My SI Stash #58 - Courage by Twubs (Skyrim)

-At last a magic user in Skyrim! You'd think there'll be lots of them since the lore's mostly about magic but nah lol/ Same author of "Voleur d'Ame", ngl had some doubts with the SI Hadvar but the author really did good with this story!

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Sypnosis: Everything changed for Hadvar when a soul from our world hijacked his mind and body. One thing is for sure, no longer will he be a simple Nord. Non/Dragonborn! SI!

Rated: M

Words: 26K

Posted on: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13517571/1/Courage (Twubs)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

Hello everyone,

I know I literally just told everyone that I wouldn't start a new story right off the bat because I would be working on my own original story but I lied I guess, deal with it idk. This story has an aspect that I really want to try so I'm going to do it. It will definitely be bigger than Stronghammer, and most likely Voleur D'âme also. With that being said I will try to update once a week to

I have actually made a lot of progress with my original piece of work with the character and plot, which is the hardest in my opinion. I just have to worldbuild now and flush it out a little bit before I actually start writing chapters. So don't worry about me not doing it because I am!

Anyway this story is about a realistic take on someone from our world (me) getting thrown into the body of Hadvar while he was being stationed in Markarth. It will get AU really quick to be honest.

Let's see how it goes!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I woke to the sound of banging throughout the barracks. I jumped out of the small cot and grabbed the blade leaning on my cot, unsheathing it in one full motion, ready for a raid. It took me a moment to regain my bearings and look around the barracks.

Dwemer architecture. "You're in Markarth now Hadvar, get a hold of yourself." I mumbled to myself as I sheathed my imperial iron sword back where I grabbed it from.

Wait what? Blade, barracks? I'm not in the military. A part of my mind called out.

I felt the cot encompass me just as an mind splitting pain ran throughout my whole body, originating from my brain and traveling down through my torso, arms, legs, and finally feet before shooting back up.

My head shot up and I realized that I had fallen back down onto the cot. I looked back to the room for the second time, taking it in with greater detail than I did only moments ago.

Wow, Dwemer architecture in real life. That can't be gold, right? Some type of alloy? Or maybe just painted gold. I thought to myself trying to come to terms with myself.

I shook my head and looked down at my body. I wore the same imperial light armor that all Auxiliary's are issued by the Imperial Legion. I wore the same armor that Hadvar wore in the games.

No not games, this isn't a game Hadvar. I thought getting my thoughts straight and in order. This is your life now.

The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I almost fell back onto the cot once again but managed to keep my balance.

I'm in the Elder Scrolls, specifically Skyrim. I thought before panic set in. Oh Talos ...Alduin returns, the Dragonborn, Civil war, vampires, the first Dragonborn. Skyrim is about to go through hell!

I shook my head once again and tried to focus on my thoughts. Focus on what you can control. What's going on right now? Guard duty, patrol, graveyard shift until the sun comes up and I'll be relieved.

I grabbed the sheathed iron blade still leaning on my cot. The leather felt familiar in my hands and I relaxed a moment, using it as strength. I inhaled and exhaled.

"Start moving, distract yourself." I mumbled as my other hand reached out for my water skin and wrapped it over my shoulder. It came to rest on my right hip, like a satchel.

"That's right Auxiliary!" I heard from the entrance to the barracks. "Get your ass moving!"

I sprang into action, obeying him as almost six months of training kicked in. I ran the sheathed sword in my hands through the belt loop on my waist with a practice motion.

"You may be good with a blade, but I won't have any men slacking on my watch!"

I nodded just as I passed the ugly scarred nord and into the next room that served as the mess hall. "Yes! Legate." I said trying to placate him.

I must have been laying there for longer than I thought. I realized as the bowl that the barrack cook set out for me wasn't steaming like normal.

I grabbed the bowl and kept walking towards the door that would lead into the night air and towards my patrol duty. I didn't even bother using the spoon in the bowl and instead brought it to my lips, getting a mouthful of chicken, potatoes, and broth.

Protein and carbs. A soldier's meal for sure. I thought, passing the threshold out of the kitchen.

