Talion stood in the darkness of the fortress. He looked at Hadvar's corpse. His sword lay beside him. Talion picked up the blade. It was good steel, but it wasn't his style, too short, too broad. He took it anyway.
"Sorry, old friend," Talion said as he searched him. It wouldn't do Hadvar any good in Sovngarde anyway. He found his coin purse.
"Officer's pay ain't bad, eh, Hadvar?" he said, pocketing the purse. He'd count it later.
He also had a map stuffed in the cuff of his gauntlet, some travel rations, and a potion of stamina in his satchel. Talion ate some of the rations and drank the potion. He felt the exhaustion fade immediately. His magicka was still pretty drained, but at least his legs stopped shaking. He gave the sword a few practice swings and nodded his approval.
He looked around the room for a way out. He was trapped in here. The gates were locked both ways, and the door to the outside was caved in. He froze suddenly and crouched behind an overturned barrel as he heard faint chatter echoing from down the hallway. He saw approaching torchlight, and the voices grew more distinct.
"—You ever seen anything like it?"
"No one living has," a familiar voice answered.
Talion breathed easily. He stood as General Tullius came into view. He smiled.
"General," he said with a nod. "It seems you'll have the opportunity to repay me sooner than you thought."
"By the Gods," Tullius said as he approached the gate, the gash in his breastplate covered in dry blood, but his wounds were very much healed. "I never thought you'd make it." The general said. He turned to one of the soldiers at his back. "Soldier, unlock this door."
The soldier pulled from his pocket a brass key and began fidgeting with the lock.
"How did you make it?" Tullius asked.
"With luck," Talion said. "Where did you find the key?"
"Three Stormcloak boys," the general said. "Thought they'd make a name for themselves if they managed to capture General Tullius." He scoffed. "Damn fools. But by our fortune, they had the key."
The general suddenly noticed Hadvar's corpse lying on the ground. His eyes met Talion's, and a sharpness was there he hadn't seen before.
"Did you do that?" he asked.
Talion felt the anger coming from the man. He met the old Imperial's gaze and shook his head.
"No. Those Stormcloak boys you met gutted Hadvar and left him to die slow."
The general held Talion's eyes for a long moment, then nodded.
"I believe you," he said quietly.
He looked around the carnage of the room. The dragon's agonized thrashing had nearly brought the whole tower down on his head.
"That beast try to follow you in here?" Tullius asked.
Talion nodded silently.
"Eight preserve me," Tullius said, shocked. "Son, when we get out of this, I want to discuss your future. We could use a man like you," he said, laughing.
Talion returned the smile. He decided he liked the old man. Yes, he had been trying to cut his head off less than an hour ago, but he wasn't bad, all things considered.
Fortunately for them, the key opened both gates. As they made their way through the fortress, they found nothing but corpses, dozens of them, the charred remains of Stormcloaks and Imperials alike.
"What in Oblivion could do this?" Tullius asked.
"Elenwen," Talion said.
"The emissary?" Tullius asked, shocked.
Talion nodded. "Don't judge her by the position she holds today. To rise high in Thalmor society, one must be conniving, ruthless, and above all else, powerful. She'll have been trained in blade, stealth, and magic since she could walk. She's dangerous."
"H-How do you know so much about the Thalmor?" one of the soldiers asked, fear making his voice quiver.
Talion turned to the soldier. "What's your name?" he asked.
"G-Gaius," the soldier said.
"And how old are you?"
"Nineteen, sir."
"Well, Gaius, the Thalmor have been my enemy since before you were even a thought. And I do make a habit of studying my enemy."
Talion kept his eyes peeled, waiting for an ambush from every shadow. He expected an attack, but it never came.
"The more important question is: how do you know Elenwen?" Tullius asked.
Talion hesitated for a moment. "I was her slave," he said finally.
"And what, she just let you go?" Tullius asked in disbelief.
"No," Talion said simply.
"Did you escape?" one of the soldiers asked.
