Skyrim: Arga's Story (Fanfic)

Chapter 2: The Depths of Darkwater

The White River was known as the longest river in Skyrim, running from the southern part of the province all the way to the seas past the ports of Windhelm. It ran over a multitude of waterfalls, and it was joined by several other rivers to form a powerful current of water that almost required a vast system of bridges to cross.

Almost.

Arga had a small smile on his face as he stepped out of the river again, shouldering his pack once more and making sure that the oiled cloth that kept the water away from his possessions was still firmly in place. Thankfully, it was, and his clothes were still dry.

He pulled them on slowly, allowing his dark scales time to dry so that the fur wouldn't get soaked as it covered him. Of course, his loincloth was soaked through from the river, but there was little that he could do about that; he wasn't going to swim completely bare if he had a choice; there were predators in the river, despite the speed it ran at, and there were things that he didn't want them to have easy access to.

As his furs cut the chill of the wind, the Argonian looked upriver. It split ahead, one branch continuing to head to the west, while the other split off to the south; the one going west would have eventually led him to Whiterun, according to Ambarys, but Arga had decided to follow the Dunmer's advice and head south instead. If there were better opportunities down there, he would accept not being in as high end of a city as a trade-off.

Taking a moment to enjoy the warmth of his clothes, Arga brought the directions that the Dunmer had given him back to mind. “Just follow the river south,” he muttered under his breath. “And stay near the bank if I don't want to deal with too many things in the badlands part of the Eastmarch.”

When he had left the city, he hadn't known just what the badlands of the Eastmarch were. He'd assumed that it was just more snow, just like Windhelm and the mountains around it. However, as he had traveled south down the river and around the falls, he had gotten an idea of just what it was.

He turned from the river to look over the badlands. They were entirely different to the snow-covered, icy lands downriver, with the land browned and blasted looking, without the slightest hint of snow. Hot springs of some kind of water formed bubbling puddles across the lands, so hot that they constantly emitted steam, obscuring most of the land. Made it stink, too, particularly when the wind carried the steam in his direction, which it had done several times while he had been out of the river.

All in all, he was grateful that he wasn't going that way.

Shouldering his pack, Arga turned south, following the riverbank.

#

It didn't take long before the badlands were obscured by some vegetation, which did at least improve the view. Arga was thankful for that much, at least, as it cut out the smell as well. The path along the riverbank was clear, and easy to follow, even if the path itself wasn't a road or a frequently traveled route.

As he walked, Arga let himself reminisce, thinking of home, of Morrowind before he had left.

It was not as bad a land as many people believed. Though the Dunmer were the ultimate power there, that was not much different from any of the other provinces, even when the Empire actually had a firm grip on all of them. Every province was at least ostensibly ruled by the native race, whether that was the Dunmer in Morrowind, the Redguard of Hammerfell, or the Altmer of the Summerset Isles, and though they had bowed to the Imperials of Cyrodiil, they did have at least some autonomy to decide how they lived.

Admittedly, the Dunmer were more strict, as he had found out after he had traveled there to find a place away from the Marsh. They looked down on Man to a degree, and the beast folk – his race and the feline Khajiit of Elsweyr – even more, going so far as to enslave them if they were able, and treating them like trash if they could not. Most of the time, that had meant being sent to various mines across the province, finding the ore and digging it out for the Dunmer to use in their crafts.

In his case, he had been luckier than most. Instead of traveling to the lands of the Hlaalu or other, more materialistic Great Houses, he had traveled to the lands of the Telvanni. They were no less biased against other races – in some ways, more so than the others – but they had different purposes in mind, and saw things in different ways than the other houses. They saw experiments, knowledge, magic, and if one could make oneself useful as a slave to them, one could learn many things while they were focused on their own pursuits of knowledge.

Of course, it wasn't a life that he had wanted to keep forever, but there had been a few things to happen that had driven him out of the lands of the Telvanni even faster than he'd planned. That had been part of his rushed trip to this land, and why he hadn't simply gone home. There had been no time to prepare.

He was shaken from his thoughts as he heard a roar from behind him. Whirling around as he dropped his hands to his waist, Arga caught sight of a blur of fur before he was tackled to the ground. Grunting as the air was knocked out of his lungs, he looked up at his attacker.

It was a massive feline, one that had to be at least as long as he was tall, and sporting fangs that could almost have been used as ivory lanterns. Yellowed and crusted with blood, they were nonetheless sharp enough to make him worried as they flailed before his face.

His arms pushed up, catching the big cat by the neck and pushing it back enough to keep it from biting into his neck and face, but he couldn't get the leverage to push him off completely. Arga grunted as he tried anyway, but the best he could do was push the feline a little further back.

There was no way that he was going to simply be able to push this thing OFF of him, so he had to find another idea.

Thankfully, the thing hadn't fully pinned him, and was more concerned with trying to chew off his face to really work on that. The Argonian squirmed backwards, all the while straining to push the big cat's snarling face away from him. It snarled, shaking its head to and fro in a massive effort to break free, and several times, it almost seemed like it might be able to, the fur sliding between Arga's fingers before he could get a better grip.

He managed to get half of his body out from under the creature, and stopped as he realized that any further squirming would only leave him vulnerable for a bite to the belly or the leg. He was pinned, unable to squirm away any further.

The Argonian glared up at the feline. If only he could use his magic, he might be able to frighten it away with a little fire, but it was too close to him for him to be able to use it right. Just the moment it would take to focus and bring the fire out would relax his grip enough for this predator to take a bite out of his neck. But if he didn't, eventually he'd tire, and the cat would do it anyway.

“HELP!” Arga shouted, screaming at the top of his lungs in hope there would be someone close enough to help him. “HELP! HELP ME!”

Hssssst THUNK!

The beast went still, its growl slowly dying in its throat before it flopped over on its side. Up, down, up, down went its chest, before it went completely still, the fur no longer moved by anything save for the wind blowing over the both of them.

Panting softly, Arga just stared at the creature that had almost taken his life. It was massive, with orange and brown fur patterns that were only slightly marred by the thin line of blood that emerged from around the arrow shaft in its side. His fingers traced the shaft lightly, shaking his head a few times. That had been entirely too close.

He heard footsteps, and turned his head to see his rescuer.

It was a Nord man, wearing simple clothes with a bow in his hand, a few feathered ends of arrows sticking over his shoulder. He had the typical blond hair of his people, and was shaking his head as he approached. “It takes a special kind of blindness to get caught off guard by a saber cat, lizard,” he said. “You're lucky that we could hear you shouting out here. Your voice carries far.”

“When you're afraid you're going to die, you learn just how loud you can scream,” Arga answered. He groaned softly as he pulled himself up from the ground, shaking his head a few times. “I was thinking a little too much as I walked, so I didn't notice that thing...you called it a saber cat?”

