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[PR: Ash]

Whiterun’s garden was as lovely as ever. The great maple tree swayed along with the breeze, its crimson leaves raining down on the ground, decorating the earth alongside lavenders and mountain flowers.

Underneath the tree was a bench, and four men stood around it. Roy, Flynn, Arvel, and a man they met in the market. He had white hair and a wrinkly face, but he was dressed resplendently, and a cape made out of elephant skin draped his shoulders. Pendants made out of expensive gemstones hung around his neck, and this man was none other than Olfrid Battle-Born, patriarch of the Battle-Born clan, and father of Jon Battle-Born.

“Olfrid, I hear your family has power over this keep?” Arvel asked politely.

“Oh, that’s not all.” Olfrid looked around the garden like he owned the place. “Battle-Born is a legend. The stories of my clan have been made into epics and poems for a century. We’re the most powerful entity in the keep, bar the Jarl. As for the Grey-Mane Clean…” Olfrid harrumphed, and something stirred in his eyes, then he raised his chin and scoffed. “I’d like to not talk about them.”

“Then you will lend a hand should the keep find itself in danger?” Arvel asked.

Olfrid froze for a moment, then he said matter-of-factly, “The Jarl will send out his troops. We’re busy dealing with our farms. Our job is to provide for the whole keep and make sure the people don’t starve. That’s already a type of assistance in itself. And with the Stormcloaks running amok, things have been unsafe as of late. Bandits roam these lands, robbing us of our crops. We’re already stuck dealing with them.” There was hatred and disdain in his voice.

Ah, so that’s why the Battle-Born Clan supports the empire. It’s all because they’re losing money.

Arvel said, “I won’t beat around the bush. You know what happened to Helgen. It was a heavily guarded place, but one dragon’s breath, and poof, it’s now a pile of ash. Do you really think the doors of Whiterun can fend off something like that when it comes hovering over the keep?”

“Should that day come, my clan will fight, but now is not the time.” Olfrid cocked his eyebrow. “And you’re not getting to the point. I only came because you were of assistance to the Jarl, but now you’re wasting my time. Time I could use for work.”

“We’d rather not wait until the dragon comes before we do anything.” Arvel paused for a moment, staring at the old man. “Preparation is key. You should gather your troops and join the army. Find out what the dragons’ weakness is and hit it where it hurts when it does come. The dragon might go for your farms and barns. If you’re not going to send in your own troops, don’t expect the Jarl to help you.”

Olfrid shot him a look of displeasure. “Ah, so you’re the Jarl’s spokesperson. Honestly, you don’t even have a house of your own. You’re not even one of us, you peasant. You should be worrying about yourself more. This is beyond you.” He paused for a moment and got up, circling the maple tree. “Instead of wasting your time with me, you should bring this up to Vignar Grey-Mane. Their clan too has established themselves firmly in this keep, and they’re arms dealers. Thanks to the rebellion, they’ve made a mountain of coins. They have a group of powerful Companions, and they should be the ones helping the keep in its time of need.”

“What are The Companions anyway?” Flynn asked.

“Think of it as a guild of fighters based in Skyrim. They’re made up of powerful warriors who love to hunt for all manner of dangerous beasts. Some of them would be interested in killing a dragon or two. Eorlund Grey-Mane is their blacksmith, and he works the Skyforge. Vignar, their clan leader, is a member of The Companions. The Grey-Mane Clan is close to them.”

Roy nodded. First we need to take care of the two clans, and then we’ll take the negotiations to The Companions.

“Olfrid, I know the two clans are at odds, but in the face of an impending calamity, shouldn’t we put aside our differences and work through the disaster?” Arvel paused for a moment.

“You have a point.” Olfrid sneered and looked at the trio. “If you can convince the Grey-Mane Clan to help, then I will send in my own troops as well. But if you can’t…”

“We’ll hold you to that promise.”

“On the name of my clan, I will not go back on my word.”

The trio went for the other family.

***

“Oy, Battle-Born, give me some coins.” A girl in a green jacket was impatiently smacking a scrawny, hunched boy under the roof of the Temple of Kynareth, and she scoffed. “If you don’t, I’ll beat you up.”

“But you’ve taken all my coins, Blaise. Please, just let me go,” the boy argued softly, his eyes darting around, and then he broke off into a run.