"I was freed," Talion said.
"In Elsweyr, perhaps?" Tullius asked.
Talion looked over his shoulder and met the old Imperial's eyes. They were narrowed in suspicion.
He knows, Talion thought.
The fortress eventually gave way to a system of caves, no doubt intended as an escape route by the builders. They heard a faint skittering in the distance.
"Do you hear that?" Gaius asked, and no sooner had the words left his lips than something wet slapped hard on his face. Talion smelled the acid on the air, and the boy screamed as his skin melted. He fell back, writhing in agony, wisps of noxious vapor rising from his face.
"Frostbite spiders!" Talion shouted as loud thumps began to hit the cave floor over and over.
"There's dozens of them," Talion said in alarm. He raised his torch, and it flared to life with a wave of his hand.
The monstrosities hung from the ceiling on long ropes of web. Dozens of smaller ones the size of house cats skittered toward them, followed by spiders as large as oxen. Talion raised his sword and fell into Raging Sandstorm, a defensive form of Goutfang designed to defend against multiple enemies using wide sweeping attacks to fend off enemies. He swung his blade, taking several at a time. The short sword did not do the form justice, but it would do for this.
He saw a particularly large spider coming toward him, venom dripping from its massive pincers. It leapt, and Talion shifted his feet, sidestepping the spider with ease. He raised his blade over his head and struck it in the back mid-leap with a precise downward slice. The creature slammed face-first into the rock wall, thrashing violently before curling up dead. He spun the blade, killing three more as they came within range.
He went to help Gaius, but it was too late. The acidic venom had eaten through his skin down to the bone. He was gone.
Talion looked to the others. Tullius was unharmed; several dead spiders lay on the cold stone around him. He couldn't say the same for the other soldier. He was alive, but he'd been bitten several times, the poison working its way through his system. His skin was already turning a mottled green, his flesh bloating.
"I'll be fine," the boy managed, but as he tried and failed to rise, Talion breathed a deep sigh.
Then the boy started convulsing.
"He's dead," Talion said, standing.
"We could take him to the nearby village," Tullius said.
"He won't make it. He was bitten dozens of times, and the nearest village is miles away," Talion said sadly. "Right now, the poison is traveling toward his heart. Once it hits, he's dead."
"Only thing left is pain or mercy," Tullius said quietly.
Talion looked to the general. Should I do it or should you? His eyes asked.
Tullius gave a weary sigh. "A general should care for his men, no matter how difficult the task."
Talion nodded and stepped back. Tullius knelt beside the wounded soldier.
"I'm sorry, son," he said, drawing his side knife. He plunged it into the boy's chest, and he fell still.
They left the corpses there in the nest. There was no time for burials.
"I didn't see Elenwen's corpse in there," Tullius said. "If she came this way, you'd think she would have walked right into that death trap, same as us."
"Elenwen is a master of illusion. A simple invisibility spell would be all she'd need to walk right through there unharmed."
Talion raised his hand suddenly and crouched down. Tullius followed suit. A deep rumbling sound was coming from farther in the cave.
"Bear," Talion whispered.
They crept around the slumbering creature, leaving it in peace as they made their way outside into the sunlight.
==
Their eyes needed to adjust after so long in the dark. It was a beautiful spring morning. Butterflies flew from flower to flower. Birds sang in the trees. The only evidence that anything was amiss was the faint scent of char on the air and the dwindling column of smoke in the distance that had been Helgen.
"So what happens now?" Talion asked, his hand gripping the hilt of the sword that he truly hoped he wouldn't have to use.
"It didn't take me long to figure out who you were," Tullius said.
"And who is that?" Talion asked.
"The Scourge of Senchal. The Winterknife."
Talion turned to Tullius, his hand still gripping the hilt of his sword. "What happens now?" Talion repeated.
Tullius chuckled. "Officially, the criminal known as the Winterknife is to be captured and sent to the Aldmeri Dominion for summary execution."
