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evil-is-relative · 6 years

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🖊 Darva!

This was meant to be gushing and instead turned into a chapter-long snippet.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Darva sat on the curving steps of the Solitude BluePalace, watching Queen Elisif trying to shoo the strange man from High Rock outthe door as politely as she could. It was taking a long time, and even Darvacould tell the Queen wanted the man gone, but he didn’t seem to get it. He justkept bowing over her hand and kissing the back of it, starting up her wristuntil she pulled it away.

Perhaps she wanted some help?

“Auntie Eli,” she said, as loudly as she could in thattone of voice Blaise used when luring someone into answering an “innocent” question,“You said you’d listen to my new song!”

Elisif startled, then smiled. “Of course, sweetheart.”Turning to the rude man, she tried to excuse herself again, but he was frowningat Darva, mustache curling down in a frown. Darva wasn’t sure she’d met anyonefrom High Rock before besides Blaise, but she hoped they didn’t all dress likea half-rotting flower arrangement.

“Dear Elisif, who is this…child?” he said the word as ifhe had wanted to say something else.

Darva looked at him blandly, then pretended to sneeze, “Iiz!”

The floor turned to ice between her and the man, nearly catchinghis foot before he jumped out of the way. He yelped in surprise and stared ather a long moment. Smiling winsomely, she chirped, “Excuse me!”

The man left without any more delay.

“That was devious, Darva,” Elisif told her sternly. Darva’sface fell, feeling cold at the idea that she’d been Bad again, but then theQueen smiled. “Thank you.”

Exhaling heavily in relief, she smiled at the prettyqueen and took her hand, skipping along as Elisif returned to her throne room.Court was not officially in session at the moment, and most of the Thanes wereoff conducting business of their own over lunch. Darva’s mother showing up to trulytake her place as Thane had shaken up the power-structure of the Court, Bormahhad explained. Darva was glad Bormah was smart and able to explain these thingsto her, because she wasn’t quiet getting it. The only ones who seemed to followit at all well were Runa, who was almost an adult herself, and–weirdly enough—Blaise.

“Auntie” Elisif was Queen, and the queen should be incharge, right? Apparently that wasn’t so—the Thanes and advisers held a lot ofpower here as well, and General Tullius was at least as much in charge asElisif. The Court was divided on the war, and the direction Skyrim should goin, and everyone missed the former king that Ulfric had Shouted down. Elisifhadn’t been raised to rule, and had struggled her first few years. Bormah hadexplained it like Shouting: Darva was born Dragonborn, and picked up Shouts easily,but Alesan wasn’t born with the ability, and was taking a long time and puttinga lot of effort into learning.

Darva glanced up at the woman, who had welcomed hermother with such relief that Court had stopped for the day. Ysmir and Elisifhad “caught up” with each other the rest of the day, which sounded nice until Darvalearned the Queen had basically collapsed into tears because everyone wastrying to force her into picking a spouse, desperate to have a strong leaderthey could point to again, and not a grieving young woman with no experience ruling,forced into the role by her husband’s untimely demise.

Elisif didn’t want to marry again. She had loved herhusband dearly, and the thought of replacing him with a stranger made her ill. She’dbegged Ysmir to move back to Solitude so she’d have someone on her side, andanother young woman around to remind her Court that a delicate face and builddid not mean a weak mind.

Darva didn’t know anything about ruling, but she did knowthat Elisif needed to have some fun, so she made it a point to go to Court withher mother sometimes and sing the Queen the new songs she was learning at theBard’s College, or play the pretty harp Bormah had given her, which had apparentlybelonged to his mother. Since Bormah had been trapped in A-pocky-fa for so longDarva didn’t know the numbers yet, she guessed the harp was really old. The bardshad gone into a strange, excited sort of panic when they had seen it.

“Auntie Eli?” she started hesitantly, climbing up ontothe chair in Elisif’s room where the Queen’s lunch had been set out, “Do youthink you’d want to marry again someday? Aren’t you lonely?”

Elisif froze, then looked down, her expression quiet and sad. “Yes,”she replied softly, “I am a little lonely. I miss Torygg every day, and I tryto rule the way he’d want. But it’s because I miss him so much that I don’tthink I’ll marry again. Some of the people who have come to meet me have beenlovely, friendly people, but…” she sat, then just gazed at the girl as ifwondering how to explain. Shrugging, she finally said, “It will be a long timeuntil I can even think of marrying again, Darva, and if that happens, I have tothink of Skyrim, too. Even if I somehow fall madly in love again, I must be surethe person would help me care for my country before I’d consider giving them acrown. And I’m not giving them my crown,”she added vehemently, “no matter how much some of my Court might wish!”

Shrugging, Darva bit into some soft bread and cheese. “Mommasays she’s never getting married,” she told the queen matter-of-factly. “Shewon’t tell me why yet, but she’s very sure about it. I was wondering if youwere sure the same way she was sure. Momma has Bormah and Papa Farkas, though, andshe used to have Papa Vilkas, even though she won’t marry them. I hope you canfind someone to not-marry too, so you won’t be lonely anymore.”

Smile lighting her eyes, Elisif leaned over and pattedDarva’s hand. “You’re a sweet girl, Darva. I’ll never be really lonely withfriends like you and your mother around.”

Beaming, Darva finished her lunch and happily explainedsome of the romantic ballads she was learning about. She thought them all verysilly, but Elisif looked as goopy as some of the older bards at the lyrics.When she was sure her throat was clear of food, Darva sang a few verses forher, but then it was time for Court to start again, and that was boring, so thegirl skipped up to the large balcony-roof at the back of the Palace, where Odahviingsunned sometimes whenever Elisif was expecting a suitor to drop by. If theywere too bad, she’d suggest a walk out here, and the suitor would usually runaway in fright.

“Odahviing!” she sing-songed, skipping over and cuddlingup right behind his head, where the scales were small and soft and warm.

“Drem yol lok,Kulaas,” he breathed, careful not to turn his head until she was clear ofhis spines. “Is he gone?”

“He’s gone,” Darva confirmed cheerfully. “I sneezed iceat his shoe and he left.”

Odahviing snorted a laugh, steam coming out of hisnostrils. Darva noticed a lot of dragons did that when they felt an emotionstrongly, though some of them laughed or growled ice instead of fire. One olderone hissed out lightning when he saw Bormah, who had crossed his arms andglared at him until Momma had told them both to knock it off.

“Are you still taking Runa to Whiterun today?” she askedcuriously. She wanted to go to Whiterun, too, but Runa was training with the Companionsand didn’t have time to babysit her, she said. Darva thought she just didn’twant anyone seeing how much time she was spending with Frothar and telling thePapas—or worse, Blaise.

“Her favorite sparring partner is leaving for the Legionsoon,” Odahviing explained patiently, nudging her with his nose. “He is going farSouth, for many summers.”

“At least he’s not mean anymore,” Darva wrinkled hernose. The Brats of Whiterun had undergone a miraculous shift in behavior the yearbefore after being kidnapped by a Hagraven that stole naughty children. Manywere still waiting for her to come back for Nelkir.

“Naak rok. I’deat him,” Odahviing said shortly, and she gaped at him.

“You can’t eat Frothar!” she burst out. “He’s a people!”

The dragon lifted and dipped his wings in the draconic equivalentof a careless shrug. Darva huffed at him, and he hissed laughter. “Runa is the kiir of my thur,” he explained remorselessly. “I cannot let one unfit to beher ronit go unchallenged.”

Fluffing her curls so the wind could steal some of theheat building in them, she gazed up at him curiously. “Everyone is talkingabout love and courting lately,” she complained.

“It is almost Heart’s Day,” he reminded her.

Darva brightened, “My birthday!” she enthused. “Odahviing,does that mean when I get annoying people bothering me like Auntie Eli, I haveto worry about you eating them?”

He snorted again. “I’ve eaten people for less.”

Stamping her foot, she cried, “Odahviing!” and huffed when his laughter rumbled across the roof. “You’rebeing mean.”

“It is the truth, Kulaas,” he told her, shifting hiswings to catch the sun better. “One day you will find a ronit, and they will be strong and loyal, your friend and yourconfidant. They will never betray your trust and seek always to protect you.Only then will those who care about you support the mating.”

Thinking about this, she plopped onto the bench, watchinghim. “You promised to protect me,” she pointed out musingly.

Odahviing’s eyes popped back open from where he’d beendrowsing, narrowing at her suspiciously. “Geh,”he agreed, dragging out the word as if wondering where she was going with this.

“You’re my friend, and I talk to you about everything,”she continued, finger tapping her chin like Lydia did when she was thinkingthings through. “You won’t betray me.”

“Darva…” Odahviing lifted his head, tilting it in a wayshe’d never seen him do before and thus didn’t know how to interpret. Hereminded her of a wary goose.

“You’ll be my mate,” she decided.

The dragon coughed fire, something else she’d never seenbefore and took great interest to note.

“Well, it’s perfect!” she enthused, warming to hersubject. “You’d never show up with half-dead flowers and slobber all over me.You’re strong and already my friend and protector. Momma likes you and Bormahputs up with you, and every other person coming to court me will run awayrather than fight you!”