“Don’t let me catch you, or you’re dead!” the girl screamed. She then turned around and saw three men underneath a tree staring at her, then she swung her fists as fiercely as she could. “What are you looking at, you perverts? Just because you’re adults doesn’t mean I’m scared of you!” She went after the escaping boy like a lively mare.

The trio saw her off, shaking their heads.

“That child is a menace!” The young Dragonborn felt like teaching the kid a lesson.

“Ah, forget it. You aren’t going to lay a hand on a kid, are you?” Arvel shook his head, and he teasingly said, “Hey, maybe that’s how she shows affection to that boy. Perhaps she just wants to play.”

They then came to a beautiful two-story house, and then one of them knocked on the door. Someone opened it, revealing a grey-haired, wrinkly woman. “And who might you be? What business do you have with us?”

“Hello, ma’am. We’re new residents of Whiterun, and we’ve heard of the Grey-Mane Clan’s name, so we’re here for a visit.” The Dragonborn put on a lovely smile. “I’m Flynn. This is Goldeneye and Arvel. Pleased to see you.” He looked past the old woman’s shoulder.

“Oh, I remember you. Avulstein told me about your story. You escaped from Helgen, didn’t you?” Realization struck Fralia Grey-Mane, and she looked at the trio. “I’ve heard rumors coming from the Bannered Mane. You don’t support the empire or the Stormcloaks, do you?”

“That we don’t.”

“Good. The lot of them are traitors of tradition and honor. Come in.”

***

The Grey-Mane Clan’s house was set up like an inn. There were two stories and a lot of rooms. A bonfire crackled in the center, and everywhere else was filled with all kinds of items, though it didn’t seem messy at all. An old, rickety staircase near the bonfire led to the second floor, but the trio and Fralia took a seat on a long chair.

“I am Fralia Grey-Mane. Call me Fralia. So what brings you here? And don’t give me any flimsy excuses. I don’t know you people, and Nordlings do not visit people they don’t know well.” The old woman’s eyes had a sharp look in them.

“Very well, then.” The trio exchanged a look, and Flynn said, “The keep is under threat. A dragon will be attacking soon, and we want to prepare for that. Your family is a maker of Skyrim’s finest weaponry, and we need that for the fight against the dragon.”

“What did Balgruuf promise you? Why are you working for him? We don’t have time for this. Our family has our own business to worry about.” Fralia shook her head. “And protecting the keep is Balgruuf’s duty. His soldiers are still holding out, aren’t they? We’re not needed.”

“We like this keep. It’s filled with a lot of greenery and farms, and the people are friendly to everyone. Not many keeps in Skyrim are this nice, and we don’t want to let it be ruined, so we want to help,” Arvel said.

“You don’t see Nordlings this passionate these days, but I’m sorry.” Fralia spoke sadly, and she stared at the ground, her wrinkles getting deeper. “We’re in a lot of trouble ourselves, and we can’t help the troops.”

Roy sighed. I see both families are stubborn.

“Pardon me, Fralia, but…” Arvel stopped for a moment, then he said, “They say your family are arms dealers, so I presume the trouble you speak of is the bandits? Perhaps we can help with that.”

Fralia paused for a moment, then she looked at the trio. “I’ve heard of your deeds. You helped the Jarl, didn’t you? Perhaps you’re more than meets the eye.”

“Oh, that was just luck.” Flynn scratched the back of his head and smiled sheepishly. “But we can deal with the undead and a trap or two if we want to.”

“And what about investigating work?” Fralia crossed her arms and nervously asked, “Are you experts in finding out the truth behind mysteries?”

“Ah, you’ve come to the right place.” Arvel smacked his knee. “This is up Goldeneye’s alley. He’s a right breaker of mysteries, this guy is.”

“Is that true?”

“In Talos’ name, I swear.”

“Then that is good news indeed!” Fralia shot up and circled the bonfire. “If you can help us with a certain undertaking, then our family will offer the supply of our finest weaponry from the Skyforge itself. We shall assist the keep in fighting the dragon off.”

“But can you really make that decision, Fralia?” Arvel asked quietly.

“My husband is the most revered blacksmith in all of Skyrim—Eorlund Grey-Mane. He’s in charge of the Skyforge as well as one of the decision makers of the clan. Should you help us out, we will be in your debt, and we are more than willing to put aside our differences to help the keep.”