"You will wake with the bell next time auxiliary, or you will deal with me." The Legate of the night shift called out just as the door closed.

In the games, Markarth was a smaller city divided by a river. One side held the reachmen, the other side held the nobles. This basic principle was the only thing that even remotely matched the description of the city in front of me.

To my left, hundreds of lights dotted the mountainside, each one, the light from a window in a house carved into the side of the mountain. And those were only the ones that I could see at this time of night. I knew from my memories that there was a whole other city inside the mountain, at least five thousand nobles called the mountain their home. Rarely did they venture into the streets and on the other side of the river.

I turned right thinking about the river and looked out past it. Buildings lined the streets in a surprisingly orderly fashion. As orderly as can be expected on a mountain.

The barracks stood closer to the mountain than it did the entrance to the city. So I had a good vantage point over the mid to lower class citizens. I could see the gaps in between the buildings that made up the roads and alleys on the way to the front gate. At least another forty thousand citizens lived in the direction.

Something tells me that Skyrim is more massive than the games even hinted at. My brain supplied. And that something is my memories.

My body moved forward, to the district I had been assigned two weeks ago when I arrived in Markarth, fresh out of basic training.

"Well, time to get to work."

The sun peeked over the horizon, sending its rays into the city and bringing about the start of a new day. A new day for people who hadn't already been up for six hours.

I was just relieved by another guard who would serve another six hours. This whole schedule would be mirrored in the different districts of the city by close to twenty-five hundred guards. And some said we were undermanned.

My feet moved but not in the direction of the barracks, I just walked, looking at the city and taking everything in. I had yet to memorize the layout so this was a part of that and also an excuse to think.

Helgen hasn't happened yet. I know that for a fact. I thought, trying to find my place in Skyrim's timeline. No word from the College of Winterhold either, no news of the companions change in leadership. Stormcloaks have gotten more bold but nothing big and nothing about the thieves guild. Definitely nothing about the DLC's.

I continued to ponder, not coming to a conclusion. So it's fairly safe to assume that I am before all of those events, by how long? I'm stationed here in Markarth for the next six months, then they may rotate me and they may not. Such is the life of an auxiliary in the Imperial Legion.

I stopped walking. Alduin, the first dragonborn, Lord Harkon, all of them are so powerful. Hell even Ulfic could blow me away with a shout right now. My mind told itself.

I could go to more important, more powerful people, but would they believe me? Would they try to interrogate me for everything I know? I can't take that chance.

The whole night during my shift I came to the same conclusion. I can't tell anyone.

But then what? I may be from another universe, but I am still Hadvar. In fact I might be more Hadvar than anything else. And I love my homeland. I'm a nord through and through. I refuse to just stand by and watch as my people burn because of the actions of powerful men. I only had one option.

Get powerful, and quick.

But how? The most broken thing in the games was the Thu'um right? But only the dragonborn could get strong, fast with the Thu'um. For everyone else it takes a lifetime of study. I pondered as I went through my options.

No, not the Thu'um. I ruled the option out quickly.

Magic is the only other option. I thought to myself and I raised my hand instinctively.

I breathed in deep and closed my eyes. I summoned my own magic to my skin, just as my uncle taught me in Riverwood. Just as most nord children are taught. A euphoric sensation washed throughout me and I realized just how long it had been since I tapped into that side of me.

Heat, the sensation, the feeling, focus, feed it your magic and finally…

A flame appeared in the palm of my hand.

...Will it into existence.

The flame was a small one, about the size of a candle. Has it really been so long since I lit a campfire? Since I lit the forge with his uncle in Riverwood?

"Every nord knows this, son. I use it everyday for the forge, hunters use it for campfires at night, and magicians use it for much more terrifying things." Uncle used to say.

"But uncle, I thought magic was bad?" I would ask him.

"You're right, but we must do this to survive."

I shook my head, breaking myself out of the tiny flashback.

This couldn't light parchment. I thought, seeing the tiny flame in my hand.

The magic in my skin left quickly and without warning. The flame died out with it. I blinked at my hand in astonishment.

Already? I ran out of magic already? I realized.