“That part at least has merit,” he conceded, shaking hishead as little bits of ash crumbled out his nostrils, “but Darva, Zu’u dovah.”

“I’m Dovahkiin,”she argued, crossing her arms belligerently.

He sighed, “I cannot…give you everything you’d want frommate.”

“I don’t mind that we can’t get married,” Darva shrugged,hopping off the bench. “You’d look silly trying to fit into a Temple anyway.”

“Where are you going?” he wondered, watching her skipoff.

“Oh! Right,” she pivoted on one foot and flounced back tohim, giving him a smacking kiss on the muzzle before heading right back to thedoorway into the Blue Palace. “Talk to you later, dear. I have to tell Mommayou’re my husband now.”

The red dragon stared at the door in utter bemusement fora long moment, wondering what exactly just happened. At least, until the buildingshook and the sky rumbled with the angry thu’umof his name being hurtled into the air by his Thur, raining gravel from the entire stone arch and stealing thewarmth from the sun.

Proud dragon generals did not hide from their Thur, Odahviing reminded himself, launchinginto the air reluctantly. Still, it might be a good time to see if the ice had recededfrom Atmora yet.

Drem yol lok=greetingskulass=princessNaak rok=consume himkiir=childthur/thuri=overlord/my overlordronit=equal, mategeh=yesZu'u dovah=I’m a dragon

#writing #my writing #Darva #ask #fanfiction #Dragon Kin #Odahviing

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monstersandmaw · 6 years

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Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Five

Lein and Argis begin their journey (finally!) to Windstad Manor, and Lein sees a slightly different side to his housecarl along the way.

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He knew, as soon as his brain remembered how to think, that no one would come to him this time. He had ordered Argis not to come in if he heard him screaming in the middle of the night, and Argis had obeyed.

Shaking in the aftermath of the night terror, Lein felt dreadful. His head was full of sawdust and his muscles ached. Drier than the sands of Elsweyr, his throat was parched, and he reached a trembling hand out of the bedside table where his dwarven cup sat. The room was utterly dark, but that didn’t bother him. He was used to moving in shadow, and his spatial memory was excellent. He found the cup faultlessly, but the shaking in his muscles hindered drinking somewhat.

He sighed. He’d had too much to drink at the inn, made a fool of himself, and worked his brain into one of its darker corners. He got like that sometimes. And it would often come upon him when he’d been drinking.

Depressed, shivering, and suddenly overwhelmed by the power in his own body, he felt hot tears prick his eyes and begin to pour silently down his face. Perhaps the true legacy of the dragonborn was to walk through the days of their life alone. Vipir was gone, and in the wake of their fleeting reconnection, Lein felt loneliness wash over him until he began to drown in it. He ached for a closeness. Only a few months ago, Valdimar had written to him to say that he intended to marry his childhood sweetheart, Iona, and was worried about the future of his position with Lein as his housecarl in Hjaalmarch.

Lein of course had replied that he was delighted that Valdimar was going to be married, and that should he wish it there would always be a place for him and for his wife at Windstad, but if he or Iona would prefer not to live in the arse end of nowhere, right on the Sea of Ghosts, known for its violent winter storms, then he would quite understand. Valdimar, bless him, had sent a letter back with the same courier to express his gratitude, and to say that they would postpone the wedding until Lein returned to Hjaalmarch and would be able to attend.

Knowing that Valdimar and Iona would be planning their wedding now that they knew Lein was going to be there by winter solstice, knowing that he would be greeted by a couple very much in love, knowing that he would have to see their close fondness every moment of every day when he got there did not make him sour, but it did make him sad. He ached for that. He ached to have someone to share everything with. To stand by his side and just hold him up when it all got too much, and to do the same for them in return.

Sleep was a cruel and fickle mistress, and she too had left him that night.

He guessed it must have been some time near dawn, and he cast a candlelight spell, shuffling blearily around his room by its ethereal, blue glow. He splashed himself in a perfunctory wash, dressed, and then headed out into the hall. He avoided looking at Argis’ closed door as he passed, hoping the man was fast asleep. He paused though, listening hard, and heard thunderous snoring coming from the other side.

Because he was feeling sour and lonely and grumpy, and his entire body was still crackling with magicka, he summoned a flame atronach and used her to light the fire in the grate. She frowned when he gave the command to ignite the logs gently, her slender body shimmering with heat like strong sun on a dirt road in summer, but she shrugged and obeyed, tumbling backwards in a lazy somersault. When she had breathed life into the little flames around the logs, she stayed beside the fire, clearly loving the warmth and the noise of it.

Lein went to the little storeroom and saw that Argis had been right about the food situation. There were a few crates for perishables but most of them were empty. Only hard cheeses which kept for years in the cool dark of the larder, and a few cured hams were left. Lein sliced these up and prepared them for the road as he had done a thousand times, laying them between the folds of a waxed cloth and rolling it up after each piece was set down in order to keep the meat fresh and tightly sealed for at least the first day of their journey. Skyrim was not Elsweyr, and the meat would not spoil that quickly in the chill air. He cut the big cheese into sections and wrapped that up too in sheets of greaseproof paper he’d got from the butcher, and he stuffed one or two other things into the bundle as well.

When all that remained were six eggs, a little soft goat's cheese, some lightly-smoked, raw bacon, and the last of the shallots, he decided to make an omelette. He wasn’t the greatest cook, not a patch on Argis, but there were a few things he could make better than anyone else. Omelettes were one such thing.

After whisking up the eggs and chopping the onions into small chunks, he realised it was still too early for food, his stomach still feeling more than a little queasy. He swallowed down the last of the cow’s milk that stood on a block of enchanted ice, hoping the softly-creamy texture would sooth the churning in his belly.

With a crackle and a pop like a log of crumbling firewood, the atronach got bored and left him. He knew it’d been petty to summon her just to light the fire, but he didn’t really care. It had been nice to have something else moving around the still living room, even if it was a creature from beyond the doors of oblivion. He sighed, and toyed again with the idea of getting a dog. Maybe one of Gunmar’s war dogs that were half-wolf, half-dog? He couldn’t stand the way Banning’s war dogs constantly barked and yipped.

Perhaps a bit of gentle exercise would make him feel better, he mused.

Heading to the clear space near the fire, his bare feet hardly noticing the chill of the stone floor, he stood a moment with his eyes closed, hands quietly resting in front of his hips. Beginning some of the patterns he had learned with the Dark Brotherhood, he started with a slow, gentle one. It was more about balance training and precision of movement than practising killing strikes, and he had always enjoyed the tug and strain of muscles. He lost himself in the motions, his body working with the fluid grace of a dancer as he shifted with the speed of glacial ice from one stance to the next.

Twice he worked his way through all twenty four of the patterns, the last being the most fiendish of all. His body came to a halt at the end of the second cycle, centred and calm, if still completely exhausted and sleep deprived, and he stood motionless in the very centre of the space. Breathing hard, sweat rolling down the back of his neck, he remained otherwise perfectly still for nearly five minutes, concentrating on the intake and exhale of breath, working with the slow and steady surety of a blacksmith’s bellows.

When he opened his eyes he found Argis standing in the doorway watching him. “Morning,” he rumbled, his voice thick with sleep, though something burned in his eyes behind the grogginess.

Lein nodded silently, inhaling more deeply as though surfacing from underwater. He wondered how long Argis had been watching him.

Argis frowned when he saw the shadows under his thane’s eyes. “Did you even go to sleep, thane?” he asked.

A soft sigh shivered out of Lein’s lips, and he nodded once. “I didn’t get much rest though.”

“More terrors?” Argis asked carefully, sensing he trod on very thin ice.

Lein nodded again.

“Does… Does anything help?” Argis asked, still speaking tentatively.

Lein shook his head. Ruefully, he added, “Actually, skooma does, but I’ve seen too many of those poor bastards shaking and twitching on the side of the road to go down that route.” He sighed. “Mostly I just don’t sleep.”

Argis shook his head, his features filling with a sad kind of compassion that rekindled a lot of the ache Lein had worked so hard to drive from his chest. Argis crossed sleepily to the table where Lein had begun his breakfast plans, and looked up at him, forced by his blind eye to turn all the way around so he could see him properly. “You want to cook this morning?” he asked in a warm, even voice.

Lein sighed. “I had thought about making one of my speciality omelettes,” he said, “But if you have something you’d rather do with that lot, I don’t mind. I was going to have a proper wash and come back and cook it.”

“I’m happy to make one for you, or to leave it. Up to you,” Argis smiled.

Lein wondered why he was being quite so polite. Perhaps Lein really had made him uncomfortable with his mood swing the previous evening. Or perhaps it really was that he knew the truth about Lein’s preferences. Yet another sigh rolled from him and he shrugged. “I don’t mind.” The weariness in his tone caught even Lein by surprise as he shuffled out of the room towards the bathroom, feeling little better than he had when he’d gone to bed.

The searingly hot bath went some way towards making him feel more like a human and less like a six-hundred year old desiccated draugr, but still, when he emerged with his white hair dripping around his neck, bundled up in his favourite fur-collared jacket, he remained about as grumpy as a frost troll. Argis had left the ingredients alone and had returned to his bedroom, though the door was open. The smell of frying cubes of bacon seemed to draw him out, and as Lein began to soften the shallots in the hot bacon fat, he strolled out and quietly stood by the table.