“Yes, it's one of quite a few predators in Skyrim. You might want to remember to keep your eyes out next time,” the Nord said. He unstrung his bow, putting it over his shoulder. “I'm Verner. Verner Rock-Chucker. What's your business so close to Darkwater Crossing?”

“Darkwater Crossing?” Arga asked. That had been one of the landmarks that Ambarys had mentioned for the trip south. Well, at least he was on the right track. “How far away from here is that?”

Verner shrugged. “Not far, a short walk along the river. But what are you doing here?”

“I'm making my way to Riften,” Arga said. “I arrived in Windhelm yesterday, and after getting some advice from a few people there, I decided to leave and find a different city to settle in for a while.”

The Nord nodded his head a few times, turning around. “Well, if you're going to be making your way south, you might as well stop at Darkwater Crossing, see if you need any of the supplies that we have left at the moment,” he said. “We could use the septims if you have them to spend. Follow me.”

It really was a short walk to get there, Arga was surprised to find. The river rushing along beside them drowned out any chance for conversation, but he doubted that the Nord was really so eager to talk to a stranger anyway. He could understand that; if he weren't so new to the province, he doubted that he would want to talk to all that many people he'd never met, either.

They arrived at the crossing in good time, and Arga got his first sight of the place. It wasn't a large settlement, consisting mostly of tents and bedrolls. There was a communal fire in the center of the small town, as well as a row of plants near the river and a hut of sorts at the edge of it, but overall, it was more of a camp than a proper settlement of people.

Verner led him towards the people gathered at the fire near the tents – mostly Nords, but with a Khajiit or two amongst them as we ll – and waved at them, getting their attention. “Found the screamer,” the Nord said, nodding his head back towards the Argonian. “Another foreigner.”

Arga stopped himself from responding to that, bowing his head in thanks. “Verner saved my life from a saber cat,” he said. “He is quite good with his bow.”

“So, what, another mouth to feed?” one of the people gathered asked. “We're already running short, what with the mine running out.”

“Yeah, I thought we were finally gonna get a little extra food, after Derkeethus disappeared,” another shouted.

“Don't worry, don't worry,” Verner said, holding up his hand to silence them. “The lizard's only staying here for a little while before moving on.” He turned to Arga. “Aren't you?”

“I suppose so,” Arga said, though he was a little more hesitant now. Derkeethus was an Argonian name, though not one that he recognized, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him. “Who is Derkeethus?” he asked.

“What business is it of yours?”

“I know by his name that he is a Marshbrother,” Arga said. When the human looked at him with a bit of confusion, he sighed softly. They seldom understood, though with the way that most lived and how few seemed to be interested in the homeland of his people, it wasn't surprising. “He is an Argonian. I am homesick for my own people.” Not quite the full truth of it, but it might make more sense than the vague curiosity that he felt.

The other Nords groaned softly, turning back to the fire, and Verner did the same. However, the Khajiit shrugged lightly. “Derkeethus was another worker at the mine. He talked to this one about going fishing further up the falls, about maybe finding some more food. He never came back,” the feline said. “If he went up to Darkwater Pass, he probably was captured by the Falmer up there.”

“Falmer?” Arga asked. The word wasn't familiar to him, even with the 'mer' at the end. He knew of the Dunmer, the Bosmer, and the Altmer, the three elven races. He had heard some of the orcs in the land referred to as Orsimmer, and he had heard some of the Telvanni back in Morrowind refer to the Dwemer from time to time, but the Falmer were a new one to him. “Is that some form of elf?”

“If they were ever elves, they certainly aren't anything like them now,” Verner said, his tone saying that he was talking reluctantly. He poked a stick in the fire as he continued. “They're underground monsters. Blind, but they can track by sound better than most of us can by sight. The only reason they don't wipe out anything around them is because they don't come above ground very much, but they're still dangerous if you get anywhere near their caves.” He nodded at the cat. “He's right. If Derkeethus got anywhere near them, he's probably already dead.”

Arga sighed softly. Though he hadn't met Derkeethus, he was from the Marsh, the same as him. “Where is this Darkwater Pass?” he asked.

“Thinking of trying to rescue him?” one of the Nords asked sarcastically.

“I am hoping to find his body.” Arga looked the Nord in the eye. “He is a Marshbrother. He does not deserve to lie in the water without peace.”

The Nord snorted softly, but Verner sighed. “Well, if he's dead and the Falmer didn't take him inside, he'll just be poisoning the water. That's one problem I really don't need right now.” He looked up at Arga. “You can find a path up there if you cross the bridge south of here. Just follow the road, and then start climbing the hill when you reach a couple of stone piles by the side of the road. You should be able to see the path up there. And you'll know when you find the Falmer's door. Trust me.”

“How - “

“Just...trust me on this one.” Verner shook his head, his face slightly more pale for a moment as he turned back to the fire.

Nodding his head, Arga slowly stepped away from the fire, away from the Nords and the Khajiit. His eyes turned towards the hills to the south, and the river and falls rushing down from it. Trees covered most of the sides of the hills, making it a little hard to see if there was anything living in there, but h was sure that there were. If not the Falmer, then perhaps another saber cat, or other creatures of Skyrim that he hadn't seen yet.

And night was coming, what was more. The sun had settled low in the west, and there were maybe a few hours of daylight left before it would be gone completely. If he took very long out there, he would need to find his way back to the Crossing in the dark, dealing with whatever he might find in the night as well.

The thought of the many dangers had him considering the road further south with a great deal of thought. Even staying in Darkwater Crossing for the night would have been an appealing thought, waiting to go and find the body until the next day when he didn't have to worry about being caught outside after dark. Waiting would be safer, and if Derkeethus was dead, his spirit would be able to wait for one more night.

But if the other Argonian was not dead...

That was the thought that turned his head back to the falls, the hills, and the unseen threat of the Falmer. If there was a chance that the other Argonian was alive, then he should be trying to help him. At the very least, he should go up there and see if there was something he might be able to do. Even if it turned out that there was nothing he could do, he should still go look.

Taking a deep breath, Arga muttered, “Hist strengthen me,” before setting out from the small settlement.

It didn't take him long to find the bridge to get across the river, and less time after that to find the stone piles that Verner had mentioned. They were haphazardly stacked at the side of the road, forming two rough pillars. Between some of the rocks were a piece or two of cloth, flapping slightly in the wind.

He turned onto the path, the sounds of the wind around him and the soft crackling of the tree branches as they moved mixing with the sound of the falls in the distance. The trees grew wildly here, and they weren't chopped down or moved to form any sort of path, so it was difficult for him to tell if he was keeping to a straight line. They were thick enough that he couldn't see the tents or solitary building of Darkwater Crossing anymore, so he couldn't even use it as a way to make sure that he was still heading in the right direction.

The only bit of guidance he had was the sound of the falls, and Arga listened closely to them. If they ever sounded like they were getting quieter, he paused, taking a moment to walk a few steps in several directions to determine where it was loudest. If it was drowned out by a particularly powerful gust of wind, he froze in his tracks, not daring to lose his way with the wind blowing.