I could already feel my magic start to fill back up. If I could compare the feeling to something it would be like a water faucet slowly dripping into a bowl. It might fill up in a day…

I frowned.

This is going to take some work.

My feet kept walking until I soon found myself in front of a building that looked eerily familiar.

It was the crypts. Nord's are notorious for their reverence of the dead. Death isn't the end for Nord's. It leads to Sovngarde, and your deeds throughout your life define where you go after that.

Shor's Hall for me. I thought immediately. I spent a millisecond pondering on the fact that I still believed. Well if the games are to be believed, it's real.

"It's closed, milk-drinker."

I looked to my left and saw a nord. He wore blacksmithing garb, something I recognized from my time living with my uncle. He looked like he was nursing a hangover.

Must have just woke up with the sun. Stormcloak supporters, they're the only ones with big enough stones to call us milk-drinkers to our face.

"Why?" I asked, ignoring the insult. I tried not to let my shock at my deeper but still smooth voice show.

"Che. A guard in the city and you don't know about the desecration of our dead? Fucking imperials." The nord walked off, obviously having enough with the conversation.

It didn't bother me, I knew why he thought of us that way. The legion abandoned Markarth during the war against the Aldmeri Dominion, allowing the rebellion to happen. Then Ulfric Stormcloak conquered it again, bringing peace to the city before we strongarmed him into giving it back to us.

The nords of the city, which made up ninety percent of the population, resented us for it. I didn't blame them.

My memories flared of a quest in Skyrim that resembled the same issue. Something about cannibalism?

I took a long look at the crypt and memorized where it was in the city.

I'll take a look at it tonight.

Finally. I thought to myself as I walked up to the crypts. Apparently I didn't memorize the location as best as I could because it took the better part of two hours to make it to the location.

"Alright, let's see what's going on." I muttered as I walked down the steps to the front door.

I pushed on the stone door, expecting it to be barred on the other side. It swung open without hardly any effort.

The noises hit me immediately.

"Hahaha…."

"Mmmmmmmm, yes!"

I walked forward with a frown on my face. I took two steps into the crypt before I saw a glint and a fast moving object to my left.

I reacted and ducked the swing. My fist curled instinctively and I noticed the body in front of me, moving past with the momentum of their swing. I lashed out and my fist connected with what felt to be the attackers ribs.

No shirt?

I felt and heard the cracking of a couple ribs sound out. My attacker hunched over in pain and I drew my sword in preparation.

They whirled around with a hand on their ribs, bringing their sword around to point it at me. My brain pointed out the flaws in his footing and balance. I knew this would be an easy fight.

I brought my sword to mirror him and pointed it at him before crouching into a stance that had been beaten into me since I was a boy. He took that as a sign to charge.

A straight stab directed towards my face.

"Never backwards, move side to side, get the angle."

I moved towards my left and redirected his blade to my right. My wrist twirled and I thrust. His body sunk to the hilt on my sword, right where his heart should be.

The man, obviously not a nord, grunted and looked down at the sword impaling him before meeting my eyes. He fell to the ground dead in the next few seconds.

I pulled with a grunt of my own and his body slid off my blade, lifeless.

"What was that?" I heard farther into the chamber.

"Imperial Guard. You're under arrest for the desecration of these bodies. Please come peacefully." I called out into the shadows.

What I wouldn't give for a magelight right now. I thought looking into the darkness.

Luckily a torch appeared from behind a pillar and a person shuffled into the room. Followed by two more. All three had blood around their mouths, as if they had been chewing flesh, which they most likely had been doing.

Two male, one female. Two axes, and a sword. I sounded off in my mind as they took a look at their fallen companion. The lookout.

"Put your weapons on the ground." I said, hoping they would obey and I wouldn't have to fight the three of them alone.

"You killed skeeter." The man to the right said in shock.

Skeeter? What a horrible name.

"He attacked a member of the Imperial Guard, he would have hanged anyway." I told him confidently.

Fear clutched at my gut, the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins slowed down for a moment and I glanced at the body to my right. Bile rose up in the back of my throat. Sure I had seen people die, in both lives, but to actually cause it? It was unsettling, revolting.