“Would you like some tea?” Argis asked a moment or two later.

“Mmm, please,” he hummed, stirring the onions and adding the circles of goats cheese to fry before adding the whisked eggs to the enormous skillet.

“There’s no milk,” Argis murmured as he set the ceramic mug down beside Lein. The gesture was an easy, graceful lean, and it made Lein’s insides flip weirdly. He rolled his brown and blue eyes to himself, scolding himself for not getting a handle on his crush sooner. He really was behaving like some thirteen year old girl. And now Argis had to know.

“I drank it this morning, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t take my tea with milk, and it was thoughtless of me.”

“I don’t mind,” he chuckled, setting two plates down near Lein so he could tip the omelette onto them when it was ready. “I like it either way.”

Lein snorted a soft laugh to himself at the irony of the comment. He shook his head, a strand of hair falling into his eyes. He swiped it away angrily. Argis seemed to sense that strange mood hovering above his shoulders like a wraith, and left him in peace.

With breakfast ready and smelling so good that even Lein felt like he could tolerate some food in his stomach, he cut the omelette in half and slid each bit onto the waiting plates.

Argis dug in with relish and was halfway through the hot meal before he paused to thank his thane. “This is great,” he enthused. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I can’t, generally speaking,” Lein said, picking at his own food with a lot less vigour. “Not like you, but I can do a few things.” He gestured towards his plate with his fork, “This is one of them.”

“It’s good,” he smiled, polishing off the last few scraps of bacon and standing, taking his plate with him. He crossed to the table and cut a slice of thick, white bread from the last loaf on the table, wiping it over the plate to soak up the last few delicious smears before turning to Lein and asking, “You want some bread?”

Lein shook his head and looked back at his plate. There was still more than half left. “I can’t even finish this. You want it?”

“If you don’t,” Argis hedged gently. “You sure?”

Lein nodded, holding the plate out to him and closing his eyes briefly.

“You still want to head out today?” Argis asked, practically inhaling Lein’s leftovers. It was rather sweet, really.

“Yeah,” Lein said. “Yeah, I do. I think a nice open sky and a dozen or so miles of walking will do me some good. I don’t do well cooped up in cities. I get…” he gestured vaguely with his hand, “Funny…”

Argis only nodded once, before washing the plates and beginning to do the last checks on the house. Lein stayed by the fire, lost in thought. His bags were packed, his few valuables locked in the safe or stowed in his bags, his weapons readied. All that was lacking was his usual enthusiasm. He guessed that would come back under the gathering winter skies and after a few lungfuls of Skyrim’s freezing air.

The view from the balcony, over the valley beyond the walls, took Lein’s breath away. He wasn’t a morning person on the whole, so he rarely saw the dawn in all her splendour, but that morning was particularly lovely. A few clouds hung lazily in the ripening morning sky directly above them, with a thick bank building on the horizon. The sharp tooth of a lone mountain peak broke through the rising colour of the sky with a dark shadow. Mist gathered at the end of the valley where Markarth was nestled, woolly clouds snagging on the razor spine of the mountains, and as he lost himself in the sight, Lein was relieved to feel a little hope and happiness kindle.

The world was out there waiting for him. There were larger things than his petty personal struggles. He would overcome this. He had the World-Eater to destroy at some point, after all. He sucked in a huge breath of air and turned to look at Argis, who was also smiling softly at the view.

They locked Vlindrel Hall up, and Lein’s backpack bashed against his spine on the stairs, but he paid it little mind. A few guards paced about, their footsteps barely audible over the rush of water in the gullies outside the Silverblood Inn. Some spoke to Argis, but neither he nor his thane informed them they were leaving for a long time away. No use advertising an empty house to one and all. It was still early, but one or two traders were there setting up in the marketplace. For the most part, though, Argis and Lein were ignored as they moved towards the huge bronze gates.

Beyond in the stable yard, a pair of guards trained together breath billowing in the cold air, and one yelled at Argis to come over and have a swing. Argis chuckled at her and hefted his pack up his shoulder. “Can’t today, Morana.”

“Chicken!” she yelled, grinning, and Argis chuckled back. She waved at Lein, her plate gauntlet clinking warmly. “Safe travels, and may you find softer beds than those in Markarth!” she joked, playing on the old blessing which wished travellers safe skies and warm beds.

Lein nodded his thanks and waited for Argis to begin walking again, not wanting to rush the man out of his childhood home and onto the road before he was ready.

As they passed the carriage, Kibell the driver called out to him from his seat on the top, a mug of steaming tea in his hands, and asked if he wanted a ride. Lein politely turned him down, but crossed over to stroke the shaggy bay gelding’s nose anyway, laughing softly as the horse blew warm breath into his gloved hands and nosed about, hoping for an apple. Yes, his mood was brightening.

Not for the first time, Lein marvelled at the intricacies of the stone carvings on Markarth’s outer ramparts as he walked by them. Every surface bore a chisel mark of some sort, every corner a decorative band of egg and dart or swirling scrollwork. The towers as they passed beneath them were still clad in curved sheets of ancient, riveted dwarven metal, blazing untarnished like burnished gold in the early morning light. All the while they walked, Argis kept a steady, silent pace beside him.

The waterfall at the base of the top ramparts crashed spectacularly, and little flashes of light caught Lein’s keen eyes. The dragonflies darted in and out of the spray, their iridescent bodies glinting in the light like the tower roofs above them. Nature was getting on with its rhythm, and he sucked in a great breath of clean air. His tired body seemed to fill with new vigour, and the prickle behind his eyes began to vanish.

They were not the only ones out and about at that hour, and Left Hand Mine was bustling over the river to their right, and the scrape, scrape, scrape of a bristle brush on the air told him that old Vigdis was up, sweeping the path to the Salvius Farm. When she caught sight of him, she raised the broom and beckoned him over. He didn’t have the heart to turn her down, and he indulged her in a lengthy chat about how much she missed her son, Vigdis rabbiting on and on about Leontius, and how she wished he’d make the journey to see them from Old Hroldan. When Lein noticed Argis smiling indulgently as he rolled his shoulders out, Lein excused himself and wished her well, rejoining Argis on the road.

A rangy, wire-haired mutt came loping over to them before they’d gone another few paces down the road, the short shriek of a girl following in its wake, and Lein chuckled as Erith ran after the dog. “I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever leave,” he shot sideways at Argis.

“Toran!” Erith yelled at the dog, “Toran, come here!” but the hound ignored her completely, marching up to Lein and sticking his wet nose straight into Lein’s hand. The scratchy muzzle tickled and Lein knelt to play with his ears. Eirith laughed too, and begged him to play hide and seek with her again. “I can’t this time,” he said, and her little face fell. “I’m going on an adventure with my friend.” But when he straightened, he fished a taffy treat out of an accessible pocket of his bag for her, and took her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger. “You look after Toran here,” he said, “And be good, won’t you. You remember what I taught you last time?”

She brought her little fists up into a pretty decent fighting stance and lashed out at him with a good jab-cross combination. He let the strikes connect with his stomach, though he tensed against the blows just in case. They weren’t half bad.

“Don’t let them get hold of you, but if they do, kick them where it hurts and run,” she said seriously.

“That’s it,” he laughed, ruffling her hair. “And don’t ever let anyone push you around. You still practising your reading and writing?”

She nodded again, her face earnest. “Pavo’s been going through some stories with me.”

“Good. You can make anything you like of yourself when you’re old enough,” he laughed. “Now, I must be going.” He scratched Toran’s ears one last time, and Argis said nothing as they left, though Lein had the distinct impression that he was looking at him more intently, as though he had just learned something new about his thane. “She’s sweet,” Lein mused aloud. “She often gets lonely there I think. Her parents work the mines, and Toran’s her only friend really. I got to know her a bit when I did a favour for one of the other miners.”

“Taught her some useful tricks too,” Argis added, eyeing Lein’s stomach where the girl had punched him.

“Yeah, well… It never pays to be too careful out here, and especially for a young girl.” He cast his eyes back at the retreating pair, cavorting around in the road again, Toran barking furiously. “And she’ll be a pretty young woman when she grows up. I’d hate to see her get hurt.”

Argis smiled again, and fixed him with his hazel eye. “Yeah,” he said, voice cracking.

Lein flashed him a quizzical look, but the housecarl only shook his head.

Neither man spoke as they walked briskly down the path, and Lein caught the whiff of wood-smoke as they neared the bridge and the signpost at the end of the valley. The sun broke gloriously above the mountains, light gilding the curved under-bellies of the clouds and filling the early day with a weak warmth. Their breath still fogged the air, and Lein took the path that led to Solitude. Up ahead they saw the signs of a Khajiit camp, the bleary eyed traders wrapped up against the Skyrim cold. Ri’saad, the elderly Khajiit sitting cross-legged on his mat, looked up brightly and purred when Lein crouched in front of him. Lein traded a few bits and bobs from him more out of courtesy than necessity, and Ri’saad murmured softly, “May your roads lead you to warm sands.”