And all the while, the light was fading. He was all too conscious of the light fading away, the shadows of the trees getting longer and the wind getting colder. Already he could feel the cold slipping through his furs, sliding in to press against his scales. It was little more than a chill so far, but the Argonian knew that when the sun was down, warmth was going to be hard to keep.

He started to jog, and then started to run towards the sounds of the falls. He needed to find them quickly, before the light was gone. Arga was no Khajiit, with their ability to see in the night; if he tried to find the falls, he was as like to fall into the water as to stop before it, and while he wouldn't drown, there was no guarantee that he wouldn't be carried over several falls and dashed against painful, hard rocks.

The trees loomed over him, denying him light as the sun sank further and further into the distance. It was like they mocked him, their branches shifting and grinding against each other in the wind in cruel laughter as he slowly grew more and more frantic, his boots carrying him at a faster and faster pace through the woods. The softest sound of another footstep became a Falmer hunter in his mind, the slightest crack of a twig the paw of a saber cat on his trail. Sweat grew slick on his scales before being carried away by the wind, or frozen to it by the cold.

Suddenly, the tree line ended, and he stepped out of the trunks and darkness into the last light of the day. He gasped, falling onto his face and landing on a mix of mud and gravel. Growling softly at the discomfort of a rock almost shoved up his nostril, Arga pushed himself upwards, brushing some of the mud off of his clothes as he took a few breaths to calm himself down.

Looking around, he realized that he must have found the door to the Falmer caves. With decapitated, rotted heads placed atop pikes, and strange letters carved into an iron door, and being roughly along the path that Verner had described, this must be the place. The sight of worms and insects crawling around the skulls and the last bits of remaining flesh on them did make his stomach turn, though, even as he felt some relief at actually being able to find the place before the sun went down.

However, a quick look around told him that Derkeethus's body was not to be found. Not outside, at least. No scaly body could be seen in the dammed up water before the next fall, and there was no room for a body to be pushed out where the water fell. From what he could tell, it wasn't quite deep enough for the body to be invisible if it had sunk, either.

Which could only mean...

The door seemed much more terrifying in the last lights of the setting sun than it should. It gleamed a soft orange and red, a color that would normally be a brilliant fiery sort of color, but in this case looked like a doorway to Oblivion. Arga shivered, his feet carrying him towards it even as a part of him wanted to run back to the Crossing, swim back to it, if necessary, to avoid going in there. Even as he put his hands on it, he wondered if he was crazy to be doing this, for an Argonian that he didn't know, for someone that he had never met.

But the laughing face of the Nord at the camp came to mind again, and he pressed his hand more firmly to the iron door, slowly pressing it open. He would not be like that one. He'd seen the Argonians in Windhelm, kept in a small assemblage outside of the city because of what they were; he'd seen the looks that he had gotten in his travels. He remembered how his kind were treated, simply because they were not man or mer. If he didn't do this, didn't find the body of his fellow Argonian, who would?

That didn't mean that his hands weren't shaking, or that his jaw was clenched so hard that it hurt as he entered the cavern. His heart hammered in his chest as he stepped into the darkness, and when he felt water against his boots, he almost jumped out of his scales before he realized that it was just water, not some strange monster of wet.

He stepped out of the water, slowly pulling off his boots. They were not waterproof, and he didn't want to spend his entire time walking through this cave with wet footwear.

Come to think of it...he started taking off some of the rest of his clothes. There was little reason to wear them, unlike some of the armor that he had seen guards and others wear. The clothes wouldn't do more than slightly blunt a blow, and would do nothing to stop a blade. If he had to spend the night here, or outside, he needed to have warm clothes, and wet clothes, by definition, were not warm. He needed to keep them dry.

When he was once more down to his loincloth, he walked into the water again. It swiftly rose to his waist, and he moved slowly through it, wading in a way that barely left ripples, let alone made a sound. He remembered what Verner had said, that the Falmer could hunt by sound. If he could keep from making quite so much sound, perhaps he could get around them before they could start trying to kill him, capture him, or whatever it was that they might do.

The water rose and fell along his body as he made his way down the cavern, at times coming almost to his chin, and other times going down below his thighs, but never going lower than that. Most of the time it stayed near his waist, forcing him to keep his movement to a crawl to avoid making noise. The water was cold, too, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his chest as he shivered, unable to keep his body from reacting to the cold.

He rounded a bend in the tunnel and was nearly struck blind by the sudden source of light. He bit his tongue to keep from gasping, and then had to hold back a whimper as he felt a little blood welling up from the harsh bite. Shaking his head a few times, the Argonian blinked to drive away the bit of blindness that the light had given him.

What he saw was not comforting. There were three hunched over creatures, paler even than the Nords, and carrying cruel, curved blades that were black as the night. They walked around loudly, their feet slapping against the ground in wet thud-smacks, usually splattering and splashing water when they stepped off of the little bit of dry ground that he could see.

Beyond them were giant insect-like creatures, covered in a black sort of chitin, and held aloft with fast flapping wings. They hovered in place for the most part, as though they were some sort of pet to the Falmer, but with a look to the stingers that they sported, not to mention the mantis-like claws on their forearms, it was clear that they could be deadly as well.

He remained crouched outside of the room, just looking in as he observed them. They were blind, he could tell when they turned towards him. Their eyelids were almost always closed, and the only times that they opened them, he could see that they were fully white, like some of the elders back in the Marsh. Their ears were slightly pointed like the other elves that he'd seen – though they had no other similarities to the elves he'd seen in Morrowind – and he could almost swear that they twitched when they heard something. Whether or not they did, they had keen hearing, turning their heads towards the slightest noise that any of the insect things made.

But he didn't know how well they could hear him over the other noises in the cavern. He'd need to test that. Ready to stop at any moment, Arga slowly moved forward through the water, letting his legs make a slight bit of ripples in the water.

They didn't respond, so he tried to move slightly louder.

They still didn't respond, so he tried touching his hand to the water, breaking the surface just enough to make a slight noise.

That did get their attention, and they turned all at once towards him. The Argonian froze in place, watching them as they took a few steps in his direction, turning their heads this way, that way. Some flared their nostrils, and the insect things moved about the chamber, floating a few feet above the surface of the water.

They almost reached him before a metal clang echoed loudly, and they turned away. Arga suppressed the desire to heave a massive sigh of relief as they turned away from him, holding still until they were back to where they used to be. Two of the Falmer walked off down a side passage in the large cavern, disappearing from view for the moment, leaving the last of their number near the hut. He seemed almost bored, squatting down by it and hunching forward, his lips moving silently, soundlessly.