Steel yourself. I told myself and my eyes hardened. The bile in my throat slowly slid back down my throat. He attacked you.

There were no more words spoken. The two men behind the women drew their axes and approached. As they got closer I could see the manic look in their eyes.

The woman stayed back watching with an ecstatic look on her face.

I expected them to come as a team but that was thrown out the window when the man on the right charged the last ten feet wildly, leaving his companion behind him. He swung and overhead chop with his axe.

I mirrored him and charged forward, into his guard before he could bring his axe down. I swung parallel with the ground and connected with his ribs. I felt a little resistance with my blade but with a little effort I cut through leaving him with a deep cut that severed his right lung. He'd bleed out in seconds.

The second man was smarter and attacked just as my sword left his friend's body. I had to contort my body to avoid most of the damage and his axe found my stomach. Luckily my light armor absorbed most of the blow. I spun away with a thin cut and a tattered piece of armor.

Once again he proved why he was the smarter of the two and pressed his advantage. He swung overhead, trying to split my skull in two. I blocked it with my sword on the wood of the axe and spun again leading with my elbow.

His nose crumpled under my elbow and he fell to the ground dazed but not unconscious. I moved with my momentum and stabbed him through his back and out his chest, nearly impaling him to the ground.

I removed it from his body and adopted a defensive stance expecting another attack. I didn't have to, the woman was still standing there. If the look on her face was ecstatic earlier, now it was euphoric.

"Throw your sword on the ground." I commanded as I wasted no time in walking forward to her.

She shook her head. "Join me."

I actually stopped at the absurdity of the suggestion. "What?" I managed to get out.

"We can feast on them, they're fresh, look." She answered me with a point of her finger.

I didn't fall for it. I was close enough to her now that she would have to draw soon or surrender.

Footsteps behind me.

I turned around and brought my sword up. The second man, the one I nearly impaled to the ground, was two strides away with his axe raised. Blood ran down his chest in a river.

In the back of my mind I heard the sound of a sword leaving its sheath.

I knew I had two attacks coming at once. I dropped my sword and once again stepped into the guard of the man approaching. My hands found his wrist on its way down, I lowered my body and braced.

His torso hit my upper back because of my positioning and I pulled the arm down while twisting his body off of mine, hip throwing him. He went ass over tit and crashed right into the outstretched sword arm of the woman trying to stab me in the back.

She jumped back fast enough to avoid his body, but he hit her arm and she dropped her sword. My hand had already wrenched the axe from his hand and I swung without thinking.

The axe hit her neck and I expected my swing to be too weak to push all the way through. It separated skin and bone like a hot knife in butter. Her head rolled on to the floor at the same time the man below me went limp.

I looked around for the next attacker, seeing it in the shadows. I was wrong, there was nobody coming. I sucked in a huge gulp of air and closed my eyes as I exhaled it.

"Fuck!"

"What the fuck were you thinking!?"

I looked up from my cot, where I had just finished sitting down after taking my shirt off. My Legate stood there entering the room. I jumped up and stood at attention with my hands clasping my forearms behind my back and my chest out, eyes forward.

"I wasn't, Legate." I said intelligently but truthfully to the commanding officer.

There were four other men in the barracks, all of us were preparing for bed because all of us had graveyard shifts. I only knew the blonde man's name, Dagfinn, he prefers to be called Finn.

"Damn right you weren't. That was a right stupid decision going down there alone, what if there would have been more?" He was in my face, spittle flying everywhere.

"Either I would be dead, or they would be, Legate." I told him, getting a little angry.

"Oh?! You think you're Tiber Septim now that you've killed four cultists, huh? Could they even swing a sword properly?" He retorted but I knew it wasn't a question so I stayed silent.

"Now that that is out of the way. Good job out there, every man I sent to check the situation out couldn't get a lead." The Legate, whose name I still didn't know, told me flipping a complete one-eighty on me. "Next time, get another man to go with you, or three."

I stood a little taller at the reinforcement. "Yes sir!"

"Good. The Jarl wants to see you. Apparently the woman was a known leader of a cult of Namira worshipers." The Legate continued and there was some shuffling of the other men in the room.