Lein straightened with a rueful laugh and said, “I’m afraid our road leads us to icebergs and snowstorms, but I pray your road leads you back to warm sands soon, friend.”

The Khajiit nodded, tip of his tail twitching against the thick mat beneath him, but he said nothing more as they left.

Thick, heavy raindrops began to darken the earth about an hour later, and Lein grumbled, pulling up the shrouded cowl he liked to wear on the road. It was enchanted to improve his already impressive archery skills, but it served nicely to keep the rain out as they followed the wide, gushing river which carved a deep path, rushing and rumbling away to their right. A series of stunningly high waterfalls plunged down into foaming depths, and Lein felt his head spin a bit as he got too near the edge. For a dragonborn, who could supposedly ride on the backs of the great winged beasts, he had a piss-poor head for heights. Added to that was the evidence of mudslides and cliff collapses, no doubt brought on by the autumn rains. Piles of rubble, and raw-looking wounds gaping in the hillside, were clearly visible from the edge, and he rapidly found himself back on the relative safety of the paved road.

As they glimpsed the stone bridge at the end of the road, Argis grabbed him and hissed, “Forsworn, outside Kolskeggr Mine.” And he dropped down out of sight behind a boulder, leaving enough space for Lein to duck in next to him.

“How many?” Lein asked, sinking into a crouch beside him and drawing his bow from the hook on his pack, nocking an arrow in a swift, silent motion. The daedric bow, Flamekiss, crackled with magicka in his hands.

“I saw three, but there could be more,” he breathed, also nocking an arrow to his own bow.

Lein saw a movement then on the road and took aim, loosing the shaft on the exhale. The Forsworn went down with a yell in a cloud of red flames, and the other two rushed over to inspect the commotion, setting themselves up perfectly for Argis and Lein to take them out from their hiding place.

“I can’t see any more,” Argis murmured, straightening. “Wait here though. I’ll check…”

“I’m coming with you,” Lein hissed, and they made their way down the slope together. When no shrieking Forsworn hurled themselves out of the underbrush at them, they carried on their way, taking the road towards Karthwasten.

Just past Kolskeggr, the river broadened out into a rocky valley, splitting off east in one direction and north in another, the rocky promontory forming a bastion for what Argis told him was a series of Forsworn camps. Lein also knew that the Skyhaven Temple stood perched on the very top, wreathed as usual in a gloomy, dark cloud.

Beneath bare, wind-blasted trees, their branches adorned only with wet hanging moss, the two men passed in silence once more. Lein paused on the bridge below the Lover’s Stone to admire the plunging cascades, leaning on the damp stonework a moment. The dull ringing of a nirnroot caught his ears and he looked down to see the little plant glowing softly in the shadow of the bridge. He cast a playful look back at Argis, grinned, and then, to his housecarl’s complete horror, vaulted over the side of the bridge. Argis must have thought he was leaping to his death, because he yelped Lein’s name and rushed to the masonry edge, but sighed in relief when he saw that his thane was standing in ankle-deep mud just a short distance down, with the now-silent herb dangling triumphantly from his gloved fingers.

Lein flashed him another white smile, and Argis shook his head. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, still shaking his head. “I swear it, you’ll scare me to death.”

Lein only laughed and stowed the plant in his herb pouch before scrambling back up to the road again, accepting the gauntleted hand that his housecarl offered down to him. Argis’ good mood faded noticeably, however, as they neared the shadowy entrance to a cave. “Blind Cliff Cave,” he murmured. “Forsworn bastion. There’s a pair of hagravens there too.”

“I know,” Lein nodded. “Though there’s only one now, and she’s actually not entirely evil.”

“What?” he blasted, clearly shocked, coming to a dead halt. “They’re all evil.”

He shrugged, though Argis’ reaction had taken him by surprise. “Yeah, I’ll agree with you, but I had a contract from the jarl to recover his familial shield. One of the hagravens had stolen it. Petra, her name was.” Argis’ scowl deepened and he stayed rooted to the spot, glowering. “Anyway, Petra pissed Melka, her sister, off by taking over the tower and locking her up inside. I met the sister when I did the contract, and she started talking to me through the bars of her cage.” Argis was clearly still astounded, but Lein pressed on. “I nocked an arrow quick as you like, but she promised she wouldn’t harm me if I helped her kill her sister. I figured I’d give it a go – I’ve taken on hagravens before – so I freed Melka, and she gave me a flashy staff in return for my help.” He shrugged. “I wouldn’t choose to go back in there, but I think that’s the only hagraven in the whole of Tamriel we don’t need to worry about.”

Argis’ huge feet seemed to have frozen to the hard-packed dirt of the road. “You helped one of them?” he hissed, breath shivering. “You know what they’re like, what they do to people… and still… you helped one?”

Lein’s eyes narrowed. “She was a useful ally in a very hairy situation,” he said carefully.

“You should have run her through afterwards,” he spat, stamping off down the road away from Blind Cliff Cave entrance.

Lein was stunned. He had never heard such acid venom from the quiet, gentle man.

With one last look over his shoulder at the bastion walls just visible in the cliffs above them, he hurried after him. With the river on their right, Lein walked along at the pace of a soldier, and Argis, equally unrelenting, kept perfectly in step along the mountainous river-gully path. His mood was black and sour as the clouds above them.

The silence that hung between them was different after that. It was awkward and sharp, like a stone in Lein’s boot, and he kept casting sidelong looks at his housecarl. Argis marched beside him, eyes locked on the horizon, jaw grinding, mouth set in a grim expression for miles until they came to the fork in the road which led to Karthwasten. Three imperial soldiers took a collective look at the two men and encouraged them to head to Solitude to join up. Lein had no interest in taking sides, and was a thane in places under both Stormcloak and Imperial control. He nodded politely at the soldiers and then continued on down the road.

They ate bread and cheese on the side of the road, barely stopping long enough to wash it down with some weak ale, and continued on their way as the day progressed. They’d barely said more than two words to each other since Blind Cliff Cave.

Smoke rose from an upper courtyard when they neared Broken Tower Redoubt, and Argis hissed that they could probably sneak past the lower battlements undetected or turn left at a cairn just before the keep, a route that would take them north instead towards the Stormcloak camp and then Dragonsbridge.

“I’d planned to go through Morthal and up that way to Windstad rather than over towards Solitude…” he said, still speaking cautiously as Argis was clearly still rattled by their talk at Blind Cliff Cave. “Which way would you rather go?”

Argis seemed taken aback by the question. “I… Why would you ask me?”

Lein smiled. “You said you’d been to Solitude but that it was a while back, but also that you’ve never been to Morthal. You might want to go to either.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“But…” Argis scowled. “But…?”

“But what? I’m the thane so we have to do what I say?” he snarled. “I’m the monster who helped a hagraven once so I’ve lost all your respect, if ever I had it? Is that it?”

Argis blinked, looking surprised all over again. He licked his scarred lips and sighed, softening, the anger draining out of him at the sight of the hurt expression plastered across Lein’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, exhaling. “Truly, I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Lein murmured, casting a glance back at the fortress looming ahead, hoping no one could see them.

“No,” Argis muttered. “It isn’t. It’s no secret that I hate the hagravens and the Forsworn with everything I am, but I wasn’t there with you in that tower. I had no right to judge you for your actions, or tell you how you should have handled it. I’m sorry.”

Lein’s mouth twitched into a smile and he clapped Argis on the shoulder. “You scared me there, big guy, with that anger of yours. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Argis’ face fell a little further and he blushed. “I don’t get angry very often,” he said, his voice rough and harsh as gravel, “But after what happened to… Something about hearing that you helped them just made me snap. I’m sorry.”

“Now’s not the time for this,” Lein said, turning back to the keep. As much as he desperately wanted to know what had happened to Argis, they had to get past the keep. “You want to sneak past, and head down to Morthal, or go to Dragonsbridge and Solitude?”

Argis eyed the keep, squinting in the flat light of the wet afternoon. Lein wondered if his eyesight gave him trouble. “What do you want to do?” Argis asked, still keeping his eyes on the castle.

“Either is fine,” he grinned.

“Alright,” he sighed. “Morthal. But I’m not sure I’m going to be as stealthy as you in this plate armour…”

Lein eased his pack down off his shoulder and rummaged around in the bit where he’d stashed his potions - carefully this time. He handed Argis a small bottle and said, “This should help…”

He looked at it with the same suspicion all Nords regarded potions that weren’t directly for healing, but he obviously decided Lein wasn’t about to give him skeever poison, and downed it.

“Come on,” Lein grinned. “You’re so quiet even I can’t hear you behind me.”

“Shut up and keep going, thane,” Argis snickered as they passed the doorway, creeping around the buttresses and making it past the keep without being discovered.

Shaking a little with built-up adrenaline, Lein stood on the cliff-top out of sight of the castle, and stared off into the distance. Argis stood beside him. “Is that Solitude?” the big housecarl asked, nodding at the barely-visible outlines of the city on the promontory.

“Yeah,” he said. “And behind that low, jagged peak there is Windstad. Morthal,” he added, pointing further east, “Is over that way.” He squinted through the rain that had been falling steadily all day. “Looks like the snows have come early this year in the north,” he grumbled as he saw white-dusted pine trees and the shoulders of the mountains banked with deep snow already.

