The Harmony Scrolls V: Skyrim

by CaptainExtremis

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, Original Character, Alternate Universe, Romance, Adventure, Maud Pie, Pinkie Pie, Crossover, Human, Anthro
Length: 21835

A powerful mage at the College of Winterhold ventures out for the first time in years, meeting two other faithful adventurers: one, a thief from Riften, the other, a warrior who has spent her whole life in solitude.

Milo, a long time wizard in training, has recently completed his studies and now leaves the College of Winterhold, traveling off into Skyrim. He comes by meeting a thief who flawlessly manages to steal everything in her path, and he meets her sister, who lives in the mountains outside Whiterun, doing nothing but training. For what, only the gods can tell.

Upon banding together, they are thrust headlong into not only the rapidly-escalating civil war between the Stormcloaks and the Empire, but also the return of the ancient Dragons foretold in the Elder Scrolls, not to mention the day-to-day challenges of life in small towns and large cities.

What starts as a happy-go-lucky adventure full of glory and riches soon tumbles into a mad spiral of chaos and war. This time, not even the power of the Thu'um can fix all problems...

Published 2014-08-05 19:40:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-02-17 06:31:41 UTC

Journey Home

The Harmony Scrolls V: Skyrim

Chaper One

The Hall was silent. Dead silent. The initiates, the apprentices, the old, the young, they were all there, crammed into a small circular room. Today was a day for the record books.

"Milo of Whiterun, you have completed your training here at the College of Winterhold, and I am quite certain we all know that you have exceeded everyone's expectations," Savos Aren said with a chuckle. Whether he was laughing for the fact of how well the young mage had done over the years of his studies, or the fact that a Nord had actually been able to enroll without causing trouble for the faculty was up for debate. "And so, today, we hereby recognize your graduation from The College of Winterhold...with flying colors, I might add."

The men, mer, and few equines in the room all cheered enthusiastically, their voices rising up across the marble walls and reverberating around the Hall of Elements. A tall, slender young Nord still in his prime, unlike most of the other mages at the College, stood up from his kneeling position. He wore a long, royal blue tunic with a shawl that had the insignia of the College crocheted on it, and ancient Aedric symbols made up the lining of the robe where the seams were. His face was that of a man who had not reached thirty yet, and his hair was white as pure snow, except one strand, which hung down in the middle of his face. That strand was a lavender color.

"Thank you, Archmage," Milo said as he stood up. "I will make the best of my education here, and I will never forget you." With that, most of the company clapped for a few more seconds and quickly disbanded. After all, the College is not known for its celebratory affairs. Bowing one more time to the Archmage, Milo turned and made for the exit to the courtyard.

It was harrowing and cold outside, just as it always was in Winterhold. The sky was ashen grey from the snow clouds, and small crystals of frozen water fluttered by on glass wings.

"I'll bet it feels good to get out of this cold for once, eh?" an old man said. Milo wheeled around sharply to see Tolfdir staring up at the sky with him. Milo relaxed and smiled at his mentor.

"Of course, Tolfdir," he replied. "I can't wait to return home to Whiterun."

Tolfdir looked back down at Milo and said, "Shall I hire you a horse and carriage or just a horse?"

Milo laughed. "Neither. Walking would be better for me after staying in the College for seventeen years."

"Are you certain? The roads are destined to be rife with thieves and wild animals. You'd at least have protection in a carriage and a means of escape if you had a horse."

Milo gestured to the coastline out of a window to his left. "I prefer the view of the icy coast and rocky mountains. You can't stop to admire that inside a moving carriage and besides, we both know I'm highly adept at doling out punishment."

Tolfdir thought about this suggestion and eventually sighed with a smile. "I suppose you are correct. In that case, let me give you a small parting gift..." he said as he reached into his robes.

"A gift? For me? Sir...you really shouldn't have..." Milo began with humble astonishment.

"No, no, young wizard, I insist," and with that, Tolfdir revealed an ebony staff with a glowing amethyst placed in the hilt of the pole. Milo's pupils became nearly invisible.

"My gods, is that a...?" he choked. "A...staff of raising the dead?"

Tolfdir nodded. "I noticed you eyeing the one used in the College and practicing with it on Skeevers every so often. I thought you would be pleased if you had your own," he said as he held out the staff out to the graduate. Milo reached out with pale, shaky hands and gently took the staff from Tolfdir. He stared at the polish on the hilt and the carved design of a skull on the tip for seemingly hours. He looked up again at his mentor.

"Sir, you really shouldn't have. You know how other mages treat necromancers."

"Well, then, just keep that staff hidden from them, eh?" Tolfdir replied wryly.

Milo smiled and raised the staff over his head and placed it on his back. He then bowed to his ex-teacher and walked out the overpasses and onto the decrepit and run-down stone bridge, and just like that, he had left Winterhold.

The blizzard had died down after Milo had walked a couple miles south. The cold didn't bother him much anyway, being Nordic in descent. And of course, he had lived in Winterhold for seventeen years.

Milo kept moving his head and eyes all around the scenery. Nothing had changed much, only a few new saplings dotting the side of the road and some crumbling cobblestone fences. Looking forward once more, Milo could see a figure casually walking towards him. As the figure came closer, Milo sighed in exasperation.

"Oh, a Dark Elf. Fantastic."

As the two wanderers came closer, Milo tried not to look the elf directly in the eye. His efforts weren't good enough, because the Dunmer slowed his pace and reversed direction so he was walking in step with Milo with a cheeky grin on his face.

"Hello there, traveler," he said smoothly. Milo held his tongue. "You look a bit worn," said the elf.

"I'll have you know I've only walked two-and-a-half miles," Milo retorted trying not to show his frustration.

"And you're certainly going to walk more. Don't ask, I can tell. You look like the sort who likes to travel and not stay in one place for long." Milo said nothing, trying to control his breathing and picked up his pace slightly. The Dunmer quickly skipped ahead and whipped out a small purple vial, holding it in front of Milo's face. The Nord stopped on a dime, looking at the elf disapprovingly. "Which is why I'd like to offer you this bottle of Skooma. You'll be feeling so good, you won't even realize you've arrived at your next destination. It's only fifty septims," the dark elf suggested.

"No, thank you," Milo said pushing the elf aside.

The Dunmer straightened up and strode off muttering, "Hmph! I can see why men and mer hate each other. I'll go talk to someone who's more interested in commerce."

Milo kept his eyes fixated on the dark elf until he was over the hill. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thought he would never leave," he sighed, and he walked on through the wilds.

Milo had passed a couple small towns and a brewery where he ordered a small bottle of Alto wine. The road was more lush now, with greener grass and a thicker canopy of leaves in the trees. It was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

There was a small rustle in the bushes to Milo's far left. He turned his head sharply. Nothing there...or whatever made the noise, it was gone now.

Milo cautiously took two more steps forward...

...And from behind a small grove of trees, two Timberwolves burst out of the underbrush, howling madly.

Milo saw them just in time to jump backward and ready his hands. One of the Timberwolves snarled, bearing its splintery fangs and charging straight at Milo. He rolled to the right and hurdled forward as the second wooden predator lunged forward and tried to bite the wizard in half. Milo rolled as he hit the ground and spun around and took aim with his left hand which began to spit gouts of fire. The wolves instinctively shrunk from the flames, just as Milo had predicted. He reached to his back and pulled out another staff, one that channeled lighting through the sapphire in its hilt. With a flick of the wrist, the staff shot electricity at the beasts. As soon as the tip of the bolts hit their mark, fire erupted from the wooden bodies of Milo's adversaries, who panicked and desperately tried to quell the flames once set ablaze.

Their efforts were all in vain. Within seconds, nothing remained of the Timberwolves' life force, leaving only burnt ashen bark instead. Milo strode carefully up to the carnage he wrought and by pushing his palm out, he caused the wolf to flip over via some invisible force. He then made quick fluid motions with his fingers and pointed at the wolf. Almost instantly, a gust of wind put out what fires remained. Milo then inspected the wolf and using a steel dagger he kept in one of his pockets, carved out its eye. He cautiously brought the orb to his mouth and nipped it with his canine, and he immediately felt slightly weaker.

"Hmm. Interesting," Milo pondered. He walked slowly over to a tree and sat down, taking out a journal. He opened it to a page documented with some of the wildlife of Skyrim. He then wrote, "Timberwolf eye: deplete stamina" in the notebook and closed it again.

"I suppose I'll rest here until the effect wears off," he muttered. He laid back against the tree for a few minutes. The silence was almost overwhelming. Milo could hear birds chirping from yards away, and the wind whistled through the trees, playing a symphony conducted by the wilderness. Yes, Milo could hear almost anything in the calming quietness.

Including dual iron daggers being unsheathed right behind him.

Milo's eyes shot open and without hesitation, he rolled forward just in time to hear two almost simultaneous thunk-ing sounds behind him. He stood up and spun around again to see a thief with her daggers stuck in the trunk of the tree as if she had swung around the trunk. The brigand pulled her daggers out of the tree and walked around it. She had on basic thief attire: dark robes, gloves and leather boots, optimal for sneaking. What struck Milo was that she was an equine. The equines were pacifistic...usually. There have been exceptions. This was clearly one of them. Her coat was dull pink, and her hair hung straight down with some of the ends bound up in leather, a trend many races borrowed from the ancient Nords when Ysgrammor came sweeping across the north with his five-hundred champions.

The thief held out her hand. "Your septims or your life."

Milo stood straight up and spread his arms as if he were presenting himself at an altar. "Do I look like I'm the type of man who has any money?"

"With that steel dagger? I'd say yes," the bandit replied.

"This was a gift," Milo explained. "I have no money to sate your greed."

The bandit took a couple threatening steps forward. "Then how about you give me that dagger and I'll make some money off it?"

Milo understood the possibility the robber had no other way to make an honest living, but his patience was wearing thin. "Not a chance," he said. "I already told you this dagger was a gift, and there's no way in Oblivion that I'll part with it."

The thief paused for a second before exiting her fighting stance and turning around and saying, "Have it your way." In a second, she wheeled around again and lunged at Milo, her daggers glinting in the sunlight. Milo instinctively pulled out both his two staffs, the Staff of Sparks and The Staff of Raise Dead, and engaged in a one-on-one duel with the bandit.

She swung left. He blocked right. Her movements were sharp and fast, and Milo was sure that if he hadn't been trained as a battlemage, he would have had his throat slit by now. He thrust his staffs forward and she made a quick handspring backward, coming out of the motion by hurling one of her own daggers at Milo's head. He quickly jerked the Staff of Sparks upward, blocking the dagger and hitting it at such an angle that it went sailing straight up into the sky.

Quick as a flash, they both got up close and personal with each other, launching and landing a flurry of blows to the head, chest and arms. After a few seconds, they both leaped back form the brawl. There were very few places that weren't bloody. Milo's lips were oozing red and there were patches of his blue robe that had turned purple. The thief had gotten blood on her long hair and her arms were now cut and punctured along the forearm. They were both breathing heavily.

"Heh. Not bad for a wizard," the robber attempted to insult Milo.

"Not bad, for an Equine," Milo shot back.

He must have struck a nerve, because her grin gave way to a fierce sneer and she rushed Milo down once more. This time, the thief gave Milo no room for error, causing him to consider if she was a champion of Nocturnal. He could barely keep up with her, forcing him to vault backward and drop his dagger in the process. Seeing an opportunity, the thief lunged forward, snatched it up, and fled backward before Milo could react. She proceeded to rub it in by taunting Milo. "Well, how about that," she called. "How nice of you to give me such a thoughtful gift."

Milo clenched his teeth, swearing he wouldn't "let that bitch get away with this," under his breath. He considered launching a fireball at her, but that wouldn't work, because she would just dodge it. Aside from straight offensive, he was at a loss for action. He deduced, however, that she was prone to anger, due to her reaction to his insults. He just had to find a way to get her goat. And when he saw something glinting off the sun high in the sky, he knew exactly what to do. He thrust his hand outward, toward the object in the sky, clearly visible now as the dagger Milo knocked away from its flight path the thief set for it. The dagger glowed sky blue and another invisible force directed it flawlessly into Milo's hand. Milo smirked and replied, "You're quite welcome. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take this little beauty and transmute it into solid silver." He turned around to leave, but he caught the thief staring at him with wide eyes.

Three...two...one... he counted down in his mind. Sure enough, the second after he said "one," he whipped around to see the bandit about to lodge both her daggers in his neck. However, upon seeing Milo's reflexes, her expression went from furious envy to shock. Taking advantage of her confusion, Milo grabbed her right wrist and turned the dagger around in his hand, jabbing her stomach with the hilt. She coughed and hunched over, allowing Milo to reach back, grab his staff, and swing it back around like a golf club, knocking her on her back. Milo strode forward, spun the dagger back around, and slammed it straight down...

...On a loose part of her shawl. He forced the dagger tightly into the dirt and stood back up immediately. The thief had expected Milo to run her through with her own blade, so she had no idea what to do when she realized there wasn't a screaming pain in her gut. She pulled hard to sit up, but Milo reached forward and taking hold of her forehead, pushed her back down to the ground. He then reached over to her right hand and wrenched his steel dagger free.

