Dawn was well over when Tarthas left Whiterun’s huge gates. It wasn’t normal for him to leave the large city on his own. He would always have been with either a shield brother or sister sometimes even his adoptive sister. In fact, he was hoping that they would leave together but she was nowhere to be found. No one had a clue. The guards also had no idea because of a very typical mix up of the watch. He decided that the hopes he had raised were pointless and set off to home on his own.
The road to Falkreath City could take well over a day on foot. He would probably have to stop by an inn on the way because he left so late. While passing Pelagia farm Tarthas saw the corpse of the giant still lying there, crows picking out the guts. Thinking his mother would be pleased with the rare and expensive ingredient he walked up to the giant’s huge feet. Those feet came up to his waist. Tarthas took out a knife and cut off both big toes, oddly the other toes were worthless in alchemy. Only the big toe had any alchemical properties.
Tarthas prayed to Arkay, the god of burial rites and funerals, hoping that even giants were accepted in the afterlife. They were humane after all. One of the crows looked at him with one black beady eye and it seemed to blink. He took it as a sign that Arkay had accepted his prayer, though his doubts were strong.
It was merely a mile to Riverwood, a small road, but one known for all kinds of hazards. On one side the start of the White River originating from Ilinalta Lake and ending in the sea of ghosts east of Windhelm. On the other side a view of one of Skyrim’s glorious mountain ranges and the edge of the forest that encompassed all of Falkreath Hold and over the southern border of Whiterun Hold. These forests ran thick with nature and wildlife but were also home to bandits and other beings of darker nature. These forests are where Tarthas grew up, it was home to him and it was always a nice feeling to smell the crushed pine smell of home.
“Halt! In the name of... Ulfric!” A group of four dressed in the armour of stormcloaks was stopping his path, the one addressing him was an Orc and beside him stood a dark elven woman, “This route is being… patrolled, yes patrolled. You have to pay 200 septims to pass or we can’t let you through.
The Orc carried a heavy iron warhammer on his back, the others axes the armour didn’t seem to fit any of them properly. Tarthas grinned, subtly resting his hand on his pommel. The ghost jackal grumbled but had a sparkle in its eyes; Tarthas always forgot that he was by his side.
“Talos guide you heroes of this land. Tell me now, my fellows, if you are part of Ulfric’s revolution he must have changed his ways to let Orcs and other elves into his army, by the Nine, you don’t look like true sons of Skyrim at all. Why should I pay this charge? Robbery it is!” He smiled; the look on the Orc’s face was one of shock and anger. The Orc sputtered and cursed.
“Shit men! Our cover’s up! We’ll beat ya ter pulp yer Breton worm and take all those juicy septims from you!” The nord took the axe from his back only to find black smoke coming from pores of his body. The dark elf screamed and stepped back grabbing her axe. Tarthas laughed, this was his own invention, he had named the spell Brimstone, it wouldn’t harm at all until magic or fire touched the person which led to a huge explosion, a tiny spark from sword to sword could do the trick, only those deemed damned by the gods would be hurt.
Tarthas pulled out his sword and saw the jackal charge at the Orc biting at his leg. That was enough to set the explosion going, the dark elf was lay on the ground charred, the other two were untouched. Both Imperials, twins, Tarthas guessed, each had a steel short-sword.
They moved to either side of Tarthas, he decided to face the one on his right. The one on behind him charged him for on overhead chop, Tarthas lunged back, turned his blade in his hand facing behind him, stabbing the Imperial in the chest. He pulled out his sword with both hands, raising it above his head to parry the blow from the other imperial. Because of the diagonal slant of his parry it left the bandit open for cut from the side.
And with a twist of his wrist Tarthas’ sword went straight for the bandit’s waist only to be parried by his short-sword. Tarthas immediately charged a fireball spell in his left hand, feeling the magic combust and let go. The bandit went flying. And Tarthas left the scene how it was, he was in no mood to see what riches the bandits had earned or to clear up the mess. Let passers-by know this route is dangerous.