With a sigh that mingled with the whipping wind, Lein turned away and began to walk slowly down the steep hill. He snagged idly at some sweet lavender from the roadside as they descended the blustery ridge, and he busied himself with tucking some of it jauntily into a buttonhole on his warm leather jerkin. He was so preoccupied with it that he didn’t even see the wolf in the craggy rocks to his right before Argis had snatched his own hunting bow from his back and loosed at it. It went down with a snarl, one of Argis’ ebony arrows lodged deep in its eye socket.

Lein looked up in surprise and then turned to Argis, who was calmly fitting his bow back on his backpack. When the housecarl looked up, he seemed almost embarrassed.

“Thank you,” Lein breathed. “I wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Argis mumbled modestly.

“Good thing,” Lein chuckled. “Come on.

Their progress east drew a yawn from Argis and Lein realised that while the heavy-set housecarl trained every day with the other guards, he was not used to walking long distances. “You think we should make camp soon?” Lein asked him.

Argis looked at the cloud-covered sky, squinting as rain splashed into his eyes, and he shrugged. “I’m tired,” he admitted, “But I don’t think it’s even late afternoon yet.”

“You’re good to keep going a little while longer then? We could rest up near Crabber’s Shanty,” he said. “But it’s a good five or six miles til then, and there’s a bandit camp at Robber’s Gorge we’ve got to get round first…”

“No, that’s ok,” Argis smiled. “I’m not gonna faint on you.”

“Good to know,” Lein grinned. “I don’t think I could carry you.”

Argis’ smile broadened and he looked at him more softly still. “It won’t come to that,” he said as they tramped along the curving road together. “Don’t worry. How are you holding up though? If you’ve had more than three hours sleep, you can call me a goat.”

Lein’s laughing response was cut short as his sharp eyes caught sight of a trio of dark wolves high on the hill above the path, but almost before he’d had time to register them, Argis had tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at two much larger predators stalking the paved surface of the road.

“Sabres,” he murmured.

“One each, one shot only?” Lein smirked.

“You’re on. And no extra magic.”

Lein raised his hand to his chest in mock horror. “I’m insulted!”

“Shut up, or you’ll lose our advantage,” he chuckled, sinking into a crouch and nocking an arrow in perfect synchrony with Lein.

Lein’s shot sailed through the air and thudded home in the beast’s forehead. Its mate spun with a snarl, claws digging into the road as it thundered along towards them. Argis cursed and loosed, but missed wildly. He swore and nocked another arrow, but Lein could see it was going to take him too long to aim. He already had another nocked. “Argis?”

“Do it,” he sighed. “I’m much better with a greatsword anyway.”

The second arrow whizzed and hit its mark, the sabre crumpling into the dust, carried several yards in a dramatic skid by the momentum of its charge. “Phew,” Lein breathed, stowing his bow back in its place. “Right, that’s enough, Mother Nature. I just want to get to Crabber’s Shanty now.”

Argis laughed softly in agreement. The road down onto the rocky pass in the mountains was mercifully empty, and Lein stopped every now and again to pluck tundra cotton and mountain flowers from the side of the way.

“You ever actually do anything with those?” Argis asked.

“You mean ‘do I weave pretty purple flower crowns with them’?’” Lein half giggled, skipping a couple of paces. When Argis barked a laugh in response, he added, “Yeah. This one’s got a number of uses,” he said, holding up a purple mountain flower and twirling it thoughtfully between his finger and thumb. He tapped Argis on the breastplate with it. “There was one in the potion you drank back there to sneak past those Forsworn.”

They laughed and joked, and Lein was pleased to find Argis relaxing again in his company. He wasn’t about to push him to talk about his hatred of the hagravens or the Forsworn just yet, but he would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t interested.

Rounding the corner to a crossroads as evening deepened behind the dense grey clouds, Lein caught sight of a cart standing abandoned in the centre of a crossroads, with a chest sitting in the bed. Suddenly everything felt very wrong. He froze, and then tugged Argis back behind a rock.

“What is it?” Argis asked warily, recovering his balance, though he did not pull his arm out of Lein’s grip.

Lein shook his head, fingers clenched tight. “Bandits in the rocks. I’m sure of it. Hang on,” and he cast Argis a sidelong look. “I’m… er… going to shout, but, don’t worry, it’ll be a quiet one.” He watched Argis’ mismatching eyes narrow first in confusion, and then widen when he realised he was going to witness the dragonborn using the power of the Voice.

“Why?”

“It’s a shout to detect the life-force of all living things nearby. It’ll tell me how many there are. Ready your bow though, just in case.” He cleared his throat and added, “And it might make my eyes look kind of funny for a bit. Well, funnier than they already do anyway.”

Argis nodded, but still didn’t say anything. He seemed to have gone completely mute, and Lein couldn’t work out if it was from fear or excitement.

Lein took a moment to think on the words he would need, and on the true essence of their meaning. He inhaled deeply, and drew on the dragonblood inside him, calling on the power of the Voice, channelling the millennia of knowledge and magic. He felt the words rasp out of him in a shuddering whisper. “Laas yah nir.” His vision went black as his eyes readjusted and then the scene returned to him, exactly as it had been before. The only difference was the addition of five shimmering, red auras concealed in the rocks ahead.

Without turning to look at Argis, Lein readied his bow and crept forwards. Using signs he’d picked up from guards, he signalled how many there were, and their locations. Argis tapped his shoulder to signal his silent understanding.

Loosing two arrows in rapid succession, Lein silenced a couple of bandits before they could even work out what was happening. The others ducked out of range, and he heard an arrow sailing through the air, sinking into the frost chilled ground not three feet from where he had taken up position. He knew he’d have to fight at close range soon.

Drawing his ebony sword, feeling the magicka crackling in it, he stowed his bow again and sprinted out of his hiding place and ducked as another arrow shot at him. He heard Argis yell his name in desperate warning, but he didn’t stop to look. The hilt fitted perfectly in his palm, his fingers gripping it just tightly enough to wield it with confidence. As a huge orc charged, bellowing like a wounded mammoth, he ducked beneath the blow and drove the blade deep into his belly, turning and slicing his head clean off from behind. Another arrow embedded itself in the hillside beside him, and he rolled behind a boulder. He heard Argis give a great war shout, and peered out to see the steel of his massive greatsword flashing in the dim light.

Locked in combat with a big Nord in heavy near the cart, overburdened by the pack on his back, Argis couldn’t see the other bandit along the road on his blind side, aiming an arrow straight him. The shimmering effects of the shout still half blinded him, but he pelted down the hill, stones flying as he sprinted down the road. He shot past Argis and took on the remaining bandit alone. Their fight didn’t last long.

Lein turned back towards the chest, blade running red with blood, and saw Argis leaning on the hilt of his greatsword, the point dug into the cobbles of the road, clutching at his stomach, with the bandit lying dead at his feet. Blood was running between his fingers, and Lein’s heart lurched. “Gods, Argis,” he said, darting to his side. Dropping his sword in the dust, he reached his hands out, a golden light blossoming in his palms, and Argis sucked in a sharp breath as the warm light wrapped itself around him.

"Wha-? Hey!” he coughed, “That felt good!” He staggered a bit, and Lein steadied him, beginning to laugh in relief, amused by Argis’ head-rush.

“First time anyone’s used magic on you, I’m guessing,” he chuckled. And then he realised what he was really seeing. The aura whisper was still active, and red mist swirled around him, through him, in a pattern that Lein had never seen before. It was entrancing. Mesmerised by it, he simply stared until it began to fade and he felt his eyes returning to normal again.

“Lein?”

Wide eyed, he still couldn’t tear himself away from it as the last swirls of energy whipped around Argis’ chest.

“You ok? What’s wrong?”

“I…” he breathed, faltering, feeling lightheaded himself. “I’ve never seen an aura so beautiful,” he hissed, not even caring if he sounded foolish. He blinked and stared again. He realised with a jolt that his hand was actually resting on Argis’ chest-plate, fingers splayed, palm pressed against him. He jerked it back like he’d been shocked by lightning. “Gods, I’m sorry,” he spluttered. “I’m sorry. Forgive me,” and he turned away, busying himself with opening the chest and exploring the contents. “Fifty two gold, three lockpicks, and one bar of refined malachite,” he murmured to himself. He counted out twenty six gold pieces and popped them into his own coin purse at his belt. The rest he handed to Argis.

The housecarl took the pouch, but did nothing with it. When Lein realised this, he frowned. “It’s yours,” he said.

“What?”

“Half of it anyway.”

Argis stared at the bag in his hands like he’d never held so much gold in one go. It wasn’t that much, and Lein didn’t understand his bafflement. “My thane,” he murmured. “I… Are you sure?”

“You fought for your life back there - and mine - you earned it nine-times over!”

“But…”

“Come on,” Lein scowled, picking up his sword and tramping off down the road without looking back. The rain was easing up now, but the road was slick, slowing his usual march to a fast walk.

