, and could use a guide. And you seem to be a hunter. Seems reasonable to assume you know the way."

Faendal returned the smile awkwardly. "Well, yeah, but I wouldn't suggest heading up there."

Bradley tilted his head. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Well, a few days ago, a bunch of bandits robbed the Trader here," Faendal said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the building. "Then they headed up to the barrow. I don't know why they decided to make that their base, but they certainly wouldn't welcome company."

Bradley laughed, reaching out and patting Faendal's shoulder. "I thank you for the warning, Faendal, but I have a job to do. And a few bandits can't be much of an obstacle."

Faendal grimaced. The old man was serious, he could tell. He'd seen a lot of would be adventurers in his day. And this one seemed to be the result of a midlife crisis and a half. There was no way he could, in good conscience, let this man face the bandits alone.

The elf sighed heavily. "Let me excuse myself for the day," he muttered, strolling past Bradley. "I'll be happy to show you the way."

Bradley bowed his head, watching him go without a word.

Today was going quite alright, despite the nightmare that had preceded it. Bradley had made good time returning to the village, even if the guards Irileth had sent beat him to it. And now, he had a guide, perhaps even a helping hand. Whatever the case, he was thankful for it. Plus, it would give him a chance to study an elf up close.

As he stepped into the Riverwood Trader, however, he was greeted by a pair of humans in the midst of a spat.

"Well, one of us has to do something," a woman grumbled, folding her arms and scowling at the man behind the counter.

The man, for his part, waved a finger at her. "I said no. No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!"

She rolled her eyes, turning away from him. "Well, what do you propose we do about it?"

The man shook his head. "We are done talking about this-" He blinked, noticing Bradley's presence for the first time.

"Oh," he muttered, quickly gathering himself. "A customer. Sorry you had to hear all that."

Bradley raised an eyebrow, approaching the counter. "I assume this has to do with the bandits that robbed you recently?"

"Well, yeah," the man admitted, clearing his throat. "But the Riverwood Trader is still in business!" He chuckled nervously. "Uh, they were only after one thing, really. An ornament in the shape of a claw, made of solid gold."

Bradley's eye narrowed. "Interesting. That implies they knew of its existence, and were willing to part with the rest of your gold and inventory rather than risk its loss. Tell me, was there anything interesting you know about the claw?"

The man blinked. "Uh... Now that you mention it, there were a couple of strange symbols in its palm. That's about all I know, though. Why do you ask?"

Bradley smiled. "Well, mister..."

"Uh, Lucan Valerius," the man answered. "And that's my sister, Camilla."

"Bradley," he introduced himself, bowing his head. "Well, Lucan, Camilla, I'm heading up to Bleak Falls Barrow myself, and could fetch your claw for you on my way back to Whiterun."

"You'd do that?" Lucan asked. "I've got some coin coming in from my latest shipment. It's yours if you can get my claw back."

Camilla glared at her brother. "So this is your plan, Lucan?"

Lucan shot her a strained smile. "So now, you don't have to go, do you?"

Camilla huffed, smirking a little. "Oh, really? Well, I think your little helper here needs a guide."

"Actually," Bradley piped up, "A fellow named Faendal has agreed to guide me there."

Lucan snorted. "Even more of a reason for you not to go!"

Camilla took a deep breath and sighed heavily. "Alright, fine. But-" She turned towards Bradley, waggling a finger in his face. "Bring him back alive. I wouldn't want anything to happen to either of you."

Bradley glanced between her finger and her face for a moment, then smiled, bowing his head. "Duly noted, mistress Valerius. In the meantime, Lucan? I would like to do business."

"Oh, sure thing," Lucan said with a nod, watching his sister stroll to the table. "We have plenty of dried goods and such."

Bradley nodded, setting the iron breastplate on the counter. "I would like to trade this for a traveling pack, a waterskin, and enough dried food for two days. If it's not enough, I do have some gold of my own."

Lucan and Camilla exchanged confused glances, all while Bradley smiled on.

Faendal was waiting for him when Bradley emerged from the shop. He looked the man up and down and smirked. "First adventure?"

Bradley shook his head, adjusting the pack on his back. "Actually, no. Though it is the first I had to buy my own gear for."

"I see..." Faendal muttered. "For such a big bag, it's looking pretty light, though. Expecting to grab something?"

"I have volunteered to return Lucan's property to him," Bradley answered. "Not to mention, I'm fetching something else inside the Barrow. Speaking of, I believe you were going to show me the way?"

"Oh, right," Faendal muttered, heading down the road. "Right this way."

As Bradley followed Faendal, he couldn't help but notice that the elf kept glancing over his shoulder at him, as if studying him as intently as Bradley was studying the elf.