*****
Soon Tarthas arrived in Riverwood and ordered himself a large mug of ale from Orgnar he also ordered himself an apple cabbage stew. He sat down at the bar and sighed, Riverwood was a quiet place.
It was a very isolated border town, few people passed through and few families lived here, a small community and one that had grown smaller when a dragon had attacked Riverwood. The Dragonborn was by pure luck also in town and had saved it, however a boy named Frodnar, Alvor the blacksmith and his wife were all killed, the boy actually being eaten. The now childless family of Hod and Gerdur adopted Dorthe and she became a fine lass. She had been Tarthas girlfriend when they were teens but that didn’t work out very well. Dorthe was now the town’s blacksmith and in the evenings sang at the Sleeping Giant inn, or whenever she didn’t need to be working at the forge. Her auburn hair and boyish grin made people wonder if that trauma ever really took hold of her, until they saw the dark rings under her eyes.
Tarthas finished his mead and stew and left the inn. Outside leaning against the fence was Keri-Anne. She didn’t look Tarthas in the eyes but asked if she could join him on his journey home. Tarthas shrugged and the continued walking together to Helgen.
Helgen had been rebuilt and restored, it actually was a lively town again, many people had lost their homes because of the war that took place fourteen years back and others had also lost it because of the dragons terrorizing the lands. Eighteen years had passed since the legendary dragon known as Alduin decimated it. The town was larger now and had various businesses inside its thick walls. It even had its own meadery, Greenthorn Meadery.
They travelled in silence though, neither spoke. By the time they arrived in Helgen, it was an hour before dinner so they rented a room at the Yawning Dragon Inn. Keri dismissed herself saying that Ashthread Tailor’s always had some of the finest clothes and they were about to close and she also wanted to get a bottle of Greenthorn Mead for mum and dad. Again they didn’t look eye to eye.
Tarthas sat by the fire. An old dark elf walked up to him, the age lines were cut deeper in his grey face, his white hair was long like a mane, one of his eyes was pearl white and a scar ran across it ending on his jaw bone with another scar on either side of the main one across his cheek. His working eye was a deep red. He looked strong but worn. His armour was as black as night and closely fitted, with fine runes carved in silver, it curved smoothly then cut again at angles, an artistic and fine design made by the dark elves themselves; ebony.
“You look glum, lad.” The dunmer said taking a sip from a tankard, “Going through a tough phase with your girl? You’re a fine warrior if I’ve ever seen one, shouldn’t be too hard to win her heart back would it? Or is something else going on?” The old dark elf looked at him calmly. Tarthas felt at ease, which was strange to feel around a dark elf.
“You see sir, she isn’t my girl. And I’m not sure if I want her to be, she’s my adoptive sister. But I feel more for her, which I shouldn’t and I think she does too.”
“Young love, always complicated, reminds me of my days in Ebonheart. If you feel more for her, go with it, and it’s hard to find someone who feels the same back. Take that from a wizened old dark elf that has seen half of Tamriel.
“The town really has turned out well since that carriage ride eighteen years back. Hard to make me angry that Alduin destroyed it, wouldn’t have been sitting here now having a chat with a young lad if it weren’t for him, Akatosh look after him.” The dark elf took another swig of his tankard. And Tarthas looked at the old man in awe, he realized who this man was.
“You’re the dragonborn!” He exclaimed. His pointed ears seemed to twitch and he smirked.
“Zaknolu Do’Ana, at your service. Now hush, it gets annoying when people start cheering and giving free rounds off the house. I just want a bit of peace and quiet. You just reminded me of a young lad I once knew when I was in Cyrodiil two hundred years back. We closed an Oblivion gate together. Curiosity killed the khajiit, but anyway, I have business with the Jarl of Falkreath see you round, lad. Oh and by the way, here’s a gift, I have no need of it anymore and I think soon, you will be glad to have it in your hands.” He handed Tarthas a silver ring with a wolf’s head sticking out as if it were a set diamond. The dark elf raised a black hood over his head and walked out of the inn. Tarthas finished his ale and went up to his room and started reading A Dance in Fire, it was a book lying around the room.