At the base of a waterfall, Lein noticed the setting sun flashing off a chest tucked away beneath a tree, and slithered down the rocks, wading up to his thighs in the freezing water. The lock must have been designed by a master locksmith, because it took him a couple of goes to get it open, but he was rewarded with another load of gold, a flawless diamond, and an enchanted ebony dagger. He looked up to see Argis coming more carefully down the riverbank, his heavy frame and armour putting him at a disadvantage over Lein in his flexible metal-studded leather.

Paused on the island in the middle of the shallow river, Lein nodded up at the palisade wall of the camp on the promontory. The towers of the encampment overlooked a mudcrab-filled pool into which the river drained, and he hissed, “That’s Robber’s Gorge. We want to avoid that if we can.”

Argis nodded in agreement, and followed Lein’s lead as he snuck up the hillside, his leathers squelching horribly after wading through the river. The little hut drew into sight in the distance, just visible in the middle of the narrow pass in the mountains as darkness fell properly around them.

Lein picked his way up the river, calling back to Argis, who was falling further behind him, to watch his ankles. There were hidden mudcrabs everywhere in the soft silt, and they liked nothing more than to grab at the heels of the passers by who disturbed them.

He heard Argis trip and stumble more times than he could count, and eventually there was a louder crash and a curse as he went down. “Fuck.”

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” he moaned, with a definite tone of dejection in his voice. He dusted himself off and mumbled, “I… I just… with my eye, I don’t do very well in the dark.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Lein said. “That was thoughtless of me. I completely forgot.” He looked up at the shack and then back at Argis’ face. “Forgive me.”

In the fading light he looked surprised, but not offended, that Lein had forgotten that he was blind in that eye.

“It’s not far. I’m thinking we should camp on the far side of the hut. There’s usually a fisherman there, and I doubt she’ll share with us.” He watched Argis brushing dirt and mud off his trousers and adjusting his pack where it had shifted during his fall. Lein stepped back to him and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t bring a torch. We’re out of sight of Robber’s Gorge now. Here,” and he took Argis’ hand in his. Before he could get distracted by the smooth calluses and warm gentleness of his hand in Lein’s, he placed a ball of magelight in it, and when it hit his palm, it stuck there.

Argis turned his palm down to illuminate the rocks and then looked up at Lein. “How… How long will this last?”

“Not very long,” he said, trying hard not to laugh at the Nord’s nervousness. “And if you like, I can re-cast it when it goes out.”

“Thanks,” he said warily, still unsure about the magical light stuck to his hand. “It’s kind of freaky,” he said, wiggling it around. Lein did laugh then, and turned away to keep walking, more slowly this time, and much closer to him.

Argis still had trouble in the dark, and Lein wondered if perhaps the contrast between the blue-white glow of the magelight against the blackness was too great, still distorting the distances which he must have had trouble judging in full daylight, let alone darkness.

He coughed nervously after a few minutes and then, as Argis stumbled again on a loose river rock, said, “Look, I don’t want to patronise you, but would it be easier if you grabbed my arm?”

The housecarl sighed. In the silence behind the gesture, the magelight glimmered into nothingness and he watched Argis’ head lower, both his eyes closed. “Probably. I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re not a burden,” Lein said, stepping close to him. “And it’s not your fault. Come on,” and he touched Argis lightly on his left arm. He slid his left hand up Lein’s slender arm and held him gently between his thumb and forefinger just above his elbow.

He didn’t trip half so much with Lein to guide him, and when they reached the hut a few minutes later, they saw the sleeping figure of a woman lying in the bed, just as Lein had predicted. His hand was warm and his grasp gentle, and Lein never wanted him to let go.

“There’s a nice spot I’ve used before, just up here,” he said. “There’s a good, clean waterfall, and some sheltered rocks.”

They waded through the shallow stream and crossed onto the far bank. All was exactly as Lein remembered. Except for the sabre cat curled up in his usual campsite. “Perfect,” Argis murmured when Lein told him what he could see. “What do we do now?”

With a snarl of frustration Lein drew his bow and shot the creature while it slumbered. He felt sorry for killing it, but there was no way he was making Argis walk another step in the dark. The man was exhausted and embarrassed, and they needed to curl up themselves, dry off their clothes around a fire, and get some sleep. They could afford to take a much shorter day the next day, even though the snows were beginning to fall over the forests around Morthal.

“Do we have to sleep with the corpse of that cat?” Argis asked. If Lein had told him to kiss a draugr he wouldn’t have sounded less thrilled.

“No,” Lein chuckled. “I have an idea. It’ll take another shout though. First one I ever learned. You up for one last bit of magic tonight?”

Argis smirked. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it, but sure, why not?”

The carcass of the big cat was blasted away under the power of Lein’s full shout of unrelenting force, leaving the campsite clear for them. They watched as it was washed away on the current of the river below.

Argis laughed long and loud as it spun through the air like a child’s toy flung aside, then let out a huge grunt as he took off his pack and rolled out his shoulders. “How far have we come today, you reckon?” he asked as he flopped onto the ground beside it and began to undo his bedroll from where it was strapped in a waxed sack to the bottom of the pack.

Lein undid his own and set it down on the ground in the relative shelter of the rocks. “Easily twenty miles,” he said. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow. It’s been ages since I’ve covered that much ground on foot.”

“Me too,” Argis groaned, kicking off his wet boots. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a spell for drying out clothes, have you?”

Lein chuckled. “No, but if you take your wet things off and give them to me I’ll light a fire and they can dry overnight.” He could have sworn he heard Argis mutter something about Lein stripping him, but since he wasn’t entirely sure, he definitely didn’t want to mention it. “I don’t think it’s going to rain or snow any more tonight.”

With a fire going, wearing clean clothes and with their wet ones drying beside it on a makeshift driftwood rack, they both wolfed down some more bread and cheese, washed down with fresh water and a pint each of Nord Ale, and slipped into their bedrolls. Both men lay close to the fire for warmth as the late Frostfall snows began to gather in the distance. Lein lay on Argis’ right side, close enough that if they stretched their arms out, they would meet in the middle. He curled up in his bedroll, wearing just a linen shirt and his underwear inside the thick fur-lined sleeping bag, since his trousers were still soggy from the river. Normally he’d have put socks on, but he’d been too lazy to fish them out, so he lay there with icy toes and waited for sleep.

Argis was asleep in two minutes flat, snoring softly, the bedroll folded slightly back off his chest, as though he needed to vent heat instead of conserve it like Lein. His left arm was flung up above his head, and his right bent at the elbow, hand resting on his chest as it rose and fell. He shuffled in his sleep, and that hand shifted to lie on the damp grass beside him. The heat and glow of the fire was gorgeous, and Lein tried hard not to stare at the sharp planes of Argis’ roughly-hewn face in the light of the little flames, at his long lashes, or the way his exposed arm lay elegantly over the cool grass, fingers curled softly inwards, palm up.

He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to reach out and touch the bare skin of his arm, to feel those calluses again, to slip his fingers into Argis’ hand and feel his warmth flow into him.

Unable to bear it any longer, he allowed himself one tiny luxury. Repeating the words of the aura whisper shout from earlier, he sighed as that gently-swirling red energy filled his vision again. It twisted in and out of Argis’ body like smoke from an extinguished candle, spiralling and coiling around him lazily, richly, warmly. He stared unashamedly at him until the effects died and exhaustion washed over him.

When he woke with a start as usual some time in the dead of night, he saw that Argis hadn’t moved. Lein realised that he’d not shouted or screamed this time. He’d only awoken suddenly with that feeling of falling common to many dreamers who found themselves jolted awake in the night. Lein lay on his left side facing Argis still, and sighed. And then he frowned. There was a pressure on his right hand. He turned his eyes and looked down to where his right arm was lying on the ground between him and Argis. His eyes widened and his heart began to clang when he saw what was causing the pressure.

The housecarl’s strong fingers were clenched around Lein’s own.

His brown and blue eyes darted to Argis’ face, but the man appeared to be fast asleep. Lein couldn’t breathe for a moment he was so overwhelmed by the gesture. He didn’t care if it was an accident; he didn’t care if Argis had no idea he’d done it, or whether Lein himself had reached out for him in his dreams. What made his heartbeat thud in his throat was the fact that Argis was holding him, not the other way around.

Right then, as the unease that had woken him faded from his consciousness, that touch seemed the only thing anchoring him to the rocky hills of Skyrim, and he clung to Argis. He clung to him as sleep reached up for him a while later, letting the tingling warmth of the man’s hand guide him into a deep, and astonishingly peaceful sleep.

Chapter Six

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#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #argis the bulwark #argis #argis x male dragonborn #argis x dragonborn #male dragonborn #skyrim fanfic #fantasy #mlm #mlm story #mlm fantasy story #thane x housecarl #ghosti's fanfiction

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candrawithwip · 5 years

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So like, god knows how much I loved World of Warcraft when I was younger. I remember coming in during the third expansion and being mystified by everything that came beforehand. I know that people will say “nostalgia this nostalgia that” but it’s not just that, I assure you. It’s why vanilla servers were a thing and why they eventually released WoW classic. There were things in the game that help to define what it was that gradually disappeared and it kind of hurt.