The Legate's head swiveled around and landed on the other men also standing at parade rest. "Don't give me that shit, auxiliaries. Especially not you Bjorn!" He reprimanded with a point of his finger. "This man actually did his job."

He turned back to me. "That's why, as of this moment, you are now promoted to Quaestor."

I blinked at the promotion. It's that easy? I thought at his proclamation. Quaestor isn't much of a promotion, but they do commision you boots and greaves. The best part is that it immediately put me on the day schedule, allowing me to attend march and weapon training at will. That along with a five coin promotion a month made it worth it. That put me up to two-hundred and twenty coins a month. Not a lot when you consider the price of spell tomes, but we'll take every bit we can take. My purse was already full with the few coins I swiped off of the cannibalists. My purse was currently sitting at about three hundred.

"Thank you sir!" I nodded, happy at the opportunity to work on my sword play with the weapons master. Theoretically I could have done it with my current schedule, but I would be missing out on about two of the four hours he is available in the morning, and I would have to lose sleep to make his afternoon sessions.

"Good work, soldier. Now get dressed." The Legate said turning around and walking into the mess hall.

Oh right the Jarl. He'll have just heard about it. I thought, realizing that the sun had just risen over the horizon.

I'll miss sleep today.

The Jarl sat on his stone throne, deep in the bowels of Understone Keep. It was obvious that the room we stood in was only an entrance for the underground tunnels that made up the real Dwemer city beneath our feet.

My Captain and Legate stood on my right side, with me being all the way to the left. We stood at parade rest waiting on the Jarl to enter the throne room.

He's probably eating a lavish breakfast. I thought, bitter of my own meal of tasteless protein and carbs.

At least my body agrees with it.

It was true, this body was packed with muscles like corded steel, and although I didn't have a defined six pack, my stomach was flat. My new strength was obvious, considering my previous fight where I beheaded a woman with an axe.

"Captain! A pleasure to see you again." A voice said.

I looked to see Jarl Igmund approaching his throne. His gait was not one that proclaimed royalty. Neither did it show that he was a deadly man. It looked like he had been sitting on the throne too long. He had become soft since the war.

"My Jarl." Captain greeted. It was the second time I heard the man speak, and my assessment of him being a soft imperial stood. He was a boy but he was my age, in his twenties. Rumor has it that he got the promotion because of his families connections, not on merit.

The Imperial Legion needs work. I thought to myself after observing everyone the past few days. Not enough discipline, too much corruption.

"Don't give me that, boy." The Jarl said and it took every ounce of my willpower not to laugh. "Have you cleared the Forsworn yet?"

The Captain's eyes tightened, angered. "No, we simply do not have enough…"

The Jarl cut him off just as he sat his soft ass on his throne. "I am not interested in excuses, just results, Captain."

Oh shit. I thought to myself. Funny but neither of these people have my respect yet.

"Of course, my Jarl." The Captain responded. "I have the guard you asked for."

The Jarl's eyes roamed over the Legate to my right and landed on me. I met his eyes like a true nord would and held his gaze. His mouth slid up in a smirk.

"Where are you from kinsmen?" The Jarl addressed me clearly.

I stepped forward, stone faced and with my hands clasped behind my back. "Riverwood, my Jarl."

He nodded, obviously knowing where the small town is. "I heard the reports. You fought well, and did me a service. For this you have my thanks, and a boon of your choice, within reason."

As tradition dictated I denied him. "It was for honor my Jarl. Had I fallen, Shor's hall would have welcomed me."

The Jarl actually smiled, and I could tell I impressed him. Now if he insisted, I would be forced to accept.

"No doubt, you would have dined with heroes." He said traditionally. "But I insist."

I nodded at him, truly grateful. "I have some interest in magic, my Jarl." He didn't outwardly react, but I knew he was skeptical. My superiors behind me looked at me sharply.

"I would request access to your libraries."

It was a bold move, and a request I had no business asking of the Jarl. But nords respected bravery and boldness, so it was a calculated risk. His face didn't immediately turn to disgust, which I took as a good sign.