Arga slowly let out the breath he'd been holding, and started to step forward quietly. He'd forgotten something about the cave. In an enclosed area like this, or most caves, sound tended to travel in echoes. If he was anything more than quiet, then all of the other Falmer would be able to hear him after he dealt with this one. He needed to make the first move the last one, and hope that the insect things were as blind as their masters.

Thankfully, the water between him and the hut was deep enough for him to slid under the water. There was a small pathway that the Falmer must have been using to get from one part to another, some raised earth just under the water that could be walked on, but on both sides it was deep enough for him to swim, with a few feet under that before his feet would have touched the floor.

This would be perfect, he realized. He just needed to wait for the Falmer to pass by, and then pull him into the water. If he could do it quickly enough, he would be able to keep him from making too much noise, and if he wasn't...well, hopefully the Falmer would drown before his fellows got back, and they would have a hard time finding his body. It was something to hope for, at least; he didn't have much else going for him.

He waited under the water, the illumination of the cave barely enough for him to see the different silhouettes above it. The Falmer that had been left behind seemed like he was going to stay where he was, rather than get up, and the Argonian groaned mentally. If he didn't get up and move, this just wasn't going to work.

Finally, when he was about to leap out of the water and just take his chances, the falmer started moving again. He lumbered along the earthen path, his bare feet pressing against the muddy earth that formed the path. Arga grinned a little bit at them as he saw the water surface break, and waited. One, two, three steps...almost...

When the creature was halfway between the hut on the 'island' in the cavern and the tunnel that Arga had stepped through, he acted. Reaching forward as fast as he could, he wrapped his hands around the creature's ankles and yanked him back, pulling him under the water. There was a splash that he could just barely hear, and he knew that there wasn't much time to work.

It didn't help that the Falmer was squirming around in his grip, flailing in an attempt to get back to the surface. Thankfully, it was dumb enough to be panting, the air in its lungs going up to the surface in a white stream. Arga made sure to keep his grip tight around the Falmer's neck, forcing him down deeper into the water, keeping him under it so that there was no way that it could get free. He watched the arms of the creature, wary of any attempt to reach for the weapon that the Falmer carried, knowing that he'd need to react quickly if it did.

But either it was too stupid or too panicked to reach for its weapon, and soon perished. Tempted as he was to take the weapon, he needed the creature to be weighed down, so that it would stay at the bottom of the pool. Otherwise, there was the chance that the other Falmer or the insect creatures would notice it, and somehow raise the alarm.

He let it sink to the bottom as he let himself rise to the surface. He moved slowly, letting his head emerge slowly, and no more than he needed to look around with his eyes.

It was still quite dark, but his eyes were adjusting to the inky blackness of the watery chamber. The other Falmer weren't back yet, but the insects were gone now, too. There were a few holes in the wall that might be like their dens, and perhaps that was where they were hiding. However, he didn't want to risk waiting around to find out.

Pulling himself out of the water and onto the earthen path, he crouched down, dragging his feet along through the water rather than walking properly. It made some noise, but not as much as his feet splashing down in the water with each step would have. Nevertheless, he winced with every step he took, his head twisting around on his shoulders as he tried to keep his eyes on everything, looking in every direction to try and keep from being surprised from behind as he left the water chamber.

He was a little surprised at the architecture of the next room, filled with four different pillars with a set of stairs at the other end. Considering the way that the front of the cave had looked, he would have thought that it would be more of a natural cave, not something that looked like it had once been a part of a city. It was almost like the Uttering Hills place, with the back of it looking like something out of a castle. What did the Nords think when they found places, he wondered. Did they just leave the front looking normal, while changing the backs of the cave to suit their needs? What was behind the halfway approach?

Shaking his head, Arga moved towards the pillars. Even if the Falmer couldn't see him, he wanted to keep as much distance between him and them as he could, and they would likely walk down the open area away from them. And if he was noticed...well, at least he'd have some sort of cover.

Footsteps caught his attention as he reached the first pillar, and he darted behind it out of instinct. Turning his head around the corner, he saw the two Falmer from earlier walking down the stairs into the room. They didn't talk to each other, nor did they do anything that might look like communication. It wasn't like watching human or elven guards at all. They just moved in total silence, the only sounds coming from their feet on the ground, and then in the water.

Fingering his dagger as they came closer, Arga considered the odds of actually fighting them. They were only two, after all, and they were blind. If he was quick, he could take down one without a sound, and then deal with the other with his magic. If it worked out, then he could be able to move through the cave with more or less impunity, so long as there weren't any other Falmer too close by, or anywhere else in the cave. But if he screwed up...well, then he'd be facing two pissed off creatures that probably had allies that they could call for.

They got closer and closer, and just as they were about to pass, he tightened his finger on the grip of his dagger. This was his one chance. He had to take it.

He caught the closer one from behind, stabbing his dagger into the back of his neck. Through luck, it must have gotten something important, because the Falmer went down without a sound. The splash, however, caught the other one's attention, and he moved before Arga could bring his magic to bear.

The blade slashed through the air faster than the Argonian expected, slicing across his chest and leaving a trail of blood behind. Another slash, which he partly dodged with a roll to the side, cut him along the side of his leg, all too close to a part that he really didn't want damaged. He rolled again, dodging a third slash before he got to his feet, fire leaping from his hands to chase the Falmer for a change.

It didn't work as well as it had with the bandits he'd fought. The Falmer moved quicker than they did, running out of the way of the fire. He managed to slightly burn it at the arm, though – he saw the skin change color when the fire touched it, at any rate – and it hissed in what he hoped was some pain, tossing its weapon into its other hand.

They circled each other, Arga desperately pushing his magic to recharge in time for him to win, the Falmer listening, keeping track of where he was with its ears, probably waiting for the right time to strike.

Arga won. He felt his magic reach peak level again, and he brought his hands up just as the Falmer made the decision to move. The flames burst out of his palms and surrounded the blind creature, setting it on fire from head to ankles. It shrieked for a moment before the fire went down its throat, burning at its vocal cords, and then the lungs. Shaking his head at the smell that was already starting to fill the air, he lowered his hands, turning his head away from the blind enemy.

Yet, despite all the fire, it wasn't dead yet. It lunged forward suddenly, and Arga barely leaped to the side before it could stab him with its final move. It went flying past him, landing in the water with a soft splash, the blade clattering off to the side with echoes that made him very uncomfortable.

Perhaps this had been the last of the Falmer though, because there were no sounds of footsteps hurrying their way, or any sign of the other creatures coming out of the wall. Perhaps he would be lucky today after all.

First, though, he needed to take care of the wounds. He had no idea what was in this water, and the last thing he needed was to get sick. Pulling his pack off of his shoulder, he reached inside, pulling out a pink vial. It was one of several potions he had picked up with that bounty he had cashed in, and he swiftly uncorked it before swallowing the contents.

The flavor was pleasant, tasting lightly of cherries and strawberries mixed together, but it was the effects of the potion that made him sigh softly in relief. He felt the potion running through his veins, and watched as his scales grew back together, the blood drying on them even as he watched. It was amazing just how well they worked, and they were more than worth the majority of the bounty that they ate up.