I haven’t ever seen another game like WoW: not an MMO really. Skyrim kind of hit on it as did Wildstar and Neverwinter, but it wasn’t quite there. I think that perhaps the closest I’ve ever gotten to feeling similarily about game was maybe with Kingdoms of Amalur: Reckoning. There were plans to make an MMO I guess but that was promptly shelved when the company went bankrupt.

I suppose there’s also FFXIV which is, undoubtedly beautiful but... there’s something about it that really makes it difficult for me to slip past that part with the water zombies and the harpy/siren wind boss? It’s kind of like my solo DPS hits a wall and just slides down to the floor very slowly and painfully. I’m like “I’ll get past it this time!!” but I neved do and it’s not because it’s hard, I just kind of lose interest.

I’ve always been somewhat of a lone-wolf outside of group content, so feeling as though I’m just not doing enough even when I’m doing basic quest stuff gets particularily frustrating. I know this sounds kind of... hypocritical and bias, but even though WoW was much the same in that regard it also felt different. See, WoW was sloppy. I’m not sure why, but trying to face off against harder enemies felt less like punching a brick wall, and it felt more like an actual fight was taking place.

FFXIV has this odd sort of air to it, where my character’s abilities seem as though they should be doing so much more than they actually are. There’s all these red sparks flying and explosions, but for all the fanfare and force you’re apparently dishing out, you end up just kind of slapping the enemy with a reasonable amount of force: nothing substantial or grand but you know... pow pow. You end up fighting on level against like a salamander or something, even though you’re fully decked out in decent gear and appropriately leveled. It’s like for all I try I cannot for the life of me get ahead of the curve.

WoW on the other hand was much harsher. You could go a short distance from one zone to another and either get nuked in the face, or become a total badass. Those early areas you felt like you were really progressing, even if in a general sense you weren’t that far ahead. You’re struggling with something but five levels later, your new low level friend thinks you’re a god. It’s... I guess it feels more substantial? That your hard work really did get you somewhere even if you’re only a little ways ahead of where you were? That’s not unique though. In fact, I’ve felt much more satisfied with my impact in games like Blade & Soul, Neverwinter, Trove, GW2 and Wildstar. I mean with action combat becoming more and common that’s to be expected more or less.

No. I think what really made WoW special was the isolation you felt at times. The world was... dark and dangerous. You could screw yourself over pretty easily, but unlike with FFXIV it seemed easier to backpedal and get the hell out of there if you needed to. There were all these things that were so distinct and they weren’t just structures they were monuments; the little things and the weird things.

It felt like everywhere you went there was just something peculiar, and when you looked at it you knew there was a story; big or small. You weren’t required or asked to care. Hell, sometimes you weren’t even aware of what you stumbled across. You were just left asking “What the hell happened here?” or “What the hell is that?”

You’d stumble across some huge cratar full of powerful enemies in an otherwise unnasuming area, or find a specific vale in a normal canyon that was set ablaze and full of enemies you hadn’t encountered before. You’d pick up an ornament and some ghost lion would materialize and attack you. You’d walk by a hill and look up to see some castle, sitting atop a hill and sometimes hear a wolf howl loudly echo through the forest from that direction. You would find rare mobs, and know that they were special just from the way they looked. Sure now you can look it up, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been curious enough to ask what was happening and why it was there.

I think maybe the last time I felt that way was when I was questing in FFXIV and the weather suddenly got all weird and dark, indicating that some rare mob had spawned within the zone. You just knew that something weird was happening and you weren’t entirely aware of what it was. Sometimes GW2 would manage it, and show you something odd and unnassuming that nobody really understood yet but it damn well people excited to look.

See, the reason WoW is different now: the reason I don’t feel this way about a lot of modern games is because they take out all those extra steps. They explain what the giant crater is and why it’s there, or why there’s some weird creature hanging about and what it is, or they make those weird creepy things less imposing. It mellows things out, and not really in a good way. It’s so amazing to feel like you’re interacting with a world as you would in real life. If you want to do something beyond yourself you have to strap up and ask questions, find some other people who are willing to face the challenge with you. It encourages you to ask, and search, and if you don’t you’re not left behind or punished, you just... miss out on some pretty amazing shit.

It’s the difference between setting someone loose in an unexplored egyptian pyramid or burial tomb, versus giving them the tour and pointing out every little thing of interest. In real life you’re not allowed to do that because it’s dangerous, but in video games you can do whatever you like! You can put yourself in a crazy dangerous situation and it’s fine! I don’t think a developer should be a tour guide. I think they should be the people unlocking that back door into some weird ass place, handing you a sword and a map, and saying “So this is how you get by, and the rest? Oh, the rest is up to you.” They should be that omniscient figure that when asked “What the hell is that?” will they just raise their eyebrows and give a knowing smirk because they know... they know and they’re not telling you.

Games are just so big. It’s not like a book where you’re heading down a straight path. There are stories and places and things that just exist in the world around you that aren’t particularily important, but sometimes they are important and you would have no idea if they were unless you looked. That is why it’s kind of scary, and vague.

It feels like every time you go looking into something odd or imposing that you either make a cool little discovery, or something totally insane or unpredictable comes and wrecks your miserable face. It makes you... scared? Unsure? There is no guarantee that the next area is somewhere you’re meant to go yet, or whether that one weird thing is something you’re supposed to be touching. You see some giant weird creature that’s kind of frankensteined together meandering down a path and you think “Shit. Can I take that or will it literally kill the shit hell out of me?” and you just don’t know, because they’re very intentionally letting you find out on your own. I mean it used to be like that anyway...

The unnasuming portals, or paths, or weird areas: there is some huge arrow pointing down at them. There’s a map that’s already filled in so you know where everything is at, and there’s a quest to go here and there because they don’t want you to miss anything but... where is the fun in that? They build an elevator up to the peak of mount everest and even though they let you do it the old fashioned way too, they always let you see the same things.

I get it; you want everyone to be able to experience everything, but it doesn’t feel the same. Those weird dungeons or strange castles with insanely hard to kill shit inside? You’re invited in, and it’s a bit more difficult, but they lead you to the door and hand you a backpack and some applejuice and say “Isn’t this neat?” and that’s just not as fun.

There’s always the argument that they want the less skilled players to experience something too, or they hear players complaining about how hard something is but you know what? That doesn’t mean we really want there to be changes, or if we do perhaps we just want small ones. We don’t want it all to be easy, we just complain when we’re frustrated and that doesn’t always happen because of difficulty. Challenges are fun, but they need to exist in such a way that you know what you’re supposed to do and that it’s simply a matter of doing it. It’s fine so long as there isn’t some element of “chance” or “luck” to it. It’s entirely possible for anyone to do if given time, and that’s what early WoW was for the most part give or take. If you wanted to travel, sometimes you just had to get on your horse and go. If you wanted to be teleported you would have to ask. If you wanted to find something you had to look for it (or at least look it up).

I started playing WoW when I was 12 years old, and let me assure you that I never felt discouraged. I got into group content at level 40 something and failed so miserably I was kicked from the group, but I was like “Well okay. I did something wrong. What did I do?” So I looked, and I learned, and I got better. When someone would come through with some amazing looking mount or gear and I would find out it was from some raid somewhere, I wouldn’t be discouraged by the fact that it was going to be really hard to get good enough to do that content myself. I though “Well shit! If I want to see what’s in there I have to keep getting better!” and like... I really did want to see what was in there because even though there were videos, doing it yourself was totally different.

Then suddenly it seemed like everything opened up. They added dungeon finder and LFR and at first I was excited, but then after all said and done I just sat there thinking “well... that was that... should I go get better gear so I can do that again but like... harder? Why? So I can get a cool mount? What will I do with it? Where will I go? Will I just wait for the next expansion then? What comes after that? Will I just sit and twist my thumbs waiting for something new and cool to come along before I’m given a full tour right after I hit max level?

Sure it was fun. There was always something but those distant goals were just... arbitrary. We all got to see the same things and go to the same places. It wasn’t an adventure, it was a business venture: there was the challenge and there were the goals, but at some point I started questioning why I should even care. Sure there was the story, as always, but the story became as accessible as a book on a library counter. If the story is served to me as a consice linear narrative where none of the pages were stuck together or difficult to read, why would I bother reading the ~advanced~ copy that is more or less the same, but uses bigger words. The story is the same regardless and I’ve read it back to front.

What else does it say when I miss the ridiculous difficulty I was posed with as a 12 year old child who had no idea what I was doing? I’m ready now, I have my bootstraps pulled up but there’s no adventure to go on. There’s no awe-inspiring dragon I can only see in person if I climb a mountain and get the ancient sword and also learn how to play the harpsichord with my feet. I’m just standing here like... “Well I guess I’ll just walk down this neatly hedged path.”

That’s why I don’t go back to WoW. It’s because I know that no matter how cool something looks, it’ll just be some tree or sign I pass by and nothing to stick around for after I’ve seen it from every angle. I just keep... looking. Waiting for something to let me have an adventure again, but with my friends, because adventures are everywhere in Skyrim and Outer Worlds. They just aren’t where I want them to be and with who I want to have them with.

#Ive said it all before but I will keep saying it for as long as I’m made to keep searching

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archworks-gaming · 8 years

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So, I’ve been playing Fallout 4 again recently.