He leaned forward, looking deep into my eyes. I held his gaze as he thought. It took a good moment for him to make his decision.

"Very well."

I tried not to smile. I managed a grin.

"You will have access to it, but you may not remove any of the books held within. Nor will you teach anyone what you see inside these books. Magic is a dangerous art, son, and is frowned upon for a reason." Igmund said. "You will only be able to access the most basics of the art at first until my court wizard, Calcemo, approves your advancements."

His requirements were expected. If he would have allowed me to remove the books, it would have changed everything.

"My thanks, Jarl Igmund." I accepted respectfully.

"Now leave, a courier will arrive with your writ of entrance."

A/N: And so we have the first chapter of my new story. It didn't take me long to flush out the plot in my notes, and that's when I knew I had to put it out here for you all to see.

Now as you can see, Hadvar will not sit on the sidelines waiting for the Dragonborn to arrive. He has the beginning stages of a plan. For now it's just gain power, as he'll need it. It will evolve as the story progresses.

What did we think about it? Have I portrayed Nordic culture properly? What about the changes made to Markarth? The local issues are still there but the scale will be ramped up to eleven. And the forsworn are a threat also.

Let's talk in the reviews!

Chapter 2

The wooden practice sword felt heavy, as heavy as a normal sword and while I knew that was a good thing, my brain told me that it wasn't right. My legs felt heavier, weighed down by the new boots that had steel rising all the way to below my knee. Each of my arms had new gauntlets strapped to them, the iron made their presence known.

I gripped the weapon and gave it a few practice swings before nodding and looking across the sparring yards. My opponent, Bjorn, stood across from me. He had dark rings under his eyes.

He's been up here everyday for the past few days, and he still has the night shift. I thought looking at his tired form.

He instantly gained a certain amount of respect in my eyes. Any man willing to work himself to the bone for his craft is a man I can understand, and maybe even grow to like.

"Begin."

Bjorn was a nord through and through. He gave a yell and charged me, it was laughably easy to send him to the ground after lashing his backside with my sword.

The weapons master stood there with disgust in his eyes. He was a skilled swordsman, and his knowledge of other weapons far outstripped my own, but he was also an asshole. He made no attempt to correct Bjorn, content in watching him get his ass kicked.

I caught his eye. "Are you going to teach him what he did wrong or am I going to have to?" I asked with a bit of anger in my voice.

He stared back at me unblinking. I got all the answers I needed out of him. I turned back to my opponent, who just stood up and was breathing hard.

"Bjorn right?" I asked him.

"Yea." His voice was deep, much deeper than my own, and even though it wasn't loud, I could tell it would travel far.

"Why are you here?"

He turned to me and I could see confusion written all over his face. "I'm here to serve Skyrim."

It was a typical Nord response. Most likely he joined for the easy job and the respect you automatically get. Then there were those who enjoyed the power trip also. It was much the same for public servants in my last life.

"So am I." I agreed. "But that is not why I am here." I continued and pointed at the ground we were standing on. "I am here because I want to get better, I am here because I demand excellence out of myself."

He hung on to my every word. "Now I'll ask you again. Why are you here?"

He broke eye contact. Bad, never do that in times of uncomfortability with nords. I reprimanded him in my mind.

"Da died in the war and left me and ma by ourselves. I hated him growing up, but ma always respected him. Never been too good at fighting, we were hands growing up. Figured I wanted to fight, and the respect isn't bad either." Bjorn replied.

Not the full story. I deduced. But good enough, he'll tell me eventually.

"Good, so you have motivation." Even if it is shallow, I can work with it. "And you have good instincts. Attack first is a good plan only when you have the advantage of surprise, even then you should do it with caution."

"Now, adopt your stance." I barked as I finished my small lecture.

He frowned, obviously not knowing what I was talking about. So instead of explaining I walked over to him. I stopped beside him and turned till I was facing the same way he was. Then I bent my knees slightly putting my right foot behind my left. My hands brought my imperial sword up in the air pointing at an invisible enemy.

"The imperial sword is a shorter sword than some of the other designs you'll see across the land. It's made up of less malleable iron in the middle of the blade, giving a really strong base. It is double bladed, meaning that both sides are sharp and it comes to a deadly point. It is a weapon that is good at cutting motions." I paused my speech for a moment to perform a diagonal slash.