"And unofficially?" Talion asked.
Tullius gave him a hard look. "Unofficially, I hate those damn Elves as much as you do. And I think you've done fine work."
Talion's grip lessened on the hilt, and Tullius continued.
"Why have you returned to Skyrim?"
"It isn't to join the rebellion, if that's what you're worried about," Talion said.
"Good," Tullius said, breathing a sigh of relief. "The last thing I need is you to contend with." He thought for a moment. "What happens now is, you have a choice to make, my friend."
"And what's that?" Talion asked.
"You can either follow me to Falkreath. I will find a place for you in my retinue. You can start a new life where your past no longer haunts you."
"Or?" Talion asked.
"Or you can continue on your journey, and I will forget I ever met you."
Talion thought for a moment, then extended a hand to Tullius. The Imperial looked at it for a moment, then nodded.
"Very well," he said and took it. "Good fortune to you."
"And to you," Talion answered.
"Word of warning," Tullius said. "The Dominion sent word that they believe you are currently in Skyrim. They tracked you as far as Senchal before you took a ship bound for Skyrim."
"Thank you, I'll be careful," Talion said.
"They've placed an eighty-thousand Sancar price on your head," Tullius said seriously. "Men would raze cities for that kind of wealth. Be more than careful."
Talion nodded. "I will."
==
It didn't take long to get to Riverwood, it was only a few miles up the road from the cave mouth. He smiled as he stepped through the arches leading into town. It felt good to be home after so long.
Hadvar's uncle Alvor ran the smithy at the center of town. He went there first to return the sword and pay his respects. Alvor was hammering a red-hot chunk of iron on his anvil as Talion approached.
"How can I help you, stranger?" he said, looking up to meet Talion's eyes.
Talion carefully laid the sword out on the work table. "Your nephew Hadvar's sword. I was with him when he died," Talion said.
Alvor stopped, staring wide-eyed at the blade for a long moment. Then he asked through clenched teeth, "Did he die well?"
He was butchered by three cowards in a collapsing fortress, he thought.
"Yes," he lied.
Alvor nodded slowly. "Thank you for returning this to me," Alvor said, gripping the sword. "Would you like some food? My wife just made stew," he said.
"No, thank you. But I would appreciate information, if you're willing," Talion said.
"Of course. Whatever you need," Alvor said.
"Does Orlin still own the mill here in town?"
"No, Orlin hasn't run the mill for nearly ten years. He sold it to Hod and Gerdur," Alvor said, surprised.
"Does he still live in town?" Talion asked.
"Aye. He lives just outside town, on the hill overlooking the waterfall," Alvor said, pointing to a small hut faintly visible on the hillside. Talion saw a faint wisp of smoke rising from the chimney.
"Thank you for your help," Talion said, and he turned and started walking.
"I wouldn't go up there. He doesn't like visitors, especially not strangers," Alvor said at Talion's back.
"I'm sure he won't mind me," Talion called back with a wave.
==
It was near dark when Talion found the place. There were empty bottles and other refuse scattered around. It was filthy, run-down, and decrepit. Talion knocked on the thick wooden door; it was rotten in places. He heard movement from inside.
"Who is it banging on my door this time of night?" came an angry voice.
"Someone you haven't seen in a very long time," Talion shouted back.
The door opened, and suddenly, Talion had a crossbow in his face. He didn't move. His father was much older now, his hair fully grey, but he still had that easy confidence about him. Talion noticed all the bottles scattered around the floor. Perhaps it's the drink, he thought. He was standing on his peg leg as if he were born with it, the crossbow sighted right between Talion's eyes, steady as a level.
"I don't like riddles," Orlin said dangerously.
"Talion," Talion said.
The crossbow lowered a hair. "My boys are dead," Orlin said.
"One yet lives," Talion answered.
Orlin looked him over. His eyes met Talion's pale silver, and the strength went out of his arms. He set the crossbow down slowly and approached as if he were in a daze. He embraced Talion, and he started weeping.