"I'll be taking that," he said coldly. With a minor distraction out of the way, he strode confidently away, raising his hand into the air, creating a small orb that patched up the gashes and cuts dotted around Milo's body.

Milo had put about five miles between himself and his last encounter and was steadily making progress toward Whiterun. He was just coming out of a valley northwest to the great plains of Whiterun Province, through a forest of birch trees.

"Shouldn't be much longer," Milo said to himself. He gazed up at the golden late afternoon sky. He sighed with satisfaction and brought his gaze back down to see a small band of people rounding a bend. They were barely visible from a distance, but Milo could make out a large sack being carried by another Nord and there was also and Orc in the party. He was holding a severed head by the hair. Milo froze. "Damn, more thieves. Like I haven't seen enough today already." However, they hadn't noticed him yet, gloating over their last robbery. Thinking quickly, Milo ducked into the underbrush on the left, staying low and under their line of sight. He wasn't all that good at sneaking, but he did have a slender frame and the bushes were high enough to shield him from prying eyes. He breathed heavily as he passed right next to the group, hearing their laughing and talking clear as day. Only a few seconds later, he had passed by them entirely, and slowly emerged from the low-lying flora. He fidgeted nervously as he watched their retreating backsides. He slowly crept away while keeping his eyes glued to the party of bandits. And unfortunately, that meant he didn't watch where he was going.

Milo turned around just in time to slam face-first into a tree. Knowing the bandits were still there, he didn't yell anything. However, he had been nervously fidgeting with his dagger, and he dropped it onto the cold, hard stone on the path. It resonated with a loud *clang* around the valley. Milo froze with horror as he looked down at his weapon lying still on the stone blocks half-submerged in the dirt and he soon heard someone form the path ahead call out, "Hey! Where'd that kid come from!?"

"Doesn't matter," said another, "he's a mage. Easy pickings!"

Milo looked up to see the entire group of about five thieves rushing him down, screaming wildly. Milo shoved his dagger into its sheath and took out both his favored staffs again. He brought both of them up in a defensive fighting stance and took aim at the Orc with the Staff of Sparks.

"Just...have...to kill...one..." he muttered. When the group was within a few feet, Milo licked his lips and opened fire on the Orc. The electricity arced through the air and met its target. However, it did little more than cause the Orc to slow down. The rest of the robbers were closing in fast, so Milo stopped his barrage and twirled his staffs around him, blocking incoming blows with surprising dexterity and strength. He had done a full rotation of blocking and once he made it around, he jabbed the same Orc in the stomach, causing him to flinch and stumble backward. Milo took aim once more and fired searing electric energy at the Orcish warrior.

"Oi! I think he's specifically targeting Lughel! Keep him distracted!" one of them called out.

Damn, Milo thought. They're not as mindless as I had hoped. The rest of the robbers encircled Milo, hoping to close off any potential gaps he could shoot through. Milo quickly unsheathed his dagger and put his Staff of Zombies away in order to parry blows with his other staff and strike faster with his dagger. The four other bandits were swarming him and Milo found it hard to concentrate. He quickly parried a blow on the left and spun his Staff of Sparks around his hand while simultaneously bending his torso in a circular motion to block a volley of incoming swipes by his attackers. In one fluid motion, he spun around and with a quick glance at the thieves, he rammed his staff into the ground, creating a shockwave that blew every enemy backward. Milo looked up to survey his handiwork, and noticed the Orc who had been kept away was now charging straight at him, issuing a coarse battle cry from his throat.

The Orc leaped into the air with a battleaxe and was intending to come down on Milo's skull. However, Milo gripped his Staff of Sparks more tightly and channeled all his magical energy through it. This created an ear-shattering explosion and caused all the magic-infused lightning contained inside the hilt to erupt forth in a pillar of light.

Which, unfortunately for the robbers, hit the Orc square in the chest as he was about to come down on Milo's head.

The surge of electricity was too much for even the battle-hardened Orc to handle and when the pillar died, his body fell limply to the ground. The other thieves only stared in shock at the capabilities of their would-be victim. Milo wasted no time taking out his Staff of Zombies and unleashing its dark magic on the body of his victim. After the orb of pulsing energy hit the fresh body, it began to spasm little by little with increasing intensity as it rose into the air. Soon there was another Orc standing in the place of the body. It looked like the previous owner. It walked like the previous owner. Everything about it was exactly the same as the soul who once inhabited the body, with one major difference.

"Servant...kill." Milo commanded.

There was no concept of "mercy" left in the mind of the enthralled.

The Orc charged forward, wielding his battleaxe with just as much skill in undeath as in life. While his thrall went up close and personal, Milo stood back from the fray, encircling it, and launching spells at the confused bandits attacking their ex-colleague. He had gone around the group so he was situated at the front of the path, able to run if he so desired. But he was still a Nord by blood. He loved a good fight, whether he explicitly said so or not. He had launched a few volleys of fireballs into the group, killing two of the five that remained and completely disregarded his thrall, of course, as it wouldn't attack him unless instructed; Milo noticed, however, that his Orcish puppet was slowly weakening. It took Milo a couple seconds to figure out, but he eventually got a glimpse of two arrows lodged in the Orc's flesh: one in the left arm, one in the upper back. Milo deduced the arrows were tipped with either magic, poison, or a concoction that severely weakened the undead. Either way, he was falling fast. He could not use Healing Hands, as the undead have no functioning systems to repair. He could only hope the Orc mopped up what remained of the bandits quickly.

With Milo's help, this prayer became a reality. The last one who remained was easily dispatched as Milo ran him through with his steel dagger after he did a teleporting trick in which he disappeared, caused the bandit to think he was behind him, causing him to turn around, find nothing, and receive a blade through his heart from the direction he was just facing for his troubles. In a short time, the Orcish thrall fell too, letting him finally rest in peace. Milo stood still in the center of the carnage, blood on his hands and blade. He surveyed the bodies, searching them for valuables, mainly septims, but he found something disturbing. He had looted four bodies. He was certain that there had been five bandits.

He stood up tall to look around for the alleged fifth bandit. He found nothing in the immediate vicinity and for a few seconds, and he assumed the thief he hadn't found fell of the cliff they were walking along by accident. Until he took and arrow in the palm of his hand.

Milo had pivoted just in time for the arrow to miss its intended mark, possibly his leg, and it instead sunk into his hand. Milo was made painfully aware of this fact and he screamed a curse to the Divines. He looked at his punctured and now profusely bleeding palm, and saw the tip of the arrow was pointing out of the back of his hand, meaning the assailant had fired his shot from behind Milo. Milo knew immediately that he was a sitting duck out in the open so he launched himself into the underbrush and behind a large birch tree.

Milo took a look at his bleeding hand and saw that it hurt and stung sharply, but it was nothing a Restoration spell couldn't fix. He took hold of the part of the shaft coming out of his backhand and gripping it tightly, he closed his eyes as he struggled to break it off. Once he heard a loud snapping and a sensation of burning fire, he turned his hand over and pulled the opposite side of the shaft out of his hand altogether, lightly grunting in pain. He created another orb of gold light to patch himself up and decided he was ready to face his attacker.

He sprung out of the bushes to face his only opponent, launching a barrage of fireballs and lightning bolts in the direction of his attacker only to find there was nothing there but empty space. Milo paused his barrage to observe and think. If he wasn't still there, where was he? The only logical answer, Milo thought, would be hiding in the bushes.

Milo turned around just in time to see his assailant ready another arrow, but Milo's sudden movement put him off a little. Just enough time for Milo to process what was happening and react accordingly. He readied a lighting bolt and flung it at the archer, who simply dodged it and retreated to the bushes.

"He's just as persistent as that other thief," Milo said to himself. He immediately heard some rustling in the bushes and unleashed a torrent of fire to burn away the plant to reveal nothing was there, which was followed by footsteps running across the path and an arrow coming dangerously close to grazing Milo's cheek. "Very persistent," he muttered again, feeling his cheek to find lose skin cut away by the arrowhead. Apparently, this one was an excellent pickpocket and skilled in the art of stealth as well as light-armored combat. Milo concentrated to bring lavender flames from his hand.

"Listen well, friend," Milo called out to the wild. "You might be able to hide from my sight, but you can't hide from my magic!" He concentrated again and the flames roared to life, bathing the world in a light purple mist. Milo could hear heartbeats. He could see a jackrabbit hiding in one of the bushes, made clear by its red outline. There was a fox just over the hill. He picked up on another heartbeat, which was right behind him. Unfortunately, Milo took so much time searching he was not prepared for his opponent to appear behind him and as soon as he turned around, he was tackled and forced to the ground.

"You're not leaving here alive or in one piece!" the brigand cried as he wrestled with Milo. The thief began throwing his fists down on him, trying to knock some teeth loose. Milo did not take the full brunt of the assault, blocking or moving his head side to side, but the thief did manage to land a lucky shot after a couple minutes, right on his nose. Milo's head was still reeling from the jab that caused his vision to blur from watery eyes. He could feel blood rushing down his lips and he could see the robber pull out a dagger. Milo was too dazed to react quickly and the robber raised the dagger over his head to strike the killing blow. Milo knew there was no getting out of this. His mind was too stunned by the punch the highwayman landed to form coherent thought, and by lesser extent, think of spells to get him out of this fix. He could only brace himself for his inevitable death.

Which took a long time in coming. So long, that Milo opened his eyes, which were now slightly clearer, to see why the bandit was holding off. All he could see from this angle, though was the robber in the same position he was in moments ago, but with a shocked expression that stared straight ahead. In a few seconds, the man collapsed on top of Milo, who cried out in surprise and shoved him off. The cause of his collapse became apparent when Milo looked over to check his body: an iron dagger, buried in the man's spine. Milo stared in shock, wondering how an iron dagger could suddenly materialize in a person's back. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice asking, "Are you all right?"

Milo turned around to see someone he thought (and hoped) to never see again. Her dark clothes blended her in with the settling shades of night, but her straight pink hair and coat told Milo it was the same equine thief he met earlier in the day. She still wasn't showing any emotion, as per usual. Just a condescending stare. Neither of them spoke for a solid five minutes.

"It's...you again...?" Milo asked with weak surprise.

"Who did you expect, High King Torygg?" she retorted.

Milo stared at her in shocked silence. "How...how did you...?"

"Know you were here?" she replied again. "Easy. I've been trailing you all the way over here."

"Does that...that mean you were...hiding some of your skills in our fight? Not actually showing your full potential?" he asked in awe.

"Of course," she said. "But mind you, you're the only one who has been able to keep up with me, and push me that far. I had to really watch myself when I was shadowing you, considering you can hear me if I breathed too loudly."

Milo still had another question, the most pressing one at the time. "But...why?"

She smirked and said coyly, "I wanted to see if you could transmute that iron dagger to silver," as she reached out her hand to help Milo up.

Milo initially retracted from her reach, almost positive there was a hidden poison dart up her sleeve, but slowly, he reached out and took her hand, chuckling sarcastically. "Heh, heh, heh...very funny." Milo stood up and brushed all the dirt and grime he could off his robe and continued with a stony voice, "No, really...why did you come find me?"

The thief sighed and strode over to the deceased robber and reclaimed her dagger that she firmly planted in his backside. "Do you really want to know?" Milo couldn't really think of answer that sounded right to him, but somehow, the thief took his silence as an affirmative to go ahead. She turned around and asked, "Let me answer your question with my own question...why did you spare me?" Milo only stared at her in confusion. "I mean, why in Tamriel did you let me live? You should have killed me...but you didn't. I thought Nords were emotionless killing machines, not unlike those barbaric Orcs."

Although more than a little offended at the notion of being called an "emotionless killing machine," Milo was still wise enough from his training at the College to answer, "I've never believed in mindless killing. Granted, there are those here in Skyrim that would deserve it, but I don't like to engage thieves unless they engage me first. I understand that thieves aren't evil by nature. They are evil by necessity. Am I correct?"

The equine stared at him in quiet surprise and looked as if she was about to speak, but closed her mouth and turned her head away in shame. "Exactly," Milo continued. "It's nature for you to steal. Although I do not approve of it, nature cannot be changed, or it takes a hefty amount of work to change." They were silent again for a minute before Milo asked, "You're not going to try and rob me again, are you?" just to be safe.

The thief laughed. "Not right now," she said with a smug grin. Milo kept his eyes on her with an expression that read, "Don't even try it" as he walked along the path, back on his way to Whiterun. Milo stopped before rounding the bend to hear the thief call, "Hey, where are you going?"

Milo called back, "To Whiterun. I have family there."

The Equine, seemingly intrigued now, ran up to him and asked, "Say, do mind if I...travel with you?" Milo was obviously suspicious, as he shot her a skeptical glance. "I have family there, too," she added. "Well, 'on the outskirts,' would be more appropriate, I suppose."

"How do I know you aren't going to pull a fast one on me?"

"After I saw you take care of those other bandits and...well, what happened earlier today...? Not until I get better gear," she retorted.