“So what’s the case?”

“This is about my son, Thorald Grey-Mane.” Fralia was getting agitated for some reason. “Everyone says he’s dead, but I have a feeling he’s not.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“You should have heard of our allegiance. We’re in favor of the Stormcloaks, not the cowardly, traitorous empire.” Fralia nodded proudly. “But a while ago, my son was taken away during a protest, and the empire locked him up somewhere.”

Flynn coughed. “Sorry, but I have to ask… What makes you think the soldiers would keep him alive instead of executing him right away?” He was reminded of the execution back in Helgen.

“A mother’s intuition. You’ll know when you have kids. The Battle-Born Clan is a supporter of the empire, and they’ve been in contact with a certain sly old fox in the empire’s top brass. They must know where Thorald is kept,” said Fralia.

The trio exchanged a look. Wait, how’d the two families live in peace for so long when their grudge runs this deep?

“May I know the history between your clan and the Battle-Borns?” asked Flynn.

“Bah, a simple story. They support the empire, think they’re better than everyone, and demand everyone pay them respect.”

The trio nodded. Jon was an arrogant man when they first met, and his father was even more so. The old git even called them peasants.

Fralia was starting to get even more agitated. “Yeah, they have coins, but they’re scum, the lot of them. No respect for honor and tradition. They’d toss morality and tradition out the window if it meant they could make more coins. They’d bow to the empire, but not us. We’ve been righteous. The moment Ulfric founded the Stormcloaks, we’ve been supporting him. Since then, the bastards finally showed their true colors. Cut ties with us just so they could protect their business with the empire.”

Arvel shook his head. The Stormncloaks weren’t exactly all heroes either. They might be against Thalmor, but they too looked down on anyone who was not a Nordling, trying to chase them out of Skyrim. Even Goldeneye wasn’t spared from that.

“The Battle-Borns kept the location of my son’s prison a secret so they could torment us. I bet they have records of where my son is kept. They’re always on guard against us, and their men have been keeping a close eye on us too. Balgruuf’s neutral in this matter, so he won’t be meddling with the feud. We tried our best, but still we couldn’t get our hands on the records.” Fralia took a deep breath and looked at the trio, her eyes glistening with tears. “Please, help us. Find Thorald for us, and we shall help the keep. I will personally ask my husband to make a weapon or armor with the Skyforge for you.”

Arvel and Flynn were tempted by the offer. They didn’t have any bound weapons like Roy after all. Roy had weapons, but ever since that battle in Cintra, his armor had been broken into pieces. He needed new armor, and he could ask Farengar to enchant it too.

“You have a deal. So what kind of lead can you give us?”

“The clue might be on one of the Battle-Borns. That, or it’s hidden in their residence.”

***

The door swung open, and golden sunshine shone on the trio.

“So what now, mate? Jon owes us one, so why don’t we make him repay his debt by telling us where the clue is?” Arvel walked down the stairs, staring at the beautiful plants around the house.

Roy telepathically said, This involves the grudge between two families. Brute force won’t work. He then shot Arvel a weird look.

“Oy, why’re you looking at me like that?” Arvel shivered, a chill running down his spine.

Realization struck Flynn. “Oh, remember that time we shared a drink? You did tell us that stealthwork is your strongest suit. Even managed to steal something off Solitude.”

“Steal is a strong word.” Arvel looked awkward. “I was robbing the rich to help the poor, but I’ve quit. Now I’m just trying to search for any ruins involving the dragons. And helping Goldeneye of course.”

“Why don’t you steal one more time?” Flynn winked. “This time from the Battle-Born.”

Arvel gulped. “But they practically rule this keep. You saw how arrogant that old git was. If they catch me, they’re going to skin me alive. This is risky.”

Don’t worry. Roy had a skill that could summon his mount from anywhere. Tell me if you run into any sticky situations. I’ll make sure you come out in one piece.

***

The Battle-Born Clan’s residence was built in the same area as their rival clan’s. A silhouette skulked around, hiding within the shadows and evading the patrol’s gaze easily. He snuck to the west side of the garden. It was the back of the Battle-Born Clan’s residence, and he looked around. Coast is clear. The silhouette then whipped out a grey cloth and covered his face, then he took out a steel thread to pick the house’s lock.