It was evening when Keri returned, the sun was setting and Tarthas still lay on the bed reading his book. She stealthily snuck into the room changed behind the blinds and stood before Tarthas in a white gossamer dress, strapped by silken corset and nothing more, it left her arms and shoulders bare, her blonde curls loosely covering one side of her face.
Tarthas stood up and looked Keri in the eyes. She blushed and shied away. She was breathing quickly.
“D... do you like it? It is the latest fashion for nightwear from Cyrodiil.”
Tarthas lifted her chin and kissed her soft lips. “It is beautiful, do you mind if I may see more of you?” Tarthas wasn’t sure if it was the ale that was getting to him as he kissed her neck and slowly untied the corset. When it was undone and the nightgown fell from her figure that Tarthas had seen before, and yet he was seeing it for the first time. She walked with a sultry gait to the bed and lay down inviting Tarthas to follow suit. Tarthas undressed agilely and lay over her, kissing up from the pelvis up her sleek stomach over her mounds and eventually kissing her lips again. The night was long and lady Mara was pleased to see another couple revelling in the gift She had bestowed on Nirn: love.
*****
The couple left the booming town of Helgen late that morning; Tarthas had his hand around her waist. They laughed and joked as the made their way on the road to Falkreath City. The sun shone through the pine trees and butterflies fluttered in and around the flowers. A few wolves crossed their path but they were thwarted with a few fire fireballs being shot from Tarthas’ finger.
They arrived at the side passage with the path to Pinewoods Cottage. Happily they carried on walking without a care in the world until the cottage came into view. Or, what was left of the cottage.
All that was left was a charred ruin. Keri stopped walking, Tarthas let go of her hand and slowly walked into what was once the doorway. The ash and wood crunched under his feet. There was nothing left, he moved to the stairs to the basement and even that was burned and all that was left was rubble. He slowly walked to his parents room and the little altar cupboard was burned and on it lay a statue of Boethiah, which shouldn’t have been there, it should have been Kyne. The bed was also rubble and in that rubble lay a charred female body. Their pet fox was nudging it. Once again the poor fox had seen it’s home destroyed. The charred remains of the person had a gleaming black, ebony dagger sticking out of it.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Tarthas realized who the charred figure was. It was his mother. Tears came to his eyes. He fell to his knees with a heavy crunch. No scream escaped his lips; there was nothing in him. He felt empty. Like some daedra had ripped out his chest and lungs. Keri walked into the room and started sobbing on his shoulder. It wasn’t right. Tarthas’ mind was blank for a long time and slowly ventured into thoughts for Keri, that it wasn’t fair for her to lose two mothers. He couldn’t think for himself, all he felt was emptiness. Slowly noon came, and so did nightfall. Rain began to fall when darkness shrouded them.
When dawn came, the fox nudged Tarthas, who had fallen asleep from exhaustion. He looked at the fox, and saw a funnel strapped to its front paw. He unstrapped it and inside was a note.
Dear Tarthas,
If you are reading this then I probably have left you. I am sorry it has come to this. The last few months your Father wasn’t himself. He had been arguing with me, threatening. Screaming that you, Tarthas, weren’t his son, but the son of a man name Karsa. He had many bad nights, bad dreams as well, he would whisper the names of daedric princes and whispering of a new dawn, Boethiah was muttered a lot in his sleep. He had threatened to kill me over the last few weeks and I fear he soon will. Remember Tarthas, don’t go after Marcurio. Revenge is the wrong route and Marcurio seems to be used as a puppet. I do not know for what game, but please revenge is the worst path you could take. Look after Keri-Anne for me, she will be shattered if she found out.
I love you with all the love that lady Mara has given me,
Your Mother
I hope you enjoyed, comments would be appreciated.
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