Milo scoffed, finding the company of this thief different than what might be expected. She seemed to be more friendly and had a sense of humor. Of course, that could just be for getting close enough to swipe some coins, so he decided not to get very attached. "By the way," she said as she held out her hand again, "My name's Pinkamena Diane Pie. Some just call me 'Pinkie' or 'Diane,' since it's easier to say."

Milo stared at her hand again and shook it without as much resentment as before. "My name is Milo. Milo Axe-Blood of Whiterun." They walked on through the night together, as both said they didn't tend to sleep much.

It was early morning, or what some my constitute as morning The sun had not shown its rays yet, but the sky in the east was growing lighter by the minute. Milo and Pinkie had been walking on through most of the night, neither one as exponentially tired as a normal person would be after forfeiting a night of sleep. Pinkie said it was in her nature to be nocturnal, while Milo said he was used to staying up, studying ancient texts. Milo talked on through the night about himself and his profession, whether asked or not. And he had much to say. He spent an hour and a half talking about his fascination with the long-dead Dwemer alone before Diane forced him off his tangent; however, she said barely anything about her past, focusing on herself in the present tense. Soon, though, the city of Whiterun was standing proudly in the distance.

Upon noticing it, Milo's eyes widened and he smiled with joy to know he was home again. He walked straight ahead, which caused him to deviate from the main road and go toward the city. However he was stopped from hiking too far ahead.

"Where are you going?" Pinkie asked with a hint of frustration.

Milo turned around and said, "Back home to Whiterun. I thought we both had family there, right?"

"On the outskirts," she corrected him.

"Exactly. Aren't they on the outskirts of the city?"

"Not the immediate outskirts," Pinkie said.

"Wait, then..." Milo couldn't understand what she was talking about until she started to walk along the path and not take any movements toward Whiterun. Milo groaned as he watched her retreating backside. "Oh, for the love of Talos...how much longer do we have to walk?"

"Oh, quit whining!" she yelled backward. "It shouldn't take that long."

Milo sighed and followed reluctantly on. I know she's going to jump me, he thought.

It took about at least seven more miles of walking, circling Whiterun and heading east, into the plains of Whiterun Hold. The duo had been walking in silence for awhile, so Milo thought it might be a good time to ask about Pinkie's family.

"Mother and Father died years ago," she explained. "They left the rock farm to my oldest sister."

"Rock farm? What purpose does a rock farm serve? You can't eat rocks, you can't breed rocks, so why on Lorkhan's green Nirn would your parents own a rock farm?" Milo interrupted.

"Let me ask you something, Milo...ever heard of a trebuchet?" Pinkie shot back. Milo understood where she was coming from, so he shut his mouth, but Pinkie wasn't done yet, as she mercilessly retorted, "It's a nifty little device that's capable of hurling large chunks of stone death up and over castle walls. You wouldn't believe how much a large hunk of rock can sell for, but then again, you humans are too afraid of accepting fate." She sighed and gently removed the hair that had gone down in front of her face during her rant. "But anyway, my other two sisters, Marble and Limestone, moved to Solitude, because they owe their lives to the Imperial Legion."

Milo scoffed distastefully at the mention of Imperials. "Damn elves..." he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Pinkie asked.

Milo replied "Nothing," and kept walking leisurely.

"No, really," Pinkie urged him. "What do highborn have to do with your Imperials?"

Milo growled and muttered damning curses under his breath before explaining, "Diane, don't tell me you haven't heard of the Thalmor?" Pinkie shook her head and Milo moaned and then chuckled disdainfully. "Oh, they have much to answer for," he continued. "The Thalmor are a subsection of the Aldmeri Dominion. Some of my brothers and sisters call me crazy, but I am almost certain they want to eradicate any race that isn't completely elven in descent. Their most condemning contribution to society is the ban of Talos worship."

"Talos? Isn't he some sort of Nordic general?" Pinkie questioned.

Milo stared at her wide-eyed and said, "It would do you good to get out more and read, lest you meet Talos on the way to Sovngarde. The man Tiber Septim, the father of Imperial rule, was more than a fantastic general. Upon his deathbed, at the age of one-hundred-and-eight, Tiber Septim, the man, was dissolved. Out of his soul, the Aedra fashioned Talos, the god-king of mankind."

Pinkie only stared at him with a cocked eyebrow. "So?"

"'So!?'" Milo cried in disbelief. "So, Tiber Septim became a Divine, accepted into the pantheon of the Aedra, as living proof that man could become as great as gods!" Milo paused for a second. "Ah, but you don't have the same pantheon of gods as men do, I believe. I remember reading that in the archives of the College," he muttered. "But still, a mortal from Nirn became a god. And now the gods-damned elves...elves...!want to see him gone. You can't just...ignore the feats of a man like Tiber Septim, can you?"

Pinkie looked ahead down across the river valley and replied flatly, "Well, it doesn't matter, because we're here." That said, she took off running down the grassy plains. Milo turned to watch her sprint forward. In front of him, he saw the foot of the great mountain where Gjukar's men had been stationed centuries before, and in its shadow lay a small farm surrounded by a wooden fence and in its fields were stone and rocks of many different sizes and shapes. Milo could also see a humanoid figure standing in front of a rock, bashing it over and over with her bare knuckles.

Pinkie picked up her pace the closer she got to the house and called out, "Sister!"

The pony standing in front of the rock stopped her task, whatever it was, and looked toward the sound of the call, squinting her aqua-blue eyes t try and make out which of her kin was calling her. She was taller than Pinkie and seemed to have more mature features, as her eyes were almost half-closed, her hair was kept in a neat hime-cut and her coat was an unsaturated shade of violet-grey. When she caught sight of Pinkie, she gave a subdued smile at her as her sister vaulted over the wooden fence. They embraced each other, her older sister holding on tightly.

"Hello, Pinkie Pie," the mare said.

"Maud, for the thousandth time, I'm not Pinkie Pie anymore," Pinkie said.

"But you are my younger sister," Maud told her flatly. "I have every right to call you whatever I want." She stared back in the direction Pinkie had come from to see Milo steadily walking down the valley slope and upon reaching the wooden fence, he spread his arms out and a spectral force lifted him up and over the fence. "And who is this?"

Milo smiled and bowed gracefully. "Milo the Axe-Blood, at your service," he said. "And I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Miss...?"

"Maud Pie. Call me Maud, if you want," she said.

"Not one for emphasis and emotion, are you?" Milo asked.

"She doesn't talk to boys much," Pinkie added wryly. Maud looked back at her with a subtly annoyed expression.

Maud turned back around to ask Milo, "You're a mage?"

"Indeed," he replied.

"Hailing from the College of Winterhold?"

"Yes. How did you guess?" Milo questioned as he turned his chin up and raised an eyebrow.

"I have participated in various archaeological excavations for the past few years," Maud explained nonchalantly.

Milo paused and scratched his chin. " Ahh, yes, I think I heard your name brought up somewhere in the College's interests. Saarthal, correct?"

Maud nodded steadily in affirmation and turned to Pinkie. "While I enjoy surprises, this one was...rather unexpected. Why did you visit me with Sir Axe-Blood so suddenly, sister?"

Milo and Pinkie shot a nervous glance at Milo, who aimed his eyes to the upper right, trying to avoid eye contact with both of them. "It's...a long story, sister. Listen, we were just on the way to Whiterun. We'll explain on the way there," Pinkie anxiously said.

"Yes, and if you don't mind, I'll be doing the talking, Diane," Milo added.

Pinkie wheeled around to look at him in surprise. "And why is that?" she asked.

Milo only walked back to the fence and levitated over it again, motioning for the other two to follow. "I can't trust a thief to tell the whole story as it happened," Milo yelled back.

Return of the World-Eater

The Harmony Scrolls V: Skyrim

Chapter Two

"And now, here we are, entering Whiterun," Milo concluded to his story.

Maud was silent for a while, considering everything that Milo had put in front of her, especially how Pinkie had reacted by looking at him with dread when he brought up the part of the story where she had tried to rob him. "Were you even aware of her trying to do this?" Milo asked.

"I was aware she had gone to Riften to seek out a job. I had no idea it was illicit, however," she stated dryly.

Pinkie looked terrified, almost sure Milo would bring it up to the Whiterun Guards. However, just like last time, he decided to spare her when he said, "I see. I would have contacted the authorities awhile back, but she saved my life after I spared hers. I think we're even, and besides, the Holds are terrible at communicating with each other; a wanted man in Hjaalmarch is a free one in The Pale."

They entered the stone archways to the city gates and were greeted by two identically-dressed guards. Some of them even sounded the same. Milo sometimes thought someone used a kind of duplication spell on them, perhaps. As soon as the trio were visible by the guards, one of them approached the group and ordered, "Halt. If you wish to enter the city, I'll need some proof of citizenship, or a good reason, if you don't have proof."

Pinkie squinted skeptically. "What's the big idea, keeping us out of a city like this? I thought this was public domain!"

"Not anymore, for an indeterminate amount of time," the other guard leaning on a stone wall chimed in. "Our sentries picked up some flashing lights to the southwest, near Helgen, and then a couple hours later, they swear they saw a dragon flying away."

"Excuse me, sir?" Milo uttered.

"My reaction exactly, brother. Wouldn't have believed it myself if it didn't come sailing right over our heads not a moment later," the guard explained. "Jarl Balgruuf put Whiterun in lockdown for the safety of her people, as well as sending detachments to Riverwood and a few other towns under the Hold's protection."

"But, sir...I traveled all the way from Winterhold to Whiterun to see my father, and now you tell me I can't even get in because of some dragon nonsense?"

"Hold on a minute," the other guard said. "You look like...the Axe-Blood boy?"

"Oh, believe me, gentlemen, I'm no boy anymore," Milo replied curtly.

The guards stared at each other before the one that had stopped them said, "Oi! Unlock that gate!" which was followed by scuffling and a loud *click* and *ka-chunk* from the other side of the wall. "My apologies, son. I didn't recognize you at first. I mean, the last time you were here, you were, what, this tall?" he said has he bent down to his knee and placed the flat of his hand slightly above his neck.

Milo smiled warmly and replied, "Think nothing of it. I'll be lucky if Jholmir recognizes me, too."

Milo motioned for the girls to follow, but as Pinkie strode past the guards, one of them tapped her on the shoulder and whispered, "Hands to yourself, sneak-thief." She stared at him uncomfortably and quickly walked back to Milo's side.

"I hate not being able to see their faces when they say things like that," she said quietly.

"I understand. It's like they can just look at you and somehow know your innermost secrets. But to be fair, you are a sneak-thief," he commented wryly. Pinkie shot him a dirty glance.

"Where is your father, Milo?" Maud asked flatly.

"We have two possibilities. He's either at home or in Jorrvaskr. I imagine he's not in Jorrvaskr half the time he used to be since he's grown old and it's getting harder for him to handle his mead. Therefore, we should try going to Breezehome first," Milo logically concluded.

"And where is it?" Maud asked again.

"Actually, we're here," Milo said.

He stopped outside a two-story, inverted and reversed L-shaped house. It wasn't very fancy, but it was the only home available when Milo's father bought it. He knocked hard on the door. At first, there was no answer, but when Milo knocked again, he thought he heard a muffled voice call out, "Come in!" Milo opened the door and gestured for the Pie sisters to go in first. The girls went inside and saw the house was small, but purely functional. No need for added fluff, only what needed to be inside. Not surprising, considering one of its tenants was a very practical man. They heard a voice call again. "Give me a minute, I'll be right down to greet you!"

"Make yourselves at home," Milo sighed. "I'm almost certain I woke him up, and getting him to drag his old bones out of bed is no easy task." He walked over to the small kitchen counter situated in the upper-right corner of the bottom floor. "Fortunately, I know how to make him move as if he was twenty years younger again." Milo then grabbed some Slaughterfish eggs, as well as a grown male one, and began skinning them with his steel dagger, which he had made sure to wash beforehand. Maud and Pinkie observed him work, quickly, but carefully, to create a plate of food, although they knew not what it was supposed to be. Milo took some garlic and sliced it up, sprinkling the cloves over the Slaughterfish meat before rubbing said meat down with a basil-and-mead broth. He then retrieved a head of cabbage and gingerly plucked its leaves off and wrapped the gathered ingredients in them before placing it all on a tray which he brought over to the cauldron hanging over the firepit in the center.

"Maud, would you mind fetching me a couple logs from the closet over there?" he asked. Maud did so without changing her facial expression even slightly and she gave him five logs. Milo placed them in the pit and used his magic to conjure up flames and light the wood. He then moved the tray to a couple hooks suspended on the iron rod over the cooking fire and he let it sit there for a few minutes.

"Hey...that smells like...Slaughterfish casserole with mead sauce! Then that means..." The trio heard the sound of rustling bedsheets and loud, hurried footsteps running along the floor above them all the way to what must have been a closet at the far end of the hall.

Milo scoffed. "That's the fastest I've ever heard my old man haul himself along, ever."