"Damn boy, making me think you were dead all these years," he said, laughing.
"I'm sorry, Father," Talion said quietly. "I'm sorry."
They sat late into the night, drinking and laughing. Talion told stories of his travels, of the battles he fought. He told him of his time with Janico, of how he had protected him and mentored him, though he avoided Elenwen and Divayth for now. Those would come with time.
"I've never been one for those catfolk, but that one's alright with me," Orlin laughed.
Talion had never seen his father like this. Even when Talion was a boy, his father had always been quiet, reserved his face never betrayed his emotions. But here he was, laughing like a child. Talion smiled.
"I'll get you another mead," he said.
"Oh no, no," Orlin said. "I've had enough. I have an early day tomorrow. Need to get this place cleaned up, my son's come home, after all!" he said happily.
Talion smiled. "Then I'll help."
==
The next morning, Talion woke to the smell of bacon. He rose from the bedroll he had slept on he had refused to take his father's bed. He went to reach for his sword belt, but he didn't have one.
"You don't need it. You're safe here," he said softly. he turned and opened the door into the main room.
His father moved fast, for a man with two legs, let alone one.
"Finally awake, eh?" he asked over his shoulder. "Food's almost ready. Then we can get to work around here. Lots to do," he said cheerfully.
"If you want, I can do it. It won't take me long," Talion offered.
"Nah, I'm the ice-brained fool who let it get like this in the first place, son. It's only fair I help."
"As you wish," Talion said with a shrug.
After breakfast, they went out in the yard. They spent hours cleaning garbage, clearing overgrowth, removing wasp nests, and the like. The old man didn't complain once. He just worked, humming softly to himself.
Talion could have cleared this mess by himself in no time if he used his magic. But the simple labor of it was satisfying. He'd always resented his chores as a boy, but not now. He found himself humming too, a soft smile on his lips.
==
"Can you go to the Riverwood Trader before they close?" Orlin asked.
"Of course. What do you need?" Talion replied.
Orlin pulled from under his bed a small coin purse. He counted out a few septims, he didn't have much, Talion saw.
"Eh... get us what you can for supper. Sorry, son, I don't have much."
Talion had counted out the coin he had taken from Hadvar's corpse last night, over two hundred fifty septims. It wasn't a fortune, but it would feed them for a few months if he had trouble catching game.
"Keep your coin, Father. I have plenty," Talion said, raising his hand in polite refusal. "I'll bring a few bottles of mead home. We'll celebrate a hard day's work."
It was near dark by the time he got to town. He made his way to the Riverwood Trader and found the shop in disarray, goods scattered around, and shop tables overturned.
"What happened here?" he asked.
"Break-in," the shopkeeper said irritably, then remembered his manners and plastered on a fake smile. "But don't worry, we still have plenty to sell. The robbers were only after one thing."
"What's that?" Talion asked.
"An ornament. Solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw," the shopkeeper said.
Talion thought for a moment. "If you're paying, I might be willing to get it back for you," he offered. He needed gold, and he needed it now, and this sounded like easy money, especially now his powers had returned after a good night's rest.
"You will!" the merchant said excitedly. "I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment, it's yours if you get my claw back."
"How much are you offering?" Talion asked.
"Five hundred septims," the shopkeeper said.
Talion nodded. That was a lot of gold. "You have a deal," he said, holding out his hand.
The shopkeeper took it. "Lucan Valerius."
"Talion," Talion responded.
"The guards said they saw the thieves heading towards Bleak Falls Barrow. The Eight only know why they would go to such a place, but you might be able to pick up their trail there," Lucan said.
"I'll be back in no time," Talion said.
==
"I'm coming with you," his father said.
"No, you're not," Talion responded.
"You can't stop me, boy," Orlin said.
"You're too slow, I wouldn't have to," Talion countered.
"It's dangerous," Orlin said.
"I've been through far worse," Talion replied with a smile.