"Something on your mind?" Bradley asked cordially, tilting his head as they crossed the bridge.

Faendal flinched, whipping his head back forward. "... You sure you want to do this?"

"Of course I am," Bradley answered, shaking his head. "I would not be taking this hike if I wasn't."

"... Okay," Faendal muttered, chancing another look over his shoulder. "But can you?"

Bradley's smile grew as he chuckled. "When we meet the bandits, keep your distance. I wouldn't want you in the splash zone."

Girmi hated the cold. He hated many things, to be honest, but the cold was near the top of his list. Which is why he had protested when Harknir and Arvel insisted that he and two others guard the tower between Riverwood and Bleak Falls Barrow. However, he'd been outvoted, and it wasn't like many besides those two and Soling would be better off.

So he suffered in silence, sitting on the bridge leading into the tower with his bow, and wondering why he'd picked hide over fur armor. Mahkrul, the orc leaning against the nearby tree had the right idea in that department. At least, as a Nord, dying from the cold was less of an option. If only Britte wasn't asleep upstairs, then they could all be suffering together in peace.

That was when he saw the pair marching up the snow covered path towards them, without a care in the world.

Or, at least, the one eyed man was carefree. The elf just behind him was more concerned, hanging back and watching the pair of bandits carefully.

Girmi sighed, getting to his feet. "We got work, Mahkrul."

"Right," the orc grumbled, pushing himself away from the tree and pulling out his battleaxe. He snarled, making sure his tusks were in full view as he called out, "I'm warning you, back off!"

The elf reached for his bow, but the man held out a hand, saying something too quiet for Girmi to hear. The elf hesitated, then lowered his hands, stepping back as the man approached.

Girmi rolled his eyes, pulling his own bow out. "He wasn't kidding," he said, grabbing an arrow and twirling it in his fingers. "Turn around and go back the way you came."

The man before them sighed, shaking his head. "You know, growing old is a tough thing to deal with. Your body ceases to move the way you want it to."

Mahkrul huffed. "What are you on about, old man?"

The man drew his sword, smiling at the pair. "So I would like to end this as quickly as possible," he said, as if the orc hadn't spoken at all. "But first, I would like to know how many of your friends are waiting at the barrow."

Girmi snorted, knocking the arrow to his bow and pulling the string taught, aiming for the man's remaining blue eye. "Fat chance, gramps. Now leave before this gets nasty."

The man sighed again. "Very well, if that's how you wish to proceed." His knees bent, then, without warning, he charged forward, faster than either of the bandits could have predicted, kicking up snow with each quick step.

Girmi's eyes widened as he attempted to track the man, letting his arrow loose with a grunt. The missile flew wide, bouncing off a nearby rock.

The man was turning now, slashing at Mahkrul as he ran directly towards Girmi himself. The orc attempted to swing his axe down at the passing stranger, but was shocked to notice that his forearms and the weapon had fallen to the ground. And the stumps that remained attached were bleeding. Profusely.

As the orc screamed in pain and realization, Girmi's mind almost completely shut down, dedicating itself to one thought alone. Jump or die to the one eyed warrior.

As said warrior closed the distance, Girmi attempted to leap off the bridge and into a nearby snowdrift. Unfortunately, the decision of where he flew was made for him by a knee to the side.

The blow sent the terrified and thoroughly winded bandit into the tower itself, smashing into a set of drawers with enough force to shatter its boards. How he wasn't dead was beyond Girmi's suppositions. Weird word, suppositions. He'd recently read it in a book they kept upstairs.

He blinked, returning to the present. His eyes lay on a pair of leather boots. Slowly, painfully, he looked up at the face of the one eyed man.

The warrior was rolling his shoulders one by one. Stretching. And smiling down at him.

"Thank you for the warmup, son," the man said, leaning down over Girmi. "Now, would you mind answering some questions for me?"

Girmi was afraid, yes. Deathly so. But he was a Nord, and this smug bastard was getting on his nerves.

The bandit sucked in a deep, painful breath. "Ffffuuck offf," he managed to ground out.

The old man seemed to ignore the remark, taking off his pack and saying, "I believe we were about to discuss numbers. Specifically, the number of bandits you have stationed at the barrow itself."

The bandit grit his teeth. All that noise had to have woken up Britte. All he needed was to buy her time, and he'd be avenged. "I'm not..." he hissed out. He definitely had some broken ribs now, and his shoulder wasn't moving, merely hurting. Taking as deep a breath as he dared, Girmi grit his teeth and grumbled, "I'm not telling you a damned thing."