The footsteps exited the closet, now with a metallic *chink*-ing sound to accompany them, and bolted downstairs. Milo stood up as an old Nord, possibly in his late sixties, now faced him. He was dressed in steel gauntlets and greaves, but he kept normal, citizen clothes upon his chest. His hair was white, though not balding in the slightest, and it was done up in braids, a staple of any self-respecting Nordic warrior. His facial features were beginning to sink as well, but it remained well-covered by his beard, matching the color of his hair. His eyes were emerald-green, and even though his body was old, there was a youthful fire in them. When he saw the gathered party in his home, he was slightly confused, but with Milo among them, he assumed they could be nothing less than trusted friends. The old man ran up to Milo and embraced him in a Nordic bear-hug. He was ecstatic.

"Milo my boy! It's so good to see you home!" he laughed. Milo winced from the sudden jolt his father gave him upon crushing him with his arms, but he smiled all the same.

"It's good to see you too, father," he wheezed.

Milo's father lowered him back down to the ground and kissed his son on both his cheeks. He then stood back up and looked at Pinkie and Maud. "I'm so glad to hear it, son. Although, I am a bit surprised."

Milo caught on to the direction his father was taking and continued, "Surprised to see two women with me?" with almost noticeable embarrassment and feigned uncaring.

"What? No, not at all, boy. It was only a matter of time. Women might try to find a strong man, but a smart one can make them happy in the way a strong one can't." Milo's face went Mythic-Dawn red and he covered it with his palms, groaning quietly. "Still, though, I must voice my confusion...I thought you were more indifferent to polygamy, if not marriage altogether."

"Father!" Milo shouted, his face red-hot from embarrassment. His father, however, was enjoying poking fun at his son, and was laughing heartily. If Milo's face was as red as the robes of the Mythic Dawn, Pinkie's cheeks had gone even more crimson, though it was far more out of anger at the old man's assumptions. Maud's face was rosy, but once again, she did an excellent job at hiding what she was really thinking.

"Oh, you know I'm only joking," the old man said with a chuckle.

Milo faceplamed and after awhile, he said, "Diane, Maud, this is Jholmir the Wise-One, and my father."

Jholmir chuckled and waved his finger in front of Milo's face. "Jholmir the Axe-Blood. Pleased to make your acquaintance, misses... "

Maud stood up and bowed respectfully. "Greetings, sir. My name is Maud Minerva Pie, and this is my younger sister, Pinkamena Diane Pie."

"Ah, I think I might have heard of you before, my dear. I've heard tell you've made a name for yourself on the archaeological scene, but I have also heard it said you own a...rock farm somewhere to the west, is that it?"

Maud was about to confirm the old man's suspicions, but he suddenly turned to Milo and asked, "Son, would you be so kind as to run to the market for me and grab a few items? I wrote them down here." He handed Milo a sheet of paper with various foods, drink, and small curios to obtain. Milo looked at the list and smiled.

"Of course, father. I'll be right back," he said as he turned and went to the door.

"Oh, and here," Jholmir said after running up to his son and handing him a small bag of septims. "This should cover all the items on the list, but if it doesn't, you may leave whatever you can't afford and I'll pick them up later instead." Milo nodded and opened the door to the outside of Breezehome. Jholmir turned around to the Pie sisters and smiled again, motioning for them to sit down in two of the chairs close by. They both did so hesitantly, wondering what was going to come out of the big man's mouth next. "So," he began as he sat down next to an end table by the door, "As I was saying, you do archaeological work?"

"Yes, sir," Maud stated. "I have been requested to help unearth and study a few barrows and temples in recent years, earlier than most budding researchers in my field would be."

"Ah, so you're the smart one of the family?" Jholmir said as he reached for a tankard and a bottle of Nord mead on the end table next to him. He held it out in a gesture of hospitality of sharing a drink, which Pinkie politely declined. Maud however nodded and Jholmir handed her a tankard as well. He uncorked the bottle and poured a gracious amount into both his mug and Maud's, and he took a sip before looking over to Pinkie and asking, "And what about you, Miss Pinkamena? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were dressed up like a professional thief."

Pinkie shifted uncomfortably before tentatively muttering, "That's because I am." She looked up sheepishly to see Jholmir lower his tankard and swirl the amber liquid with closed eyes, as if he was lost in thought. After a second, he opened his eyes and nodded with acceptance.

"Well, not everyone can find success...not in the legal way, that is," he mused.

Pinkie was silent for a few minutes before she said, "Um...aren't you going to...?"

"Alert the guards?" the old man finished for her. "I shouldn't think so. If my boy was traveling with you in the first place, he must have done something substantial to turn your allegiances, be it through a show of power or his honeyed words."

Substantial force didn't even begin to accurately describe how Milo had "convinced" Pinkie to let him keep his valuables, but she had to stifle her laughter when she heard Jholmir say he thought his son had used "honeyed words" on her. If anything, Milo's vocabulary was more laden with maggots than a hundred-year-old Draugr. Maud took a swig of her mead and asked Jholmir, "Speaking of which, why did you send your son out if all we were going to do was talk? Can he not stay for such pleasantries?"

Jholmir looked off to the upper-right and sighed before continuing, "My son can be a bit...touchy about certain subjects, and he likes to voice his input on something, whether it's called for or not. Why, I'm almost certain if he were still here, he would be talking our ears off right now about Miss Pinkamena's role as a bandit. I thought I should get him out of the house so we could speak in private."

"Understandable," Maud said after gazing over at her sister for a moment.

"Well, you pretty much know us by now," Pinkie said quickly when she felt Maud's gaze on her. "How about you, old man?"

"Me?" Jholmir exclaimed with surprise. He sunk back into his chair and thought for a minute. "Hmm...there really isn't much to tell...except that I have been accepted into the ranks of the Companions and I happen to be on good terms with Jarl Balgruuf."

Maud's eyes widened. "The Companions?" she asked with mundane excitement. "You are a Companion? By Celestia's glorious mane, I never would have dreamed of it. What is it like? Do you know Kodlak Whitemane? Are you part of The Circle?"

Jholmir held up his hands and exclaimed, "By the Nine, slow down, slow down, my dear! I haven't finished explaining myself yet. I am a Companion, but I am no means one of the best. You see, it all started years ago, when I was in my prime. I was a strapping young man, and much like you, Maud, at least from what I can guess, I, too, was keen to enter the folds of The Companions' tapestry. After struggling to get in by the previous Harbinger's glaring eyes and a rigorous training regimen, I was officially dubbed a Whelp." Pinkie chuckled at the anticlimactic entry of Milo's father into the resident fighter's guild. He continued, "From there, I worked hard to prove my worth over all the other whelps, and in time, I had enough experience under my belt to be considered a New Blood. However, something odd happened. I began to feel the pangs of the one emotion that all mortals find inescapable: love. It was brought about by the presence of a servant to the High King of Skyrim decades before the turmoil of the Civil War set in. To spare you the details, we were married two years after she arrived."

"But then, I was faced with a problem. I was a family man. I could neither fight in the ranks of The Companions all the time, as I had planned to do. If I did, I ran the risk of losing my beloved wife. Thankfully, although I did not think so at the time, the Aedra decided for me. It was quickly brought to my attention by my wife that she was pregnant with our first child. Now, I had no choice but to stay at home!" he said with another hearty laugh. "Anyway, because of this development, I never was accepted into The Circle and never rose beyond the rank of New Blood, even though I am...goodness...almost sixty-seven years old. However, I've spent my twilight years working alongside Kodlak Whitemane, helping to train new recruits and I also have the privilege of being allowed to train there." He chuckled. "My apologies for going on and on. I'm quite certain it turned into more family history than explanation of my past for a few minutes, there," he said.

Pinkie had sunk very low in her chair to where her torso was perfectly level on the cushion. She blinked lethargically. "That was...quite a story," Maud replied. "But what of your relationship to the Jarl?"

"Oh, I only helped him turn away a bandit raid many years back, when we were young. While my beloved and I were still seeing each other regularly," he added. "I fought alongside him as well as a few other Companions I knew who have long since made the trek to Sovngarde, except Kodlak Whitemane. I was the only one who took three arrows to the chest, an iron dagger to the back, and a burn wound to the arm and kept fighting nonstop, which earned me his respect and trust and the added privilege of being able to visit Dragonsreach when he calls for my aid."

Pinkie whistled in awe. Jholmir turned to Maud and held out another bottle of mead. "More drink, my dear? Don't be afraid; I've stockpiled this stuff for years, and now that I'm old, it's getting harder and harder to handle it. The more people that have a cup, the better." Maud held out her mug and Jholmir filled it up again.

"Thank you very much, Arcadia," Milo said as he picked up two blue mountain flowers and placed them in his satchel.

"No problem, my dear," Arcadia replied. Milo turned around to leave, but he heard the old woman call after him, "And remember, take care of that case of the Rattles before you go outside Whiterun, you hear!?"

Milo shook his head as he shut the door and made his way back out to the main thoroughfare. The things people will say to convince others to buy from them. It's almost shameful, he thought. He resumed walking through the central marketplace and he stared at his list for a long period of time, checking it over meticulously to make sure he had everything. Unfortunately, he was staring at it for too long, and he smacked into someone else walking along the same path in the opposite direction, causing both of them to stumble backward. Milo felt slightly embarrassed until he saw it was only Nazeem. Then he didn't feel so bad.

"Ouch! Stupid boy," Nazeem cried. He glared at Milo with contempt. "Do you have even a clue what would happen if you were to delay me from my meeting with Olfrid Battle-Born? The effects could potentially be disastrous!" Milo opened his mouth to ask just how this delay could be bad, but the ponce spoke for him. "With the Jarl occupied with something else at the moment, he's asked me to speak of Civil War relations with the Battle-Born's, and then you come along and you spill salts on my robe!"

Milo looked down and saw there was a patch of white dust on Nazeem's left side and his forearm. "Now I'm going to make a bad impression when I enter his house with white dust on my sleeves! I should have you lick this damn powder off!"

Milo brought his palm up and conjured a green, amorphous solid into his hand. "You know that would make us both very unhappy."

Nazeem flinched slightly, but he still said, "You know that will land you time in the Dragonreach Dungeon, and all the trust the Jarl has in you will be gone," albeit with subtle nervousness.

Milo gazed deep into Nazeem's eyes with silent hatred, but he ultimately closed his palm and the substance disappeared. "Th-that's what I thought," Nazeem said in the steadiest voice he could manage. He turned to resume walking along the path as Milo stared after him. After Nazeem had walked a few feet ahead and was out of earshot, Milo summoned the solid again and morphed it into a tiny dart. He brought his arms up as if his right arm was a crossbow and his left was meant to steady his aim. The small dart levitated in front of his fingers when he pointed his index and middle at Nazeem's back. He shoved his right arm forward, releasing the small dart and sending it sailing, almost invisible, into Nazeem's back, and it dissipated on contact.

"Let's see how well that works out for you, you ponce," Milo spat.

"Axe-Blood!"

Milo straightened up instantly. He recognized that voice, and he was praying to Akatosh he hadn't noticed the magicka dart he sunk into Nazeem's back. He slowly turned around and received a double shock. The voice he heard was that of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, and he was accompanied by Harbinger Kodlak Whitemane. Milo lost all his words and all his breath when he heard Jarl Balgruuf call his name again as he walked towards him. He could only convey thought through actions, and he immediately snapped to attention, slamming his fist on his chest. The Jarl very rarely talked to Milo as a person, and seeing him alongside the leader of The Companions was a tremendous honor. "J-Jarl Balgruuf! Yes, sir! What is it?"

The Jarl immediately crushed Milo's expectations by asking, "Where is your father?" Milo's expression sunk into gloom, but he still motioned for Balgruuf and Kodlak to follow him.

"Hey, old man, would you mind telling us a bit more about your son? He's a very interesting character and all, but...Milo? Really? I was expecting him to be an Imperial or a Breton, but his accent told me he was none of those things. I had a hard time believing he was a Nord, because that's not a very Nordic name," Pinkie interrupted after a couple minutes of silence.

Jholmir looked up and chuckled before he replied, "Well that's quite fitting. I'm the one who named him when he was born, and I'm not a very Nordic man. I mean, look around you," he said gesturing to the interior of Breezehome. "Most other Nords my age would be considering an honorable suicide by wandering off in hopes of getting attacked by bandits and being overwhelmed. And here I am, staying at home drinking mead while my own son looks after me the best he can since his mother died." He scoffed again. "My forefathers would be greatly disappointed in me, but I plan to go out in a blaze of glory, someday." He stared out the window in deep thought, which was suddenly interrupted by a sharp rapping at the door.

Maud, Pinkie, and Jholmir jumped and faced the door quickly and before the old man could get up and open it, Jarl Balgruuf swung it wide open and marched inside with Kodlak and Milo in tow. No words were spoken as the three men entered the house, but the Jarl motioned for Jholmir to follow him upstairs. The three men clambered up the stairs and out of sight and earshot. Pinkie only watched them leave the room with tense silence as Kodlak brought up the rear. She turned back to Milo and whispered tensely, "What in Tartarus is going on if the Jarl and the leader of The Companions are gathered in the same house?"

"Along with my father? You're guess is as good as mine," he replied.