"You don't have a weapon," Orlin said.
"Don't need one," Talion answered.
There was silence for a long time. Then his father stood.
"Very well. If you're going to do something stupid, might as well have a fighting chance."
He walked over to the center of the room and pried up a loose floorboard. He reached inside and pulled out something wrapped in a bundle of cloth. He set it on the table and unwrapped it, and suddenly the most beautiful sword Talion had ever seen lay before him.
A greatsword unlike any other: a slender, elegant silver blade, a silver-blue crossguard, and a golden hilt. The steel glowed with an unearthly light. Talion felt his heart beat hard in his chest, as though it were calling out to the sword. He felt something like an answer emanating from the blade.
"Where did you get this?" Talion asked breathlessly.
"It's been in the family for centuries. My father got it from his father, who got it from his father, and so on," Orlin said. "I have no use for this sword any longer. I'm not a warrior anymore," he added bitterly.
Talion lifted the sword in two hands like a priceless piece of art. It was light. He felt power surge through his veins the second it touched his skin.
"Does it have a name?" Talion asked, his eyes wide in shock. A sword like this must have a name.
"The lost blade Chrysamere."
==
Hours later, Talion walked the goat path into the mountains, the only route toward Bleak Falls Barrow, Chrysamere strapped to his back. He sighted a broken-down tower ahead on the path. He heard voices from inside.
"—followed the others to the Barrow," one said.
"The Barrow?!" another answered, terrified.
"They'll be dead soon. We might as well move on. I'm sure we'll find travelers on the road who'll have plenty of gold. Why risk draugr when the countryside is filled with homesteads?" he said.
"Besides, farmers have wives and daughters," another laughed.
The first guffawed loudly. "Aye, that they do."
"Will you two shut the hell up down there? Watch the road, I swear I saw someone coming up the trail," a third voice said.
"Who'd come up here? The villagers?" he said in disbelief. "They're too scared of the Barrow."
"Just get back to your post and tell me if you see anything coming up the road."
Talion shook his head and chuckled softly. Bandits. Damn fools, he thought. Janico had always told him Nords were too damn loud for their own good. Looks like the old Khajiit was right.
He silently drew Chrysamere and gathered magicka into his hand. Swirling wisps of pale blue light appeared in his palm. It was time to put his new blade to work.
He smiled and cast Windstride. The spell coalesced around his feet. He felt the power surge into his muscles, and he charged toward the tower.
He killed the first with one swing of the greatsword, the blade cleaving the head from his neck before embedding into the tree beside him. There was hardly any resistance as the blade passed through his spine.
It cuts through flesh as if it weren't even there, he thought.
Now he knew how his father became the most feared swordsman in all of Skyrim.
"Sten!" one of the bandits said from inside the tower.
Talion raised his hand toward the rushing attacker. Lightning crackled between his fingertips, then exploded in one bolt, striking the bandit in the chest. He didn't even have time to block. His body turned to dust on the spot. A half-formed scream echoed softly.
He pulled his sword loose from the tree as the third came down the stairs. The bandit assumed a defensive stance, terror in his eyes, as he met Talion on the bridge.
Talion thrust at his chest. The bandit parried it and tried a wild slash at Talion's face. He backstepped with ease and smiled. He blocked the follow-up strike aimed at his chest. Then he quickly ran his hand along the blade, leaving behind steel coated in dancing arcs of lightning.
The bandit rushed him. Talion shifted his stance into Dragon's Descent, a form focused on single opponents and heavy strikes. He brought Chrysamere down in one vicious slash onto his helm, splitting him from nape to navel. The two halves of the torso peeled apart as he stumbled backward, falling in a mass of smoking flesh.
Talion breathed out softly, his breath turning to mist in the cold air. He turned and looked ahead, toward the Barrow. His heart began to pound in excitement.
He hoped there were more ahead, as he began to sprint toward the Barrow, Chrysamere glowing pale silver in his hand.