Putting the bottle back in his pack in hopes of using it for something later, he reached down and started rifling through the bodies. The sword was discarded as soon as he tried to hold it. The way that they made their grips was better for their hands, for fingers that were finer than his and with no claws that needed space to avoid pricking the palm. More than that, it was heavy, and balanced badly. There was no need to bring that along with him, too much dead weight, and he doubted that there would be anyone that wanted to buy the stuff.

But there was something on their bodies that was interesting. A single iron key, attached to the belts of the Falmer with a strand of leather. It just took the effort of a sharp tug to get it loose, and he brought it up to look at it. “Now why would they have a key?” he muttered under his breath. The only thing that he could think of was for a chest that they kept stuff in, but that seemed oddly sophisticated and intelligent for the creatures that were lying on the floor at his feet. But maybe...

“A jail?” he thought aloud. That could be possible, particularly if they captured the people that they found outside rather than killing them outright. They'd need somewhere to keep them where they could not run off, and if they had done that with, what was his name, Derkeethus...well, he might still be alive.

The idea sparked a new energy in his limbs, and he got to his feet again, tucking the key into the band of his loincloth. “If you're still alive, just hang on a bit longer. There's some help coming,” he muttered under his breath as he hurried along to the stairs, following them up and into the next room.

It looked different from the others. While the first tunnel and the watery room with the Falmer had looked like a natural cave, and the room he'd left looked and felt like something of a sunken city, this room felt like something out of a tomb, or a dungeon. The stone was almost...more of a brown shade, in a way, and there were several chains that hung from the walls, with grips on the bottom that could be pulled on, if he guessed right.

In the middle of the room, cut into the floor, was a large grate that several people could have comfortably stood on, and through it, Arga could hear the sound of water splashing about, the sounds of a person down there. It could be a Falmer, he thought to himself as he edged closer, or it might be another clue to where the other Argonian was, or where his body might be if he was dead. Either way, he needed to look.

To his surprise, not only was it not a Falmer, but it was an Argonian, dark green in color and wearing a white shirt with some dark leather pants, much like the other inhabitants of Darkwater Crossing. Arga knelt down at the edge of the grate, looking down into it, and whispered, “Marshbrother, can you hear me?”

The Argonian turned to look up at him, and a hiss of relief floated up to him. “There is someone other than the Falmer in here,” he said. “Can you get me out of here?”

“If this key is for your cell, yes,” Arga said with a nod. He looked down at the cell that the other Argonian was kept in. It was half full of water, and there was a small barred door on the far side of the chamber. “How do I get down there?” he asked.

“The Falmer used one of the chains in there. It works as a lever, opens part of the wall to reveal a tunnel. Hurry! There's more in the deep parts of the cave, and they could be here any minute!”

“Got it.” Arga stood up and hurried to the first chain he'd noticed, giving the loop at the bottom a little tug. He felt the chain give under his tug, so he pulled a little bit harder.

As it pulled back up, he heard the sound of stone rubbing against stone, a quiet, but rumbling sound. Clenching his teeth in hopes that the Falmer wouldn't be hearing that, he watched as part of the wall on the side of the room opened up. It was quite well concealed, he had to say as he hurried through it. The stone stairs were wet, though only slightly cold compared to the depths outside. He ignored it, running as fast as he could without falling over down the stairs, and rounding the corner at the bottom.

The other Argonian smiled slightly, his snout turned up in relief. “Come on, open the door,” he whispered. “We have to get out of here, someone must have heard that.”

“We have some time,” Arga muttered as he fumbled the key out, slipping it into the hole. “The three at the front are dead, at least, and their bugs have disappeared.”

“You got all three?” the other Argonian said. “I'm impressed. Are you some sort of soldier or something?”

“Just lucky,” Arga muttered. Lucky and scared out of his mind that the other Falmer were going to come swarming down at any second. “How many more are in the cave? Shouldn't we be running right about now?” he asked as he opened the door.

“No, I think we'll be alright,” he said. “I only ever saw three. There might be more, I guess, but they'll be much deeper in the cave.” The dark green Argonian extended his hand. “I'm Derkeethus.”

“Arga,” he said as he shook the other's hand. He smiled as well as they let go. “I'm glad that you're still alive. Darkwater Crossing had already given up on you.”

“They were right to do so,” Derkeethus said. “I would have been dead in a few days, if they didn't decide to kill me before that.” He leaned his head to the side. “I don't mean this the wrong way, Marshbrother, but is there a reason you have come to get me -”

“Well, the people there weren't going to come after you,” Arga said with a shake of his head. “I only just recently arrived in Skyrim, and for every other Argonian that I've seen, I've watched them being treated badly by most of the people around them. If none of the Nords or the others there would help you, I thought you deserved someone who would. One Marshbrother to another,” he said.

Inside, he was wincing at how that sounded. It wasn't quite right, didn't quite capture the reason for what he was doing. It wasn't a form of sentimentality, that he had to do what was right all the time. But there was a connection between Argonians, between Marshbrothers; they were seldom welcome equally anywhere outside of their own Marsh, so they helped each other when they could. No one else would help them, and if they wouldn't help each other, they wouldn't get any help at all.

Derkeethus nodded his head. “That was not quite what I was going to ask, Arga,” he said. He pointed down at the loincloth, the only thing that Arga was wearing. “I was going to ask, is there a reason that you came to get me while wearing only that?”

He looked down, and despite his best efforts to hold it off, a blush crossed his cheeks, lighting up the black scales with a bit of red. “I...didn't want to get the rest of my clothes wet. It's dark outside, and it would have been cold enough without having wet clothes.”

“It looks like you have a wet loincloth too, though,” Derkeethus pointed out. “Wouldn't that soak your clothing enough to make it all pointless?”

“I...hadn't thought of that,” Arga admitted, shaking his head with a blush on his cheeks. That would make the rest of his furs a little more wet than he'd like, particularly down there, and if the cold got so much as one opening in his clothes, it would make the rest of the trip a good deal more uncomfortable and difficult, if not impossible.

Derkeethus nodded his head. “I'd suggest you let it dry before you leave the cave,” he said as he walked out of his cell. “Come to think of it, I might wish to do the same with my own clothes. Being in the cell did not anything to keep them dry.”

Arga could only watch was the other Argonian started stripping out of his clothes. It wasn't so much the shock of seeing another Argonian naked – that was something that he was fairly used to from his days in Morrowind among the Telvanni – but from the way that Derkeethus looked. He was quite handsome, Arga thought, with just enough muscles beneath his scales to be a little more inviting and appealing than most of his kind, and with a lean form that came from a good diet and different exercises than the Nords went through.