Because whilst the story is kind of ham-fisted and unimaginative the raw appeal of being a lone-wandering scrap hunter/robot maker is too strong for my frail human brain to ignore.

So from that you can likely gather I don’t really enjoy the story. To be more concise I don’t enjoy the main story.

Y’see, I’m the kind of gamer that will ignore the story at all costs. Not on a first playthrough mind, but for all subsequent playthroughs? That story might as well not even exist to me. Specifically with western-style, open-world RPGs.

It’s the same reason I recently got my hands on the remastered Skyrim, but you won’t see many story trophies/achievements appear under that title for me, because I haven’t done anything story-related. I’ve played the story already, it was... OK at best. Now I want to build a character and have their journey.

To get back onto Fallout 4, something that really stood out to me during a recent session was when I went to Diamond City to do an intro quest for Piper.

I forget the name of the quest, but it requires your character to be interviewed for the Publick Occurrences newspaper.

And for the most part the game will allow you to make up stuff during this interview. And generally just let you get away with whatever you want to say. (Well, out of the four options it gives you per question anyway)

But then you get to one of the final questions. Which is in regards to why you’re travelling across the Commonwealth, why you’ve wound up in Diamond City.

And the game gives you options for this, but only one of them actually does anything.

And that’s super disappointing. This isn’t a story critical conversation. I’m not going to lose anything by choosing the wrong answer. No matter what I say, Piper will publish it and then become a companion.

But for some reason at this point in the sidequest, Bethesda thought it would be best to force the player to pretend they give a shit about Baby Shaun.

I don’t feel like I’m alone when I say I couldn’t care less about Shaun in Fallout 4. And in fact the majority of the problems I have with Fallout 4′s story are directly related to Shaun.

“Oh but you have to feel attached to him because... He’s your baby, I guess?”

No. No I don’t. Because he’s not my baby, he’s a baby. Even without the gamer/game disconnect or the 1′s and 0′s argument, by this point in the game I had spent a grand total of about 30 seconds with him before he was taken.

We had one interaction with baby Shaun in the opening part of the game where we tickle him a little bit and that’s it.

That’s our full backstory with Baby Shaun. As a player I couldn’t be less engaged with this “character”. I’d spent more time telling the Vault Tech sales rep to piss off than I had actually interacting with what is supposed to be my son in Fallout 4.

I’ve grown attached to settlers more than I have with Shaun.

But for some reason, whenever my character is showing any kind of empathy towards another survivor in the Commonwealth the first words they’ll usually utter are:

“I know what it’s like to lose a child...”

Hey asshole, we’re in a post-nuclear apocalyptic wasteland! There are literal fucking monsters outside that like to eat us and use our bones for decorations! Safe to say pretty much everyone knows what it’s like to lose someone!

And the thing is, for the most part your character will always go straight to “MY BABY WAS KIDNAPPED!” and never the more understandable:

“MY HUSBAND/WIFE WAS SHOT IN THE FACE WHILE I WAS TRAPPED IN A METAL BOX MERE FEET AWAY WHERE I COULD SEE EVERYTHING! ALSO HELLO! I WAS ALIVE BEFORE THE WAR, EVERYONE I EVER KNEW OR LOVED IS MOST LIKELY DEAD!”

It’s amazing to me how little of a deal it is that you are a pre-war survivor in this game. The only time to my memory where the character openly states that they gave any kind of a shit about the pre-war world is in the epilogue.

Hell, most of the characters you talk to about this to either understandably don’t believe you, Believe you outright with no proof and honestly don’t react to it all that much or they knew you already.

And I feel that’s one of Bethesda’s greatest missteps in creating the story for Fallout 4. We as the player have no reason to care about anything prior to what is happening right now in the wasteland. But are expected to regardless.

Even the player character doesn’t care enough about the world they were forced to leave behind because we and by extension they spent almost the entirety of it standing in front of a fucking mirror!

I personally pre-made my character’s appearance to look like they already lived in the wasteland, scars, bruises, that kind of stuff. And then they have to dawdle around in the pre-war section looking like their spouse says “I love you” with a hunting knife?!

This is the first time in a Fallout game where we’ve had even a glimpse of the pre-war world, let us have some fun with it! Let us have a reason to give a shit about it and not frantically mash buttons and jump hedges to get out of it.

If we’d gotten some sense of what the world, pre-war was like. If we’d been introduced to baby Shaun and given some actual time to interact with him, maybe even see him grow up a little bit because the next time you actually see “Shaun” he’s like 9-10 years old.

That section when you first enter the institute and are confronted by a Synth of Kid Shaun, that would have had so much more impact if that was what Shaun looked like when he was taken.

instead you’re yet again, FORCED to have your character lose all semblance of sense at the mere sight of a robotic ten year old. There’s no option for disbelief when you find Synth Shaun in the institute, despite the fact that your character is knowingly infiltrating the place where fucking synths come from!

Beyond that, Father’s devotion to the Institute would be so much more meaningful if he was old enough to take it all in when he was taken, instead of being basically tailored from birth to accept it.

It would make sense for an adult Shaun to release you from your cryo-pod at the start of the game if he was old enough to even remember you when he was taken, instead of this whole “Oh, I let my parent out on a whim, just to see how far they’d get” bullshit the game actually gives us!

And then there’s the games core “twist”...

“Oh no! my 1 year old son was taken whilst I was frozen, I should go looking for him with the expectation that despite being re-frozen after he was taken that he will still be a 1 year old baby!”

“Oh no! I have found my son and now he’s older than me and somehow dying of cancer in a future underground science utopia where they literally build human beings from scratch!”

... I’m not the only one who’d guessed that Shaun was going to be either long dead or an old man at the very beginning of the game, was I? It was just that blatantly obvious, wasn’t it?

I feel I would have been more satisfied if when you wake up in the pod after Shaun’s been taken, that Father had come to personally wake you up.

With cancer threatening his life they’d need a genetic back-up for the synth experiments and you’re the closest match. So out a sense of familial-fueled curiosity he accompanies the recovery team, but you manage to fight back and escape and you build up kind of an antagonist viewpoint of “Father” up until the moment you meet him in the institute, where he reveals he’s Shaun. Boom! Story twist.

It’s probably just as easy to see coming, but hell if it isn’t more engaging.

Maybe the reason Father has cancer in the first place could be because he tried to get out of the institute at a younger age and he got irradiated trying to find you? Then when he’s leader of the whole place he finally has the clout to force people to take him to you.

And with that kind of approach, when you possibly decide to take down the Institute his sense of betrayal towards you will feel a fuckload less hollow!

“Oh mother! I can’t believe you’re against the institute, especially since all they did was murder your husband, my father and kidnap me, putting you through almost literal hell trying to find me, only to find that they’ve robbed us of any meaningful time we were ever going to spend together, just so they can built robots that can more effectively kidnap and replace other people’s family... I thought more of you!”

And it’s fucking bullshit! You can’t even convince him that he’s wrong!? What kind of shit is this? I get that not everyone who’s committed horrible acts for “Good intentions” can accept that their actions were horrible. Some terrible people die safe in the personal knowledge that they’re probably not monsters.

But they are. And in the case of Shaun, this is a fucking videogame. A place where I as the gamer, the one in control, should have some sway in the matter.

Up until this point there has been an option to change everyone’s minds.

Fuck, I talked an armed chem dealer into not only leaving a place empty-handed but to also give me all his money before doing so. And he’s a chem dealer on the surface, he’s probably legitimately crazy.

So the apparent lack of any option to reason Shaun over to your way of thinking is baffling, since he’s so enamored with you that he actually names you his successor as leader of the institute (Which is another problem entirely).

If he values you and likely what you think so much why is there no option to persuade him to re-think his position? It’s mind-boggling!

To touch some more on the point I just made about how you can become the leader of the Institute, Why is there no active “good” option for this?

Why is it I can be named the Successor to the head-seat of the Institute but I’m not allowed to take this information to say... The Railroad and let them know that as soon the current leader is gone that I control the place where Synths come from.

Or take it to the Minutemen and tell them that in a little while Synth’s probably won’t be a problem and in fact might even serve as pretty good servicemen for the Minutemen (Especially the Gen 1 and 2′s).

Or I could go to the Brotherhood where I’d undoubtedly be shot on sight for saying I control the Institute.

Why can’t I choose to continue Synth production, but refuse to continue the abduction and replacement of humans on the surface?

Or why can’t I opt to halt Synth production to focus on things that can make surface life better? Like more effective water purification? Or something that can clean radiation from soil? Hell, even just make prosthetic limbs or organ replacements?

Admittedly, I’ve never seen fit to actually take the Institute option at the end. Even so, there’s a whole load of potential good that can be done with the place and for all my searching I can’t find a shred of evidence to suggest that any of it is actually possible... So far as I’ve seen the only difference you get in siding with them is that Synth’s take up control points on the surface and talk about how they control everything now.

In summary, the story is the weakest part of the whole Fallout 4 experience and it’s all Shaun’s fault.

#Fallout 4 #Analysis #Story #Spoilers #Shaun #Father #Bethesda #Gripes #blunders #shortcommings #fixes #opinions

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