The man sighed, setting the pack down and rummaging through it. "That is quite a shame," he mused, producing a small, red bottle. "Because I am in possession of a few minor health potions."

Girmi stared openly at the bottle, every instinct screaming at him to snatch it away from this old coot. But the way he'd moved, how he'd disarmed Mahkrul and disabled Girmi... Even if Girmi had been perfectly healthy, he would never have been able to take it by force.

The old man smirked. "Judging from your expression, I believe we can begin negotiations," he mused.

Then, to Girmi's shock and horror, the man's eye narrowed, turning towards the stairs as he scowled.

Britte, clad in iron and holding her mace aloft, stood at the top of the stairs. With a roar, she charged down at the old man, raising her shield as she did. Clearly, she meant to ram him at full speed.

The old man calmly turned towards her, not even bothering to raise his blade. And when she should have collided with him, the man stepped past her with a flash of reflected light. Britte stood there for a moment, as if frozen in time. Then, she choked, blood pouring from her mouth. Gracelessly, she fell to her knees, her helmeted head rolling off her shoulders before she collapsed entirely.

The old man turned towards the front door. "Faendal?" he called out. "If you wouldn't mind healing and watching our host? I need to make sure there are no more... surprises waiting for us."

A thoroughly shellshocked elf stepped into the tower, glancing between Girmi and the one eyed man. "I, uh," he muttered, swallowing. "Sure. I can do that."

With a nod, the stranger disappeared upstairs.

Faendal had no earthly clue what to think as he stared out at the dead orc. The poor thing had screamed as it bled out, desperately attempting to reconnect his arms to their stumps. Now it lay there, silent and still.

He sighed, turning to look at the still living bandit. Or, at least, so he thought.

"You still alive over there?" he asked, lightly kicking his shin.

"Fffuck yourself," the bandit groaned, not even wincing at the kick.

Faendal sighed, kneeling before the bandit and fishing out a healing potion. "Listen," he muttered, popping the cork. "I only just met this man. All I wanted to do was make sure he got to the barrow and back in one piece." He chuckled, shaking his head. "I guess I never had to worry."

The bandit chuckled darkly, wincing at the pain in his ribs. "Ffffucker's nnnot hhhuuman," he ground out through the pain.

Faendal shrugged. "Well, I'm not one myself, so I guess I'm not one to judge." He held out the bottle. "So, you ready to stop dying?"

With a cough of blood, the bandit growled, "He'll kill me anyways."

The elf shrugged. "Probably. But, if I'm being honest, feels like the least you deserve."

The bandit blinked. "Fuck I do to you?"

Faendal scowled, glaring down at the bandit now. "Oh, I don't know... You did help rob the Riverwood Trader, putting someone I care deeply about in harm's way." He grabbed the bandit's jaw, forcing the man's mouth open. "So you're going to drink this," he growled, shoving the health potion into the bandit's mouth. "And give something for once in your life."

The bandit choked, flailing his arms against Faendal, but the elf shoved a knee into the nord's stomach, closing off his nostrils and forcing the liquid down his throat.

Once all of the red potion disappeared, Faendal released the man, drawing a dagger and holding it against the bandit's throat.

The bandit choked and spluttered, drops of the potion spraying everywhere, even as his body began to heal. "What in Oblivion-" he started, moving to get to his feet before finally noticing the iron blade at his throat. "I, uh..."

"Ah, good to see you're both still alive," Bradley called out, strolling leisurely down the stairs. He completely disregarded the bandit corpse still there. "I trust our friend gave you no trouble, Faendal?"

Faendal smirked, getting back to his feet and sheathing his blade. "No trouble at all," he assured him.

"Good," Bradley said with a nod, his lone eye peering down at the bandit. "So, I believe we were on the topic of the barrow and your friends?"

The bandit swallowed, his eyes darting between the pair. "Uh," he muttered, "There's eight up at the barrow. Four outside, the rest in the barrow itself."

"Excellent," Bradley said with a smile. There was a slash of metal, and the bandit choked on a severed windpipe. "Shouldn't be any trouble at all," the man remarked calmly, flicking the blood off the blade. "Faendal, I appreciate your aid thus far, but I believe this is where we part ways." He pointed up the stairs, adding, "There's a chest of valuables up at the top. I believe that should compensate you for your time."

Faendal nodded, watching Bradley pass him by, heading back to the path. "Yeah. It's further up. You can't miss it."

"Many thanks," Bradley responded, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. "I'll see you when I return!"

Faendal nodded again, giving him a small wave. "Be careful in the barrow. There's worse things than bandits out there."

Bradley waved back, marching down the trail.

Faendal shivered as he watched him leave. If this was the same man Ralof feared... Divines help Niriun if he accepted the job.