He did his best to hide his interest as Derkeethus began to unlace his trousers, but apparently it hadn't been enough to keep the other Argonian from noticing. The green scaled Argonian smiled softly as he paused in his actions. “Let's go upstairs, hmm?” he suggested, and Arga nodded in agreement, leading the way up the stairs to the other chamber. “You have a fine tail, you know, Arga,” Derkeethus said from behind him, only encouraging the blush on his face.

When they reached the top floor, Arga noticed another passage leading further into the cavern. If there were any other Falmer in this cave, they'd be down that way. As long as they were reasonably careful, kept their eyes out, they would be fine without chasing them down, Arga thought to himself. And if they came down the hall...well, it was narrow enough that he thought he could use a little magic to keep them from swarming them.

As he thought about tactics, he momentarily forgot about Derkeethus, and was only reminded when he felt a scaly hand reach around and pat his groin lightly. He almost jumped out of his scales at the touch, turning to look over his shoulder at the smiling snout of the other Argonian. “Um...” he started to say, and then hesitated. This felt very familiar. In the slave quarters, when there were no other options...”Do miners have some...similar tastes to...workers?” he asked, dropping the word 'slave' at the last minute, not wanting to say it so obviously.

“Not all of us, but when there aren't many options for some fun...” Derkeethus laughed softly, his voice gravely and a little deeper in the chest than most people that Arga had heard, but pleasant to listen to. Those dark green hands tightened softly around his loincloth, and Arga couldn't stifle a little groan as the other male fondled him. “But you are special. Not just my rescuer, but a good looking fellow Marshbrother. I have to give you some reward for helping me out of the cell, and without coin...”

“I think....I think I get your...your point,” Arga panted softly as the other Argonian's fingers worked his shaft free from the loincloth, his length hardening rapidly under Derkeethus's scaly touch. It throbbed rapidly at the touch, and he could smell that Derkeethus was having a similar reaction.

“Mmm, I'd rather get your point....” his Marshbrother whispered, and Arga groaned softly, his shaft twitching a little more. “It feels like you're almost ready already...how long has it been, Arga?”

“A little longer...than I'd like,” he admitted. The bandit had been alright, but she had been controlled by a Charm spell. This was something different...very different.

And if he was going to be given a 'reward' this way, well...he might as well risk something. “There's....there's something I'd kind of like to try, if you don't mind,” Arga said, gently pushing the other's hand away from his crotch. His member throbbed, wanting more attention, not wanting the gentle fondling to end. But he ignored it, at least for the moment. It would get something else before much longer, anyway.

Derkeethus looked at him with a small smile. “And what would that be, Marshbrother? I am quite interested to hear what you might want.”

“Well...” Arga took a deep breath. “There was something that I was asked to do several times...back where I came from,” he explained. “It was a little weird the first time, but I started to really like it, and it stopped being something of a punishment, and something that I enjoyed. I was wondering if you could let me do it with you.”

“What is it?”

He looked down a bit, his eyes passing over the other Argonian's bulge and further down his legs. The books that Derkeethus wore looked wet, but they looked thicker than his were, and probably had kept the water out a little better too. “One thing that the Dunmer liked to make their workers do was show their subservience. They made us do a lot of things, but one thing that they did with me was make me remove their shoes and clean their feet,” Arga explained. “It was strange, but after a while, I started to like it. And I was wondering if I could do that with you before we did some of the other stuff.”

There. It was said. Arga could barely lift his head to look at Derkeethus's face after admitting something like that, but he thought that it was worth the risk. Embarrassing if he was wrong, very embarrassing if it offended the Argonian he'd come here for, but it was worth trying if it might make it a little more fun.

Rather than being offended, though, Derkeethus smiled a bit. “I have not heard of anyone actually doing that with someone else, but I think that it would be a good way to start. And for my rescuer, I am more than willing to try something new if it would make him a little bit happier.” He sat down slowly on the stone floor, sitting so that he faced the tunnel leading away from them. “I'll keep watch while you do that, don't worry,” he said.

The reassurance made him feel a little bit better, some of the worry that he felt about the Falmer that might still be around fading away, as well as some tension that he hadn't realized that he was feeling. There was something very comforting about this Marshbrother. Something very comforting indeed.

Kneeling before Derkeethus, Arga reached out and gently took hold of one boot. It was soft, supple, but he could feel that it hadn't been ruined by all the water it had been in. Well made, very well made indeed, he thought to himself as he slowly tugged it free. There were no laces or anything of the sort, simply a form fitted boot that slid on or slid off of a foot.

As the boot was removed, the other Argonian's foot was revealed, and Arga couldn't help looking at it, just as he couldn’t help looking at Derkeethus when he had stripped down. He blushed softly at the smooth underside, the way that it shone softly in the bit of light in the cavern. A soft sniff brought the smell of leather and foot musk into his mouth, nothing rank or overly strong, but just the smell of a foot that had been in a boot for a while.

The toes danced softly in front of his face, and he blushed as he felt his erection twitch as he looked at them, his body reacting to the sight of such alluring feet. They were a lighter color, slightly, than the rest of Derkeethus's scales, and slightly smoother as well, he thought. Dragging a thumb along the underside, he watched as the muscles flexed beneath the scales, how there were slight indentations where he pressed his fingers. Not as much as there would have been with flesh, as he remembered, but still some slight bit of it.

“You seem to enjoy looking at my feet, Marshbrother,” Derkeethus muttered, and Arga blushed at the slight chuckle that he heard in the other's voice. “Don't worry. It is not a bad thing to see. I think I like it.”

“I'm glad that you do, Marshbrother,” he said with a nod of his head. He swiftly pulled off the other boot, setting them down beside them so that they could be grabbed in a hurry if needed. As soon as they were out of his hands, though, he forgot about them, instead focused on the pair of feet in front of him.

Derkeethus lifted them from the ground, holding them in the air in front of Arga's face. “Is that a good height for cleaning them?” he asked, that same small smile crossing his snout.

“This is perfect, thank you.” He reached out, grabbing them lightly by the sides of the feet. He could feel his shaft bobbing up and down with arousal, his need building as he touched them. The loincloth was pointless now, as his cock pointed past it, the knot at the base fully inflated and eager to be buried somewhere. He ignored that need for now, more focused on the simple feeling of playing with the feet in his hands.

They were beautiful, the color dark enough to almost be a mix of blue and green, the toes wiggling to entice him. Arga leaned forward, pressing his nose against the scales, feeling them flex under the pressure. The smell that came off of them was a mix of simple foot musk and the smell of scales, a soft, almost forgotten smell after being away from other Argonians for so long. It made him pant with need, and he stuck out his tongue, intent on cleaning them for his Marshbrother.

He thought he heard a soft gasp from Derkeethus, but he might have imagined it. He was more focused on the scales under his tongue, the feeling of them against his tongue. They were all interconnected in a way that flesh was not, slight bumps but nothing that took away from the experience. They did not stretch so much the way that flesh did, the scales staying in place as they were licked, unlike an elf's foot that would have the skin get pulled a bit, stretch before coming back to how it had rested before. Argonian scales were not elastic like that, at least not to that degree.