"Sweet Celestia, you don't know?" Pinkie squeaked.

Milo shook his head and turned around and whispered, "Maud, what do you think of this whole thing?" Maud didn't say a word and was only looking up where Kodlak had been with an air of envy and longing. Milo realized there was no way to get through to her and sighed. "Well, all I truly can gather from this is that this situation must threaten the security of Whiterun, possibly Skyrim, and hopefully not all of Tamriel," he mumbled.

Jholmir and Jarl Balgruuf came down the stairs a minute later and the Jarl waved his hand at the trio as if to say "Come here." However, when all three rose, he spoke for the first time in awhile. "Hold on, friends. Only Jholmir's son is permitted to hear this. It doesn't concern you Equius."

"You wouldn't understand," Kodlak continued before Pinkie could voice her indignance. "It's a Nordic tradition." Milo, although initially shocked, rose and cautiously walked over to them.

He leaned in close after looking back at the girls and whispered, "Father, Jarl Balgruuf, Kodlak...what is going on here? Why are you being so secretive about...about whatever you may be discussing?"

"Shh, boy," Jholmir whispered harshly. "Listen, it isn't a world-ending catastrophe or anything, so don't worry about it. We do want you and your friends to go to Jorvaskrr for now, just to keep yourselves occupied. Kodlak approved of it, so don't ask, either."

"It's merely a matter of intellect that I and my court wizard are working on in conjunction with Kodlak Whitemane and your father," Jarl Balgruuf added.

"Intellect!?" Milo shouted. The other three men immediately hushed him as Pinkie and Maud were getting visibly anxious. "If you want intellect to help solve your problems, I am right here. I've spent seventeen years in desolate Winterhold doing nothing but studying text after text, I am certain I may know how to help you if given the chance."

"That's just the problem, boy," his father told him. "What do you know of the dragons?"

"Dragons!? Father, don't tell me you're going to believe those old fairy tales, like the guards do," Milo exclaimed. Jholmir shushed him, saying insulting the guards in the Jarl's presence was a poor decision, but he kept talking. "I know for a fact they haven't been around since the Mythic Era, and their stories are mostly used to scare little children, something I am not."

"Exactly. You don't know anything about the dragons. Nothing we do should be of any concern to you," Kodlak stated firmly. "Just go to Jorvaskrr for now and wait for us to leave. I'll make sure my friends will take care of you."

Milo remained wary of this thought, as he voiced, "Jorvaskrr? I don't know...they're the fighting types, something I am not. What if they mock me?"

"I asked Kodlak to warn them that if they do, you may turn their insides out," Jholmir whispered jovially. "Now, run along, son. You and your lady-friends go enjoy yourself."

Before Milo could go into another rant over his father's childish sense of humor, the three of them filed out the door, leaving only Pinkie, Maud, and a rather confused Milo behind. He sighed and turned to the girls and said, "So...how do either of you feel about visiting the resident mead hall of Whiterun?"

Maud's left ear twitched and she perked up slightly, with her grey-violet eyes fixated on Milo. "You mean The Bannered Mare?" Pinkie asked.

"No. An actual mead hall." Pinkie looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Jorvaskrr...?" Milo sighed with exasperation. Maud stood up and walked quickly and quietly out the door without looking back.

Pinkie giggled. "I guess that means 'yes.'"

Milo turned around and said, "Very well, then. Let's be off."

The three elders of Whiterun entered Dragonsreach to find the court wizard, Farengar Secret-Fire, pacing anxiously, and upon seeing them come in, voiced his relief.

"Ah! Jarl Balgruuf has returned with both of you. Excellent! Now we can focus our energies on the problem we've been faced with for the past couple days," he said as he turned around to walk over to his study.

"What's going on, wizard?" Jholmir asked as they walked over to his desk.

Kodlak looked at Jholmir and then back to Farengar and said, "Tell him what you told me, Farengar."

"Ah, yes, of course," he said as he stood back up holding a book with a yellow-gold cover. He then walked over to a map of Skyrim with various blue and yellow pins placed at various locations on the map. Jhlomir noticed all the blue pins were at places in the wild; there were none that even came close to a major city, and yet, some of the smaller towns like Rorikstead had a couple near them. The yellow ones were far fewer, and were intermixed with the blue ones. Then he noticed there was a red pin relatively close to Whiterun.

"You have some fascination with Bleak Falls Barrow, wizard?" Jholmir asked as he studied the map.

"Actually, that what I wanted to talk about. I assume the Jarl explained to you the eyewitness accounts of the dragon flying away from Helgen?"

"Yes," Jholmir replied curtly.

"Well, you see," Farengar began, "I have this map of Skyrim laid out with pins. Each blue pin represents an ancient tomb left by the Ancient Nords of Atmora, during and post-Dragon War. For about every four or so tombs and barrows within the same proximity, there's also a yellow pin near the center. These pins represent a large, wide mound of dirt that has been decorated with Ancient Nordic symbols, and could be mistaken for a tomb as well. Further study and exploration of such mounds has revealed bones underneath. Dragon bones." The three elders glanced at each other.

"And what of the red pin, Farengar? I haven't seen that one on your map before," Jarl Balgruuf spoke up.

"The red...? Oh, yes, of course, I just added it. You see, I have this book lent to me by another Dragon-lore enthusiast, though she kept her name retracted from me. Through constant reading and meditation on the matter, I have extracted an explicit notion that the Dragonstone, a map of thousands more hidden dragon burial mounds, might be located in Bleak Falls Barrow. I'm about ninety-six percent sure," Farengar continued. "I just need someone to go and fetch it for me."

Jholmir's eyebrows furrowed and Balgruuf scoffed. "No need to imply anything, Farengar. You couldn't get Jholmir to let go of his son, even if his arms were paralyzed."

"What? But why? We need that so we can understand a little bit more about why the dragon bones we discover keep disappearing, and besides, your son seems to enjoy exploring..."

"I will not allow him to go into a dungeon crawling with Draugr and his worst fear. Milo is the only family I have left alive, and I will not lose him, perish the thought of even risking his life!" Jholmir interrupted forcefully.

Farengar mulled over this dramatic statement and was about to voice his discontent when the Jarl said, "Don't worry, Farengar. I'll have Iraleth and a small platoon of guards look into it, instead."

Jholmir spoke again, much more calmly than before. "It's not that I don't think my boy can handle himself; on the contrary, he'll throttle anyone who gets in his way, thanks to his Nord blood. I just don't think it's right that we're not telling him the truth, instead trying to make up ridiculous excuses to cover our intentions."

"Well, I'm sorry old man, but it's rather hard to come up with an excuse that covers our real motives while still keeping the other mostly ignorant. If that's how you're going to think, why don't you-"

"Jarl Balgruuf!"

Everyone turned to see a guard with torn robes and a dented skull, no doubt made by arrows, limping over to them. Jarl Balgruuf ran out to meet the poor man halfway, and as the guard saw the Jarl coming, his legs began to buckle. Jarl Balguruuf caught him in time to keep him upright, to say the least. "Shor's bones, what happened to you, son?"

The guard desperately tried to keep himself standing. "Imperials...coming from the northwest..." he coughed. "Overran...our first line of defenses at Lorcius Farm...said...they were meeting a band of Stormcloaks...to the south of...Whiterun...never...ran so fast in my life..." He started having a coughing fit, and Jarl Balgruuf ordered a couple of guards present in Dragonsreach to carry the injured man to a bed and get him some water. He came back to the gathered party of elders and the court wizard.

"What's this nonsense about the Imperials?" Kodlak Whitemane questioned the Jarl.

"You heard him," Jarl Balgruuf replied. "Their army is marching southwards to meet those damn rebels in battle...right over our heads." Everyone was captured in a tense silence that was never broken by words. Instead, Jholmir obtained an expression of determination and stormed out of Dragonsreach. "Hey! Where are you going, Jholmir?" the Jarl called after him.

The iron dagger went sailing through thin air and embedded itself in the chest of a training dummy with a loud *thwok.* The Companions around Pinkie exclaimed in surprise, which quickly turned into excited cheering. She continued to show off her expertise with small blades by throwing ten or so at rapid speeds and eight of them met their target as well as challenging a couple of the mercenaries to one-on-one dagger sparring. Meanwhile, Farkas and Maud were making small talk. Very small talk. That is to say, they were sitting on the sidelines, sipping mead and ale, occasionally throwing comments to each other and talking for exactly thirty seconds before becoming quiet once more. Despite her earlier enthusiasm, she remained as stoic and collected as ever. It could possibly be due to her diminished excitement when she realized Kodlak Whitemane had gone with the Jarl and Milo's father.

But Milo himself remained at a table in the rear of Jorvaskrr, on the patio. He sat there in complete silence, concentrating on his hand as he wiggled his fingers to create different spells. At first, small orange flames danced around his palm, then they turned into a terrible chill of icicles and frost, finally becoming violet sparks of electricity that liked to leap off his hand, just to orbit around it and come right back into his palm. Eventually, Vilkas came out of Jorvaskrr to check on the three visitors. Sensing Pinkie was behaving reasonably, and he certainly had no worries about Maud, he sat down on the bench opposite Milo. He was silent for a minute as he watched Milo cycle through the three basic destruction spells over and over again. Finally, Vilkas stated, "So...you can create a few spells. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Milo scoffed uncaringly. "I don't blame you for being bored, only watching me. A simple man like you can't see the inherent beauty there is even in the chaos of destruction magic," he said flatly, never taking his eyes off of his hand.

"Careful what you say, brother, or I'll give you the business end of Eorlund's handiwork. I know mages well enough to know Wards can't block physical damage very well," Vilkas retorted half-jokingly. In response, Milo used his right hand to create a rift in the wall between Mundus and Oblivion and drew out a purple, misty, ethereal sword, which he pointed at Vilkas' chin. Milo's irises moved over to meet his and he gave a slight cheeky grin before dispelling the sword and went back to his meditation. Vilkas chuckled too. "Well played, mage, but does it cut and block as efficiently as it appears?"

Milo continued to stare at his left hand as he said, "You would be surprised..." They refrained from speaking again until Vilkas saw his twin brother talking to Maud, although "talking" was very much an overstatement, as "subtle mouth movement" fit the bill better instead.

"So, I take it your young friends aren't from around here?" he asked Milo.

"What tipped you off?" he replied dryly. Not waiting for a rebuttal, Milo continued, "No, and I have no idea which city they originally came from. Their parents moved out to the plains of Whiterun and left Maud in charge of their farm. Diane says she hails from Riften, but I suspect that's only because the Thieves Guild is tucked away under the docks, somewhere."

Vilkas nodded thoughtfully. "I thought I also heard Diane say she had other sisters, too. Very large family, eh?"

"Yes. Both sisters are somewhere in Solitude, though I can't imagine why, other than, perhaps, the Bard's College or work in the Blue Palace. Diane never gave me all the details. On a somewhat related note, the number of siblings she has highly reinforces the superstition the the Earth Equius are the most fertile of the three subspecies," Milo elaborated. Vilkas laughed.

Both men were silent as they watched Pinkie arm-wrestle with a couple other Whelps, winning every round except around three per each contestant. Milo couldn't help but scoff at the poor fools who challenged her. Oh, if they only knew what she was truly capable of! Milo sighed and walked to his right, off the patio and hopped up on the cobblestone wall, gazing out wistfully over the plains to the southeast. The sun was hanging high in the sky, and Milo guessed, by its position and the cloud formations, it was about three hours after midday. The more he looked out to the horizon, however, the clearer he saw small stick figures marching over the hills. They constantly got closer, and all seemed to step in perfect synch. Milo was curious upon witnessing this anomaly. He steadied himself on the wall by shifting his weight onto his torso as he leaned over the wall so he could use his hands without falling. He brought them up to his face and formed a circle with them; all at once, blue phantasmal energy was siphoned through them, creating a vacuum that when looked through, acted as a spyglass. What Milo saw approaching him was unsettling. The people gathered all wore a blue cuirass with some helmets much like a hold guard.

Milo's hands went slack and he muttered, "Oh, no."

Vilkas was still reclining at his table when a very worn-looking Jholmir came running over to him, gasping and out of breath. "Jholmir, what a surprise! I thought you were staying with the Jarl and Kodlak for a longer period of time...by the Eight, you look as if you've seen Yngol's shade! What's wrong?"

Jholmir bent over, trying to steady himself by placing his hands on his knees, as his system wasn't as young as it used to be. He choked a couple more times before hastily coughing out, "Imperials...are heading...our way...Damn Stormcloaks...closing in, too..."

No sooner had Jholmir explained his hastiness than Milo came running up to them as well, and a small group had gathered upon mention of both the Imperials and Stormcloaks converging on Whiterun. Milo was considerably less out of breath than his father, but far more in a panic as he tried to spit out what he had seen earlier. "Hold on, son," Farkas said to calm him. "Slow down and start from the beginning."

Milo coughed a couple times and took a deep breath before articulating, "There are...Stormcloaks converging on our position from the southeast. What...what should we do?"