Each lick drew another little pant from his lips, and he felt pre leaking down the bottom of his shaft, his arousal growing stronger and stronger. He held the feet against his face, filling his eyes with the sight of them as he indulged himself, licking them clean.

The toes danced across his face, wiggling against his cheeks, rubbing him and reminding him of his place. It brought back memories, both good and bad, of his past, but he dismissed them before they could get too strong. This was someone new. This was another Marshbrother, someone he could trust, not an elf that held him down through blackmail and terrible laws.

After he licked from the heel to the toes a few more times, Derkeethus gently pulled his feet back. “I'm sorry, Marshbrother, but as much as you're enjoying this, you will finish before we have even had a chance to get started,” he said, his smile slightly teasing but still fairly merry as well.

The comment still made him blush, but he nodded in understanding. “I think you're right. Will you -”

Derkeethus didn't let him finish his question, standing up and finishing what he had started down in the cell. The trousers he wore came down, and he kicked them off, revealing that he was also quite aroused. Not quite so big as he was, but still fairly large at seven and a half inches long, and with a slightly bigger knot that made Arga happy that he would be topping the other Argonian.

His Marshbrother walked over to the wall, leaning against it and raising his tail to reveal a muscled ass, and even went so far as to sway it slightly from side to side. “I haven't seen another Marshbrother in some time, Arga. Help me remember this meeting, hmm?” he said with a throaty chuckle. “Don't hold back.”

“I don't plan to.” Considering how much his cock throbbed at the sight of that ass and the pink hole between those cheeks – the only part of an Argonian other than the mouth and cock that wasn't covered completely in scales – there was no way that he could have held back if he tried. He crossed the room rapidly, leaving both his pack and Derkeethus's clothes behind, getting behind the other Argonian and grabbing hold of his tail in one hand, and his hips with the other. “I hope you're ready for me.”

A nod was all the answer he got, and it was all that he needed. Grabbing hold of his knot, he aimed his tip towards Derkeethus's hole, slowly pushing forward, not wanting to hurt him.

It opened surprisingly easy for him, and he wondered just how many times Derkeethus had done this. Nevertheless, it was still tight enough to grip his cock eagerly, almost pulling him in as he slid forward. Their moans filled the cavern with soft sounds, and both of them silenced the other, using their tails to cover the mouth of the other. They paused, Arga half in and half out of Derkeethus's ass, and listened for a moment.

No footsteps, no scratch scratch sounds of the insects creatures along the walls. They were safe, still, at least for now.

They started up again, both of them gritting their teeth to hold back their moans for their own safety, but neither of them willing to wait for another time to continue. Arga slid back and forth, his pre the only lubrication they had, but all that they needed. He grunted softly as he felt his Marshbrother's ass opening up for him, accepting more and more of his cock with every thrust.

Soon, the knot was pressing against Derkeethus, and Arga thought that it wouldn't quite be able to fit in another male. It hadn't before. Yet, Derkeethus surprised him, thrusting back against his next thrust. He actually watched the hole flex around his knot before it was swallowed up, popping in with barely a sound or bit of effort.

Then, and only then, did Derkeethus start clenching around him. He'd been a little bit loose up until that point, but when he started squeezing, he was like a vise, his hole squeezing, almost rippling around his cock. Arga had to push the end of Derkeethus's tail into his mouth to keep from moaning loudly at the feeling. He didn't even have to thrust; Derkeethus was doing all the work with the muscles inside of him.

He was very skilled, and it didn't take him long to reach his climax, panting around the tail in his mouth as his cock exploded with cum, spurting into the other Argonian. He felt the heat, something that he had almost forgotten existed, his cock so much warmer than the rest of his body, surrounded by the heat of a hot hole and his own cum, marinading in the substance.

No sooner had he finished shooting than Derkeethus tugged himself away, the knot sliding out without much if any difficulty on the other Argonian's part. He stood up with a smile, revealing that he'd had his own orgasm, his load sprayed against the wall. “Thank you for that, Arga,” he said with a nod of his head. “I'll remember that for a long time.”

“So will I,” Arga admitted with a nod of his head. “But let's get out of here now, so we can have it to remember, huh?”

“A good idea, indeed.”

The two of them gathered up their clothes, not bothering to put them on for the moment. It took their shafts some time to go down, so for a time they were led around by their fading erections. It made things just a little sillier than it needed to be, but it lightened their hearts, making Arga smile, and Derkeethus as well.

The bodies of the Falmer that Arga had killed surprised Derkeethus as they passed them, and he shook his head as Arga bent down, retrieving the dagger that he'd forgotten during the fight. “You were quite skilled to get rid of all three without taking a serious injury,” Derkeethus said quietly.

“I think I was more lucky than skilled,” Arga said with a shrug of his shoulders, putting the knife back in his pack. “The one with the burns was the one that almost got me. If I didn't have luck, his sword would be buried in my chest, and you would still be in that cell.”

“I'm thankful that his blade missed,” Derkeethus said.

They made their way out of the cave in silence after that, carrying their clothes – and in Arga's case, his loincloth – over their heads to keep them from getting wet in the deeper water. When they reached the tunnel up to the entrance, Derkeethus surprised Arga by stepping in front, cutting off his vision of the door with something a little different. Arga blushed as he was forced to either look up at the other Argonian's ass leaking his seed, or look down and look at the feet that he'd just licked clean, and he tried to ignore the way that his cock started rising again.

It was still dark as they left the cave, and the air was completely freezing around them. Arga thought he might have set a record for re-dressing, and if he had, then Derkeethus must have been just behind him, dressed only a second later than him.

Still, their light clothes were only so good against the wind, and the both of them were soon shivering heavily. Neither dared to go into the woods at night, not when it was almost impossible to see, and swimming back to Darkwater Crossing would have impossible without freezing completely.

So, they were stuck at the doorstep of the Falmer for the night.

It wasn't a complete loss. With a little magic, Arga managed to set some of the nearby dead wood on fire, giving them a little more heat to work with for the night, and as long as they stayed close, they were able to keep a little warmer than they were able to do alone.

Neither had much to say. Derkeethus probably had many things on his mind after getting free from the Falmer, and was probably trying to figure out what he was going to do when he got back to Darkwater Crossing. That would have been what Arga would do at any rate. As for himself, he was thinking of what would happen when he left to go to Riften. He knew that he would eventually leave, no matter how much fun he had just had with Derkeethus, and how good it felt to spend time with another Argonian after so long. But what would he do when he got there? That was the question, and he didn't have an answer just yet.

They fell asleep leaning against each other as the fire burned through the night.

#

Morning came all too quickly for Arga, and he groaned softly as he rubbed his eyes to look up at the rising sun. At least the freezing night was over. It was getting bad enough that he had been tempted to start using the fire spell on his scales, just to wake up his body again when it was getting too cold.

At least Derkeethus had been here the entire time, he thought to himself as he looked back at the other Argonian, just waking up. His tail pulled itself back from Derkeethus's waist,and Derkeethus did the same with his as he yawned. “We lived through the night,” he said, almost as if he couldn't believe it.

“Yes, we did,” Arga said, getting to his feet. “Can you walk the rest of the way to Darkwater Crossing, or swim?”

Derkeethus tried to get up as well, but shortly after he made it to his feet, he fell down again. “I guess not,” he said with a shake of his head. “After being without food for so long, I am amazed that I was able to leave the cave as readily as I did.”

That was not good. They were still too close to the Falmer to be able to count themselves safe, and what little food that Arga had wouldn't be enough to give Derkeethus the energy to make it down to the crossing. And he couldn't just carry him. That would be too much weight for him to swim with, and it would be hours of walking if he tried to carry him back through the forest.

The only option he had left wasn't one he liked, but it was probably the only one that would work. Pulling his dagger free of his belt, and taking out the little food that he had left, he passed them to the other Argonian. “Here. You take this,” he said. “I'll go down to the Crossing, let them know that you're still alive. Do you have anything I can take with me to give them so that they'll believe me, and will come back to get you?”

Nodding, Derkeethus reached into a pocket, and pulled out a small amulet. It was a strange mix of scales and feathers and leather all arranged in different ways, rough, but with its own strange beauty. “Verner will recognize it. Show him, and they should understand.”

“Thank you,” Arga said as he pocketed the amulet. It would stay safe for now. Walking to the river's edge, right next to the falls, he slowly turned to look back at his Marshbrother. “Just wait for a little while. Help will be here soon, okay?”

“I have faith in you,” Derkeethus said with a nod.

And with that, Arga leaped over the falls into the river a ways down.

#

It hadn't been a long swim back to Darkwater Crossing, but it was a cold one. The sun hadn't had time to give what little warmth it could to the waters yet, and as Arga pulled himself out of the water, he shivered, teeth held clenched against teeth to keep them from chattering.

He hurried over to the Nord he recognized, pulling the amulet out of his pocket. “Verner, Verner!” he called out, his voice getting the Nord to turn around to look at him. He held up the amulet. “Here, look at this!”

Verner sighed softly, starting to turn away before he paused. The Nord looked a little closer at the amulet, and then a bit closer still before reaching out for it. “This belonged to Derkeethus. He wore it every day down in the mine while he was working.” He looked up from it. “You found his body?”

“I found him,” Arga said. “Alive. Weak, but alive. I got him out of the cave, and he's waiting for some help, some food so that he can make it the rest of the way down. If you get up there soon, he can come back today.”

Verner looked at him in stunned silence as a grin slowly crossed his face. He nodded his head, and slapped Arga on the back a few times in what the Argonian assumed were congratulations of some sort. “You just saved me having to hire another worker here at the mine, lizard. Thank you. I'll send some men up there with supplies within the hour. Thank you again,” he said, hurrying off to do just that.

He sighed in relief as he watched the Nord leave, turning his attention to the fire in the center of the tents. Walking over to it, he sat down and pressed his hands close to it, soaking up the heat. “Now if only there was a spell to dry clothes instead of waiting for them to dry on their own,” he muttered under his breath.

#

A few hours passed, and Arga spent the time watching people go through the Crossing on their way to other destinations. It was interesting to see so many different travelers, but more interesting to see the numbers of soldiers that were going from one place to another.

By far, the most numerous of the groups he saw come through Darkwater Crossing were Imperial soldiers, men of the Empire. They wore brown armor and carried wide but short swords at their waists. Most of them were on foot, but he saw a few officers leading on horseback as they passed through. They must have been on their way to some battle or new posting somewhere else in the province.

At least, that was what he thought at first. Then he noticed that there were some soldiers with every group that stopped, split off from them and went into the single large building that the Crossing had. They'd come out a bit later, having lost their armor but not their weapons, dressed as normal people.

That was not normal. That was very strange.

As he tried to figure it out after the most recent group had done it, he heard something else. Turning his head to the road coming in from the north, he saw three people on horseback marching in, two of them in armor, and the third in the regalia of a lord. He rode high on his horse, chin thrust out and his eyes on the horizon, and at his side was a long sword. It glowed with a blue light, glimmering streaks of icy blue running along the blade, and concentrated blue pulses coming from a small gem in the hilt.

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” one of the Nords muttered from beside him. “What's he coming down here for?”

The leader of the Stormcloaks, here? Arga tensed, looking back at the newcomers to the Crossing, the soldiers that were dressed normally now. Was this -

Ulfric rode into the center of the Crossing. “I am Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. I am here to call for any true son of Skyrim to join me in throwing off the Empire's chains!” he called out.

As soon as the big man had opened his mouth, Arga had gotten up from the fire and started sneaking around the edge of the settlement, remembering seeing some horses there earlier, tied up by their owners. This was going to end in blood, he could already tell. Even without the Imperial soldiers that were around, calling for a rebellion like that was either a sign of supreme confidence or extreme stupidity, and he didn't want to stick around and find out just what it was for the Jarl.

However, as he reached the horses, it seemed someone else had gotten the same idea that he had. A Nord that was working on sneaking away a horse turned to him, and hurriedly gestured for him to go off somewhere else. Arga could only shake his head. There was no way that he was going to try and find some other way to escape; there was no other way.

Just as they both started to untie a horse, and the Jarl started to make his speech, the whole thing went to Oblivion, and fast.

A rock sparked the whole thing, as one of the soldiers threw it at the Jarl on his horse. It hit him hard, knocking him from his mount and spooking the horse. It took flight and ran for the hills, out of sight in seconds. The armored soldiers dismounted, one with a helmet, the other not. The one without stood over the Jarl, while the other tried to lift Ulfric onto his horse.

Before they could get anything done, the entire settlement erupted with Imperial soldiers. They forced the two bodyguards back with sheer numbers, and had enough to spare to grab the Nord thief and him. Arga held his hands up as the blade was pressed to his throat, looking at the armed Imperial. “You'll go with the rest,” the Imperial said.

Guided by the blade at his throat and shouted directions from his captor, Arga was pushed away from the horses, and then made to walk ahead of the Imperial. The thief was at his side, and the Jarl and his soldiers were waiting. The Jarl was on his knees, cloth shoved in his mouth and tied in, his hands bound in front of him, as was the bodyguard that hadn't worn a helmet. The one that had lay dead in the dirt.

As Arga was forced to the ground as well, he turned to protest. He was not part of their rebellion, not part of their province for that matter. He was a stranger, just a traveler.

But no protests or arguments could get past his lips before he was hit in the face with the pommel of the sword, the blow knocking him out instantly, darkness taking him.