"That is a difficult call, Milo," came Jarl Balgruuf's voice from behind the gathered party of listeners, who parted immediately when his presence became known. "If we join a side, we'll have to worry about attacks from the other. If we stay neutral, they might keep fighting over our heads. If we do nothing..." He looked up pleadingly to the sky. "Whiterun burns." Of all the gathered, Maud and Pinkie had no clue on what to say. The Equius never bothered themselves with the affairs of men and mer, being far more at home in the company of other beastfolk. But of course, no matter where they were on Tamriel, the Civil War affected everyone...and everypony.

After a long silence spent in thought, the Jarl continued, "As you know, I've tried to remain indifferent to this whole mess, but it seems we have no choice but to fight for one, the other, or neither."

Milo stepped forward and solemnly swore, "With all due respect, my Jarl, but as you yourself have said, 'I am on the side of Whiterun,' and I am quite certain that although some in this city would disagree, we all know choosing a side would throw this city into more turmoil than the aftermath of the signing of the White-Gold Concordant." Everyone present, even Jholmir and Kodlak Whitemane nodded at each other in agreement. But Milo threw a bit of a curveball when he turned to Maud and Pinkie and asked them, "And what about you two? Where do your allegiances lie?"

Everyone stared at the two outsiders in anticipation. After a moment, Maud slowly walked up to Milo and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I am for you," she said looking him dead in the eye.

Milo looked past her and at Pinkie. "Diane?" he asked.

She sighed and shrugged in defeat. "I guess if my sister's pledged her sword-arm to you, I really don't have much of a say in this whole thing."

"Well, then," Kodlak began. "I, for one, pledge my sword arm to the side of Jarl Balgruuf as well, and neither the temptations of the Stormcloaks, nor the promises of the Imperials will change my mind."

"I second the motion," Jholmir said as he grabbed a nearby battleaxe leaning against a table. In response, the gathered Companions cheered, pledging themselves to defending Whiterun until their dying breath.

"Very well, then," the Jarl said after the jubilant throng died down. "I shall gather what guards I have to assist you. You might not have any magic with you, but you will have a decent amount of soldiers. With blood, sweat, and tears, and maybe a blessing from Talos, we'll drive both sides back."

"Excuse me, Jarl Balgruuf, but what's this statement about 'no magic?' Am I too young to fight?" Milo interrupted.

The Jarl spun around and faced Milo in surprise. "What? No, my boy, I just...I didn't expect that you wanted to fight, only having magic to protect you instead of a solid steel shield..."

Milo cut him off again with a loud laugh. "However many men an experienced swordsman can kill, a mage can increase those numbers tenfold!"

Jholmir hurried over to his son's side and gripped his shoulders tightly and he started babbling. "Son, do you realize what you're talking about? We are about to face both the Imperials and the Stormcloak rebels! At the same time! So many people are going to die today, on all sides, and I don't want you to be one of them!"

"Father, I'm a grown man now. And besides, I'm not throwing my life away. If I die here, I'll die like a true Nord...right?" Milo retorted, albeit shakily. Jholmir opened his mouth, but closed both it and his eyes as he nodded after this subtle revelation.

He stood back up again and proclaimed, "Well, you heard my son! Let's go out there and fight onward to victory...and if not victory, then Sovngarde!"

This was met by an uproar of enthusiasm as the gathered crowd dashed out to get their armor and their favorite weapon and hopefully sharpen it up before meeting Tsun at the Whale-Bone Bridge. Milo, however, saw no need to get into any clunky, performance-dulling armor and simply waited at the front gate along with Pinkie, while Maud slid some Skyforge steel armor on back inside Breezehome. Both Pinkie and Milo didn't talk to each other, as they were more worried about the upcoming fight. The marching of the Stormcloak rebels was increasing in volume with each passing minute.

"They're getting closer," Milo said nonchalantly. Pinkie only looked over at him and shook her head in agreement, although it was done more as a reflex, and a way to cope with the thought of a massive battle. Eventually, Maud came back out and walked over to the gate, dressed in a cold, hard steel armor set, while also wielding a Skyforge greatsword and a steel shield on her back. Milo got back up from leaning on the gate and motioned toward it. "Best not keep the gods waiting for us," he said.

They exited the gates they had entered, for Milo wanted to be the first to "greet" the warring factions and exercise his skills that he had been training for seventeen years. They walked down the curving entry path and to the east of the stables until the foothills of the mountains surrounding Whitewatch Tower were within mere yards. Pinkie looked over at Milo, who stared straight ahead, unblinking. His expression was stoic, but she knew the wheels inside his head were spinning so fast they might have had steam pouring out. "You feeling all right, Milo? The thought of dying this fast hardly becomes you," she said half-mockingly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. Honestly, I've found that assuming you'll not come out of battle alive makes victory that much sweeter," he explained. "And if I do..." He chuckled and scratched his chin. "I'll die the same way I was born: screaming and bathed in blood."

Pinkie scoffed. "Sounds like a Nord, all right," she muttered.

"Both of you," Maud whispered. "Shh. Look." She pointed to their right, and the rebels were almost clearly visible just before the horizon. And just as expected, the Imperial Legion was coming into focus on the left, with Maud, Pinkie, and Milo in the center. The opposing forces marched ever onward while the three dissenters stood their ground. Only when all parties were within a yard of each other did the armies stop. Maud and Milo showed no emotion as a thousand eyes of either burning hatred or piqued curiosity landed on them. Pinkie, meanwhile, was planning ahead, trying to figure out how she could get an advantage over the warring sides without a building to leap on top of or general lack of cover to hide behind. She deduced she'd have to rely on her natural dexterity more often than not.

After waiting in tense silence for what felt like hours, an Imperial dressed in captain's armor strode out of the crowd of his respective side. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked all three of them impatiently.

Milo, without turning to face the man and only keeping his left side visible, replied, "I mean no disrespect, sir, but if you want to battle them," he said as he pointed to the Stormcloaks, "you'll have to go somewhere else to spill your blood."

"Captain, they're taking the Stormcloak's side! Now we have every right to burn Whiterun to the-"

"Shut up, soldier!"

Pinkie bravely stepped forward and boldly stated, "We're not choosing any side! Whiterun just wants you out, now!"

The Imperial captain looked down at Pinkie and scowled. "Why would any of this concern you, Equius? Has the Empire not shamed your people enough?"

Pinkie seethed at this remark, but Maud placed her hand on her sister's shoulder to hold her back and calm her down. Although she, too, seemed to be upset by such a derogatory slur. On the opposing end of the battlefield, a Stormcloak captain also stepped out from the crowd. "Listen, boy, we don't care what you think of our choice of battle. A true Nord never backs down, and we are not going to postpone an honorable battle just to satisfy your own demands!" he said in the trademark accent for Nords.

Milo lowered his head and brought his fist up. Small spark of electricity began to jump to life. "I am on the side of Whiterun," he said. "I am a Nord, too. And I will not back down until everyone wearing the crest of the Legion or Jarl Ulfric is drowned in their own blood!" The sparks magnified until they became something akin to the center of a dynamo at full throttle.

The Imperials and Stormcloaks drew their weapons. "Then you have made your last request, you foolish boy!" the Stormcloak captain yelled. "Alright, men! For the future of Skyrim!" The captain ran forward, screaming like a demon with the army in tow.

The Imperial captain shouted, "Spare no one!" and he led his forces into the heat of battle.

As both sides closed in rapidly, Milo nudged Pinkie, who was busy trying to block out the screams of rage surrounding them. She looked over at him and said, "Whoever kills the most Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers gets a prize at the end of the fight."

"What kind of prize?" Pinkie asked.

Milo stared at her for a second before whirling around and blasting an Imperial square in the chest with a wave of electricity. "You're really going to ask that now?"

"Point taken," she said as she turned around and vaulted over a batch of Stormcloaks.

Milo looked back at the Imperials who were now only a few steps away. He smirked and curled himself up into a ball and levitated into the air before going spread-eagle in the air and conjuring a ball of magika that he threw right into the middle of the army, causing a massive explosion that threw the soldiers around it for a loop and instantly vaporized the unlucky ones in the center of the blast.

Pinkie, meanwhile, dove between the legs of a Stormcloak and immediately sprung back up to sink a knife into his back. Two other soldiers noticed the unwanted guest and both rushed her down with steel broadswords, and unfortunately, a fight between a nimble thief and two well-trained soldiers is not a fair fight. The odds usually tend to favor the thief. Pinkie ducked down, causing the two soldier's swords to clash with each other. She popped right back up and backhanded both of them in the face, quickly disabling one by ramming a spear-hand strike into his throat and straight-up killing the other when she stabbed him in the forehead with her dagger.

An arm over there. A severed head rolled across the grassy knoll with a look of terror still frozen in its eyes. The grass and soil greedily drank up the blood being splattered across it from Maud's gigantic greatsword. She had been fighting in the center of the conflict the whole time, and showed no signs of backing down or growing weak. If anything, she was absolutely tanking, soaking up sword and shield blows like a sponge. Thought that's not to say she hadn't had some close calls. She thought, in the middle of all the fighting, she might have lost her leg if she hadn't stuck close to Milo's side so he could use his restoration magic. She only stayed by his side since he was a mage, and unless backed up, either by a combat type or other mages, they tend to be rather...squishy on their own.

However, Milo thought of himself of anything but. He had cast upon his body a Superior Ward, and was currently engaged with a small group of Imperials. Easy to dispatch, for a man such as himself. He had been fending them off singlehandedly with nothing more than his Ward, a Bound Sword, and a Staff of Sparks. The Imperials came at him from all angles, but he parried their swords and war axes with his Bound Sword with an almost inhuman level of finesse that didn't fit his Nordic heritage. One of them swung low. He jumped over the blade and brought his own sword down into the poor fool's skull. The second jabbed straight for his stomach, and Milo retaliated by sidestepping his sword, spinning around so that he was facing the Imperial's back from the side, and finally swung his staff overhead hard enough to do a number on the man's spine. The Imperial crumpled just as Milo was rushed down by two more legionnaires. Milo scoffed at their idiocy. "Attacking me head-on? Hmph. Certainly in a hurry to die, I'll say that." He then spun around and clocked the closest one in his temple, giving him a concussion at the least, and kept spinning to block an overhead swing by the second soldier. Milo released a jolt of electricity from the hilt of his staff which coursed through the metal of the legionnaire's sword, magnifying it, and immediately causing his guard's nervous system to fail.

Milo faced the one remaining challenger occupied with him, who wore a look of terrified astonishment. In a last resort to destroy Milo's confidence at the least, he took out a dagger and turned, aiming straight for the back of Maud's neck. In one fluid motion, it left his hand and went sailing for its unwary victim. Milo's face turned to angry concentration; he would have none of it. Focusing his energy, he silently commanded the iron of the dagger to obey him by pure will of mind. The dagger cast a light blue glow around it and Milo smirked. Once he closed his fist, the dagger slowed three-quarters of the way through its trajectory arc and came whizzing back from whence it came like a boomerang. The Imperial's eyes widened in horror before they were glazed over when his own weapon struck him in the neck.

Maud had noticed there was a small blue aura behind her and turned around just in time to see an Imperial clutch his neck, desperately trying to hold on to life before he collapsed to the ground. "Are you all right?" she called.

"Why are you asking me? I'm the one who just saved your life!" he shouted over the explosion of a fireball landing in the midst of Stormcloak soldiers.

"I assumed you would need help. Mages aren't very well suited for the rage of war," Maud called again as she sweeped her sword all around her, cutting a few bellies open.

Milo laughed heartily. "Well, then, behold your exception!" He charged up a conjuration rift and summoned a small armada of swords, war axes, and daggers, which he commanded with quick hand motions to fly forward in a straight line, becoming a wall of sharp, painful death. "Don't worry about me. Go...go help your sister out or something. I'll be fine!"

Maud nodded and was about to go barreling through the opposition when Milo yelled, "And take these, just in case!" She looked back to see two vials of red liquid soaring through the air, which she caught and quickly slid into the leather pouches on her belt. She looked back at Milo, who merely winked as he forced ice from his palm to freeze and impale a rebel soldier. Maud nodded once and brought her shield up to charge through the crowd. It wasn't very hard for her to find Pinkie, since Pinkie was more of the type to come to her. And lo and behold, after killing a few warriors on both sides of the conflict, Maud felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She turned around to see her sister grinning subtly and her hands and chest garments were covered in blood and dried gore. Maud retained an unimpressed look and nodded toward the advancing soldiers. Pinkie nodded and dashed off, seemingly disappearing into the crowd around them, although the occasional pained outcry revealed her position, if only for the moment. Maud went to work confronting an onslaught of Stormcloak and Imperial soldiers while Pinkie dealt with them by darting out from the chaos of the battlefield.

Meanwhile, Milo had worked his way through the soldiers, taking on small groups as he advanced toward where he deduced where both the Imperial captain and the Stormcloak captain were busy fighting each other in a one-on-one. "Damn shame they didn't invite me," he said as he unleashed a barrage of magika bolts that blew off a few heads.

Both generals were evenly matched, blocking each other blow after blow, striking instantly once more after they came out of their last attack. Milo dashed forward and summoned a misty purple dagger and hurled the truest shot in Skyrim. It soared forward and clashed with both captain's swords as they locked in a power struggle and it knocked them out of the men's hands. They both looked hastily over in the direction of their assailant. Milo created an array of deadly spells in his palms as he strode almost leisurely forward.

Unbelievably, Pinkie and Maud had lasted extremely long on their own. Working as a team, Maud had gone up against both armies head-on while Pinkie struck them while they were distracted. But of course, they were far from destroying either side, and now without Milo to keep some at a distance, they were closing in fast. Maud and Pinkie had to keep their backs to each other.

"Maud?" Pinkie asked. Maud looked over her shoulder and back to Pinkie. "Are we going to see the Princessess today?"

Maud looked forward again and brought her blade straight up in her hands. "I prefer not to. We'll leave the New Motherland with honor." With that, she brought her sword back down and swung it backward and charged heroically forward, swiping left and right in a frenzy. Pinkie followed her sister, as she was honorbound to her side until their last breath. Equius law dictated it, and Equius law also dictated that an Equius that dies in battle forfeits entry into the Royal Palace. Maud knew that was a death she would not suffer. So, too, would Pinkie. Unfortunately, the gods seemed to have other ideas, as the waves upon waves of soldiers was slowly wearing the sisters down. Outnumbered and outgunned, they would have died.

If it were not for the old Nordic berserk that loosed a battle cry from his lungs, causing the men around the sisters to cower in fear. Maud and Pinkie looked in the direction of Whiterun to see the guards of Whiterun, The Companions, Jarl Balgruuf, and Jholmir Axe-Blood standing neck and neck. The Jarl wore polished steel-plated armor and Jholmir wore shining ancient Nord armor. The Jarl removed his sword from its sheathe and shouted, "For Whiterun and her people!" Everyone in the ranks of the militia screamed raging war cries and surged forward in a massive wall of steel and flesh. They surged across the field and met the opposition with blood and loud clashing of swords. Even more confusion erupted from the warring factions as the militia of Whiterun began to push through their ranks. Pinkie and Maud were still some ways behind enemy lines when they saw the tall, stout figure of Milo's father clubbing his way through every rebel and legionnaire that was too slow, too distracted, or too stupid to stand in his way.

Upon reaching the girls, Jholmir panted, "Sorry about being so late. What did I miss?"

"Uh...not much, actually," Pinkie stuttered.

"Oh, good. Still some soldiers left to kill, then, I'm assuming." Maud nodded and Jholmir clapped a couple times before picking up his battleaxe with one hand and swinging it in a wide arc to his left, cleanly slicing off a rebel's head which left his neck in a fountain of crimson fluid. "Excellent! Onward, then! To victory or Sovngarde!"

The three picked up their weapons once again and were about to continue on their quest for blood when a great shadow sailed ominously overhead. "Hey, did it just get dark out?" Pinkie asked.

"You're asking that now, young lady? You should be thinking of home if you're going to die today, you know," Jholmir called back as he chopped down a squad of legionnaires like trees.

Maud stopped for a split-second to look up and then quickly look around. The shadow being cast had covered a significant portion of the battlefield and from what she could glimpse from looking up, she came to one conclusion: "Whatever is causing that shadow is no cloud."

"Maud, I don't think now is really the time for observation. It doesn't really matter if there's something up in the sky blocking the sun or not. All that matters is that we're fighting in the shade," Pinkie said as she dashed up beside her sister.

Not very far from them, Milo was currently engaged with both generals from the Legion and the Stormcloaks, and to put it lightly, he was going easy on them. He found it fun to manipulate their minds into thinking they may actually stand a chance. All he was using was a bound sword and dagger to block and counter. Such is the mindset of a mage. He had just come out of parrying a swipe from the Legion's captain and jumped backward, then taking a diving swing at the Stormcloak captain. "Tell us, boy," the Legionnaire panted, "Are you only toying with us?"

Milo's eyes widened in surprise, but he conceded, "Yes. How did you manage to catch on so fast?"

"Your sword swings are only half-hearted," the rebel captain said.

Milo stood up straight and put on a serious expression. "Very well, then. If you're smart enough to know I'm messing around, hopefully you'll be smart enough to run when I unleash my real potential..." Milo clenched his hands, dispelling the misty blades and bringing forth a small blue mist from the ground. He was slowly bending over farther and convulsing as if his magic brought him pain. But suddenly, he went rigid again and levitated as he screamed a war cry to the gods of Aetherius. There was now a blue aura emanating slowly from his body, brightest in his eyes. It faded away after a couple seconds and he kept an almost regal posture as he taunted, "Perhaps if the gods had wanted you to live, Arkay would not have allowed my birth." He then took a battle-ready stance and was about to charge forward when a voice came from high above.

"Muz los sahlo us bah do Alduin!" it rumbled. The voice was deep and struck fear into all who heard it. They all looked up to see a flying animal that the mighty rays of the sun blotted out, but they could just barely make out that it had a reptilian shape to it.

It became much clearer when the dragon came crashing down to the ground on all fours, causing minor seismic activity.

"It's...it's a dragon!"

"By the gods!"

"It's the End-Times! The End-Times have come!"

Milo stumbled and faced the direction of the sudden panic. He was in shock. A dragon, a real live dragon had just come back from who-knows-how-long-ago and it landed right in front of him, and was now chewing soldiers of the Legion, the Stormcloaks, and the Whiterun militia to shreds. It would be beautiful if it wasn't so bloody. Still though, the dragon was a threat, moreso than the warring rebels and Empire. If the Civil War would enslave Whiterun, then that dragon might just destroy it. He quickly looked to his sides and saw the captains of both armies were staring at the legendary beast in shock and awe. Milo knew there was only one course of action to take from this. He looked at both of them and asked calmly, "Temporary alliance?"

The captains, upon hearing his voice, were brought back to reality and looked at each other hesitantly. Eventually, they stared back at Milo. "Temporary alliance," they said in unison.

On the other side of the field, Maud, Pinkie, and Jholmir, accompanied by a few other Companions, had heard the voice as well, and the dragon that spoke had nearly crushed them when it came down. Jholmir cried out in shock. "By Akatosh's mighty beard! What manner of sorcery is this!?"

"It appears to be a dragon," Maud said. Despite the chaos erupting all around them, her voice retained its stoic tone.

"We can see that," Pinkie stated. "What are we going to do?"

"Catch!"

Pinkie turned around and reflexively bought her hands up to catch a small iron shield. Looking past it she saw Jholmir was now being accompanied by a few of the remaining Whiterun militia that had not died yet, along with Jarl Balgruuf, clad in his pristine steel-plate armor. "I hope you'll be able to use that shield well with that lithe body of yours, thief," said the Jarl's muffled voice from under his helmet. Pinkie scowled at the Jarl, but quickly erased the frown from her face and slid the leather rungs of the shield over her right arm as everyone heard the dragon roar and issue a Shout that bent fire to its will.

A couple yards away, both the Imperial Captain and the Stormcloak general routed their men to set up a defensive perimeter around the dragon to be used as a last resort while a few of their other troops and the Whiterun warriors whittled away on the dragon's health. Milo, who stood at a reasonable distance from the giant beast, eyed it curiously and cautiously. He observed it stomping around, trying to crush the soldiers and guards beneath its weight, noted it swipe with its gargantuan tail at the assailants behind it. He squinted hard. He saw his father, hacking away at its knees, trying to sever a tendon, cause it to fall and remain immobile. He shook his head. Not even his father would be able to fell a dragon. He could also see Maud go head-to-head with the ancient one, bravely facing its snapping jaws and fiery breath. However, he never could see Pinkie for very long. She appeared and all at once melted in with the rest of the crowd of men trying desperately to fell the giant serpent. They were getting nowhere fast. For every ounce of blood that was drawn, the dragon slew two of their own men.

Milo steeled himself and clenched his fists. "Then I guess I have to hit this monster with nothing short of my best." He hunched over into a ready stance and brought his arms up to channel Aetherius through his body, latching his left hand to his inner right elbow and leaving his right palm facing upward. He concentrated.

He heard men screaming as their abdominal cavities were sliced open by talon-like claws. He remained silent. He felt the heat of the dragon's fire breath penetrate the crisp air, once almost coming within a couple meters of him. He did not flinch, but he could feel something being created in his palm. It was hot. Hotter than the dragon's fire breath, and yet, it was cold as dry ice. But it didn't sting him. He opened his eyes. In his hand, he now held a crackling electric bolt, the tool the sky uses to strike down the ignorant ones who do not see why they should fear its power. It was almost as tall, from front tip to back, as Milo was. But Milo needed better, and he concentrated harder.

Meanwhile, the Whiterun militia had been considerably reduced a couple hundred soldiers to a a few dozen hold guards and Companions trying desperately to find an opening they cold exploit. The dragon roared as it snapped its jaws and lurched forward in an attempt to bite Maud in half, but she lunged out of the way seconds early. It reared backup and breathed deep.

"Yol...Toor Shul...!"

Gouts of searing fire erupted from the primal dragon's mouth, scorching the ground it touched, as well as the unlucky few who were too slow to get out of its way. Their agonized screams echoed throughout the basin.

Jholmir, having seen Maud narrowly escape death, quickly rushed over and offered her his hand to help her back on her feet, which she accepted. "I might be a battle-hardened Nord," he said as he turned to face the dragon again, "but I'm pretty sure I can guess when we are outmatched. Hopefully, I can slow this monster down enough so that it won't destroy all of Whiterun."

"What, you're just going to give up and throw your life away?" said Pinkie, who had shifted her way out of the chaos behind the old man. "Just like that?"

"Honorable Nordic death, my dear...remember?" Jholmir replied solemnly.

Suddenly, there was a bright flash of bright violet light from the opposite side of the battlefield. Everyone covered their eyes and as the light died down, they saw Milo, holding a crackling bolt of electricity almost as long as the dragon's tail. Speaking of which, the dragon had finally taken notice of Milo and turned to face his challenger.

"Zu'u koraav wo hi los...Dovahkiin." its voice rumbled as loud as thunder. Milo steeled himself again, as his adrenaline rush told him to forsake his plan. But it did not last long. The dragon inhaled again and spoke, "Yol..."

Milo grimaced and reeled back, keeping his fingers locked tightly on the lightning bolt as he raised it at the ready.

"Toor Shul"

A pillar of fire came forth from the dragon's maw at breakneck speeds, advancing in hopes to flay Milo's flesh from his bones. Closing his eyes, Milo screamed glories to Akatosh as he stepped forward and released the bolt of electricity, sending it flying forward. It parted the dragon's fire breath, creating a wall of fire on either side of it before it sailed into the dragon's gaping jaw, electrocuting it from the inside. The beast roared as its heart was assailed by thousands of volts of magic lightning before it finally stopped altogether. The mighty ancient fell as surges of the shock blew off parts of the dragon's scales, as well as ejecting one of its eyes.

The dragon was finally dead.

Milo was hunched over, panting for breath as his magicka reserves began to refill itself. Everything was dead silent, waiting anxiously for the dragon's skin and bones to knit themselves back together. When it was assured the dragon would not rise, there was a collective cheer and sigh of relief. The Whiterun guards and Champions exalted the divines as they congregated around Milo, but the Stormcloaks and Imperials maintained their distance, both from the powerful mage and each other.

Milo was still coming down off the adrenaline high he worked up into himself before he fully realized what was happening around him. One of the Companions gave a slap on the back and congratulated him, which Milo replied to with an anxious nod. He then heard his father's gritty voice call, "Out of my way, out of my way!" The soldiers stepped back to give Jholmir and his son some room as the old Nord grabbed his boy and bear-hugged him once again. Milo wheezed as his father set him down.

"That's my boy! Gods, you don't know how proud I am!" Jholmir exclaimed.

Milo chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thanks, Dad." He then noticed Pinkie and Maud had come to join them. They both wore stalwart expressions, but he could still see some the awe in Pinkie's eyes. He nodded at them.

"A very impressive display, I must admit," Maud stated dryly.

"My thanks. I saw you out there as well. You swing a sword as if you were born with it," Milo complimented her back. He looked over at Pinkie, half-expecting a response.

She scoffed, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "It was a pretty light show, I'll give you that," she muttered.

Milo smirked and shook his head while Jholmir laughed again. Finally, Jarl Balgruuf walked up to the gathered party. "I am glad to see that's over and done with...for now, at least."

Pinkie turned around with an inquisitive look. "What does that mean...'for now'...?" she questioned with a hint of nervousness.

The Jarl turned his upper torso to look back on the fallen dragon. "I assume you Equius wouldn't know much about dragons. Legend his it, the dragons can never be truly killed," he explained as he turned back around.

Pinkie gave an exasperated sigh. "Are you saying we have to fight that thing all over again soon!? I broke one of my bucking daggers trying to sink it into that monster's hide!"

"I understand the dragons can be resurrected once killed, but by whom? I have never come across that answer in all of my fieldwork," Maud asked.

"Aye, lass, legend has it that the firstborn of Akatosh, the mighty Alduin, is lord over all the dragons that once ruled Tamriel. Only he has the power to give and take away a dragon's soul," Jholmir elaborated.

The Jarl nodded in confirmation. He continued, "I had hoped the legends of the return of the dragons wouldn't come to pass in my lifetime, but it seems I now have a dragon problem threatening my hold and her people." He sighed in defeat. "I only wish I knew if a Dragonborn was coming to help us..."

The winds of the plain whistled through the valley. There was no sound over the coughing wounded or indistinct murmuring close to the dragon's lifeless head.

Pinkie still had her gaze fixated on Jarl Balgruuf, gazing in anticipation at the dragon, as she leaned over to Milo and whispered, "What's a Dragonborn?"

"Possibly one of the strongest warriors that could ever walk this earth," Milo whispered back. "It's rumored that the Dragonborn, or Dovakiin in the dragon tongue, can kill dragons and absorb their souls, and their power along with it. We call it the Thu'um, and mighty old Talos himself was the first mortal to be gifted with it."

Pinkie's eyes widened and then she squinted, pondering the subject. "Well then, when does a Dragonborn appear? Once every century? Something rare like that?"

Milo laughed. "No one can say for certain, Diane. They just kind of appear when they are needed most. The Aedra work in mysterious ways like that."

Pinkie laughed, too, and added, "Yeah, no kidding. The guy we need is probably miles away, singing an old drinking song in a tavern or out killing ban-"

She stopped talking and froze. A few other people had noticed, too. The scales on the deceased dragon were peeling away, but the blood inside was not spilling. Instead, it had dried up along with the muscle, leaving only clean, white bones in its place. Its skin was melting, turning to ash, and reforming into an orange and blue miasma. Jarl Balgruuf stepped backward in shock. "By the Eight...it's...it's actually dying...someone is absorbing its soul," he choked.

"And it's coming this way," Milo added with an equal amount of surprise. "One of us...one of us is Dragonborn."

Jholmir shuddered. "I would hate to be that man. Tasked with saving Skyrim and all of Tamriel, leaving your family behind to wander out in the cold for days...that would be horrible."

By now, the dragon's flesh had all peeled away, leaving a skeleton that stared blankly ahead, as if scanning for its target, weeding out the unlucky one who would inherit the power of the ancient Dovah, and with it, the fate of Mundus. The cosmic trail began to draw itself together for a split-second before it surged forward, racing straight at the band of warriors.

Who it chose surprised almost everyone.

The soul of the dragon rushed headlong into Milo's face, turning his eyes white and racking him with so much power that it began to hurt him. He screamed, but it was drowned out by the sound of a thousand stone slabs launched by siege engines hitting the walls of a poorly-defended keep. His body spasmed violently and he was driven to his knees. His father had jumped back and had stood dumbfounded for a minuted before coming to his senses and trying to take his son into his arms and hold him close, but the dragon's soul repelled him, deeming him unworthy to touch the to-be champion of Skyrim.

Finally, the dragon's soul melded itself to its chosen wielder, and Milo's body stopped its uncontrollable shaking, falling limp for a couple seconds before its raw power forced him to snap back up and launch a pillar of blinding cosmic light from his mouth, parting the heavens. As suddenly as it began, the light died down, and Milo's scream became more and more audible until the light was completely gone and his eyes resumed their natural color. His voice finally gave out and he hacked and choked as he fell forward on all fours, sputtering and on the verge of pained tears. Jholmir, now assuming it was safe, rushed to his son's side and and brought him back up, hugging him tenderly against his chest.

"F...father...?" Milo asked weakly.

"...Yes, son?" Jholmir replied.

"R-remember th-th-that comment you made earlier...?" Milo said again before having a coughing fit.

Jholmir grimaced and stroked his son's back. "...Yes..."

"Mother was always b-better at...confidence building," Milo finally forced out of his throat.

Jholmir chuckled incredulously. "Aye...that she was."

No one really knew what to do then. Milo just stayed on the ground with his eyes closed, trying to block out the migraine the stress of the dragon's soul had caused him. Jarl Balgruuf had gone from recoiling on the ground in shock (as most of the others had done, even the warring Skyrim factions yards away from each other) to quiet assessment of the situation, looking back and forth from Milo, to his father, to the Imperials and Stormcloaks, and back to Milo. Pinkie had also stumbled backward, but had not stood up and the look of abject terrified shock was still frozen on her face. Maud had taken a half-step back and her arms were raised up to her midsection as if to block something about to hit her.

Milo was now breathing normally and he stood back up and dusted himself off. "Gods, I don't want to go through that again..." he muttered.

"Ah, but I'm afraid you'll have to," Jarl Balgruuf interrupted.

"Of course," Milo scoffed. "'They just have a way of appearing when they're needed most,' I cannot believe I jinxed myself," he muttered again.

"You do not have time to curse your luck, boy," the Jarl told him. "The fate of Tamriel now hangs on your shoulders. To be honest, you should bless yourself. Akatosh and mighty Talos himself have given you a tremendous gift. You must use it now, because we will never see another like you in...gods know how long." The Jarl turned his gaze over to Jholmir, who was staring fondly at Milo, but turned his attention to the leader of Whiterun when he realized he was being watched. On the contrary of what he expected, the Jarl grinned and laughed at him. "How about that, old friend? Your son is going to be a hero!"

Jholmir kept staring at Jarl Balgruuf for a few seconds, but he laughed along with him after a minute. "Well, he is the son of the most accomplished sorcerer in Skyrim. What did you expect?"

"Not to mention the toughest and most modest Nord in existence," the Jarl replied.

Jholmir shrugged off the Jarl's compliment with, "Bah, I'm not modest," and was about to turn and congratulate his son before a stern "*Ahem*," brought everyone's attention in the other direction. They wheeled around to see both the Imperial and Stormcloak captain standing side-by-side (and not at each other's throats, to everyone's surprise) with the soldiers that made up both of their respective leaders' entourage. They were all silent for a minute before the Imperial captain spoke.

"I can understand we are not welcome here anymore. You poor people have already gone through Oblivion trying to kill off that dragon, and now you also have the Dragonborn on your side. Therefore, we will be off. We have agreed with the Stormcloaks," his words being frought with heavy disdain as he eyed the opposing general subtly, "to find some other day and place to settle our disputes. However, we would like to extend our welcome to the young Dragonborn, should he ever seek glory and the passion to reunite the Empire." With that said and a "Fall in, men!" the Imperials marched away. Milo watched them go, and when they were all significantly out of earshot, the Stormcloak captain tapped him on the shoulder.

"You did a fantastic job out there," the Stormcloak said. For some reason, he sounded much more affable than the Imperial captain. "If Jarl Ulfric had seen you at work, he would have offered you thousands gold coins in exchange for your servitude. Now, I have no control over the fiscal matters of the Rebellion, but I still extend to you our warm welcome to the Stormcloaks-"

"Now, hold on a minute!" Jarl Balgruuf yelled as he slapped the Stormcloak's hand off of Milo. Everyone was taken aback. No one had ever seen the Jarl get so irritable before. Whether it was because of his rumored slight bias toward the Empire or the close connection to Milo through his father, no one could tell. "Ulfric might lead an entire army, but Milo was still born in my city. I will not allow you to make neither my decisions for me, nor his!"

The rebel captain, now slightly annoyed, gestured with his palm up at Milo. "Then let him," he sneered.

Everyone now faced Milo, anticipating his response, the Stormcloaks above all. Milo could feel their intent stares boring holes into his head, turning his cranium into Swiss cheese. He contemplated his response, and it didn't take him long. He remembered hearing the stories some travelers brought with them when they came to the Plains District to sell their goods. He remembered hearing every single member of the Battle-Borns tell their tales of what the Stormcloaks really did behind closed doors. Sure, they advocated for a free Skyrim. But their ends, in his, and most other people's opinion, in no way justified their means. They sought to not only eradicate elves from society, but also everything that was not Nordic. Milo knew where this would lead long before it was explained. Under their regime, all other races in Skyrim would be wiped out in mass genocide until only Nords remained. But it wouldn't stop there. Ulfric would call for an end to modern society and start anew as the Old Nords did when they arrived from Atmora. A world based on skill with an axe, not skill with the mind. Milo always cowered at this prospect. He could never imagine a world without studying, and his beloved books.

Milo scowled at the rebel captain. "How dare you," he muttered, but slowly raised his voice, "march into my home, draw my kinsmen's blood on my soil, and think you can automatically enlist my help, because I look like the paragon of the Nord race?" His answer seemed to visibly stun the captain, but Milo was not done yet. "I would sooner bend the knee to the mighty dragons than help you in your asinine, genocidal 'crusade!' So here's my answer in short...get out of Whiterun, get out of my sight. Do not contact me...I will come to you."

The captain, still gaping at Milo's answer, finally straightened up and motioned for his men to move on ahead of him. "Very well," he muttered disdainfully. "I tell you this though, and this once only...if you transgress against the Stormcloaks one more time, Ulfric will have your head. His mercy will only go so far."

Milo crossed his arms as he kept his eyes fixed on the captain's backside. "That's fine by me. I'll just keep killing until your Jarl deems me too much of a hassle to waste any more men on."

The captain looked back at Milo with stupefied shock on his face, but quickly disguised it as another sneer and walked off. When they were also out of earshot, Pinkie walked over and followed Milo's gaze on the rebels. She cat-called and admitted, "Boy, you really let that idiot have it. I honestly didn't think you had that kind of threatening power in you."

Jholmir strode up to his son and put his arm around him as well. "Now I'm doubly proud of you, son. No one talks down on Ulfric Stormcloak and gets away with it scot-free."

Maud and the Jarl also came to Milo's side and the Jarl asked, "Dragonborn...I know it's sudden, and I understand you have been through a lot already, defeating a dragon, learning of your heritage, and...possibly being indicted by the Stormcloaks..." Milo faced the Jarl with apprehension, though he tried to hide it so as not to lose his respect. "But I have something to tell you...for weeks, my court wizard, Farengar, has busied himself with poring over ancient texts that discern the location of the legendary Dragonstone. I assume you know about this?"

"The Dragonstone? Of course. He shared his findings with me once." Milo smiled. "Ah, I remember we kept bouncing questions and theories off each other like there was no tomorrow. Good times, good times..."

"Good. He believes it has come to rest in Bleak Falls Barrow. I assume you know where that is as well?"

Milo was beginning to dislike how things were shaping up. "Yes, I know. I'm assuming you need me to play errand-boy, is that it?"

Jarl Balgruuf closed his eyes and smiled apprehensively. "I'm afraid so, Milo." He quickly added, "You certainly don't have to leave now. You can wait awhile if you need to."

Milo stared at the Jarl for a moment and then turned to march away. The Jarl nodded and shouted, "Alright, men. We had better clean up this mess!" Milo didn't get very far before he felt a presence watching him over his shoulder, and he spun around to see Maud, Pinkie, and Jholmir following him.

"And what in the world are you doing? Don't tell me you're going to assist me?" he inquired.

"Believe it, buddy," Pinkie said.

Milo stared for a minute and then scoffed. "You don't seem much like the one to take an interest in the affairs of dragons, Diane," Milo joked.

"Oh, buck no," Pinkie replied. "The Jarl said he'd throw in a reward for you if you made it back with that alleged hunk of rock. I decided to jump in on that offer, because even if we don't find that stone, there's still going to be plenty of loot to swipe."

Milo shook his head. "Have to find a way to pay our taxes, right?" he sighed.

"You know it," Pinkie said as she rubbed her index and middle finger against her thumb.

Milo turned to Maud next. "And what about you?"

"I have not had the chance to investigate Bleak Falls yet. This prospect excites me," Maud said flatly as ever.

Milo nodded. He expected such a response. He thought it unfortunate that Maud was an Earth Equius. Perhaps if she were more attuned to magic they would have more to talk about. He finally looked up at his father. "Don't tell me you're coming with us as well, father." Jholmir laughed his booming laugh and scooped up Milo in his arms, hugging him tightly, despite Milo's outcries of, "Knock it off, you're embarrassing me!"

When he put Milo back down, he said, "Oh, Talos, no. These old bones would only serve to get in your way. I just wanted to say I'm so proud of you before you left."

"I believe that point has already been established," Pinkie said impatiently.

"Well, you can wait, lass. My twilight years are closing fast. I want my son to know he's still loved if he comes home one day and I'm not there to welcome him," Jholmir replied indignantly.

This time Milo smiled and hugged his father back. "I wouldn't worry about it. I made it through mother's funeral, remember?"

Jholmir looked back at his son and smiled warmly before stroking his cheek gently. "Aye...aye...I love you, son. Be careful."

Milo left Jholmir's embrace and walked ahead a few feet before calling back, "I'm always careful...just like Mom!" Pinkie and Maud looked back at Jholmir, who edged them on. They looked at each other, nodded, and waved back at Jholmir before hurrying after the new Dragonborn.

Author's Note

The Captain LIIIIIIIIIIIVVES! I'm sorry I'm such a lazy bastard. Here's the next chapter.