"But where it really excels is it's stabbing ability. This sword, though only made of iron, will pierce through almost any armor. It may not CUT through any armor but it will PIERCE through most."

I dropped down into my stance once more and waited. Bjorn didn't move. I turned my head towards him and shot him a look that sent him moving in action.

"We're going to practice the basics. So now we thrust." I told him performing a textbook thrust into an invisible enemy's breastplate. When I drew back, I fell into my stance naturally.

Bjorn didn't need me to look at him this time and he thrust. It wasn't the worst attempt I had ever seen, but then again I watched Ralof swing a sword growing up, and that man can't fight with anything but a warhammer. Bjorn stumbled for a moment before dropping into his awkward version of my stance.

"That is an important lesson. Footwork and balance are some of the most important aspects of a fight." I told him and performed another thrust.

I looked over to Bjorn to see a glint in his eyes and a smile on his face that I hadn't seen before.

Is this all it takes, a little instruction? I wondered, watching him.

"Good, that's good. Now you need to perform that motion over and over again until it becomes instinct. Let's go over all the basic motions." I said.

"Sir!"

I stood up and turned towards the disturbance. It was a boy with his hand outstretched towards me, inside it contained a rolled up scroll.

"From the Jarl, sir." The boy said.

I took the piece of paper from him. "Thank you." I said. He nodded to me and then took off in the opposite direction, the pack on his side told me that I wasn't his first or last stop of the day. I mentally berated myself for not giving him a coin.

I looked around the field to see that Bjorn and I were no longer being watched by the weapon master only. Instead I found a dozen other men looking at me and Bjorn as we practiced. I swept my auburn hair back with one hand and sighed.

Is that all any of these men need? Instruction? Someone to show them the path, the way?

I made out Finn's blonde hair in the crowd too. Another one up too early or too late.

"Well, get off your asses and get over here!" I barked out the order, my mind made up.

I saw at least seven of the men outranked me, I didn't care and neither did they. They all stood up and made their way over.

"Stand beside Bjorn there, give enough space to perform the maneuvers. Good!"

I moved in front of everyone so they weren't craning their necks. I showed them the gladius-like weapon in my hand and pointed to it. Everyone present carried the same weapon, although some had custom hilts, either of a different design, or painted. Some even had tassels hanging off of it. Their sheaths varied even more.

"The imperial sword is a shorter design…"

I straightened my body and wiped the sweat off of my brow. My head swivelled around the training grounds, looking at the twenty men in front of me. I realized that I knew nothing about them.

In my previous life, a unit was family. Each willing to take the sword for the man next to them. These men would grab a mug of mead and laugh as you were ran through. I thought to myself about the state of them. Even now they fought over water at the well.

My anger rose a touch at watching them bicker and my feet started moving of their own accord.

Fuck it.

I reached the first man, I had yet to have a proper conversation with him and didn't even know his name. I did know that he was an absolute monster, he stood about six foot nine, and wore an equally impressive longsword on his back. He had been training all morning, but not with us. The other man was Bjorn, and I felt a stab of disappointment until I heard the topic of conversation.

"No longer!" Bjorn roared to Finn.

"A single sword lesson and you think you can go against our agreement. You're still scum, Breton." The man hissed out to him.

Bjorn is definitely not a breton. I disagreed. Bjorn stood about two inches shorter than me. And I was around six foot four.

"What's this all about?" I spoke up to the giant.

His head whipped around, giving me a great view of his ugly mug. He had black hair that fell past his shoulders.

"None of your business, milk-drinker."

"He's been making me cover his district, along with my own at night. It's the reason I hadn't been able to get to the crypts." Bjorn hissed out. "I told him I'm done with his shit."

I nodded at him, hearing everything I needed to.

"So you're lazy, ugly, and a bully." I said staring the giant down.

He showed his teeth to me and I looked for any signs of him outranking me. I found none, in fact he didn't even wear the imperial issues gauntlets or boots, giving me the impression that he fell below me in hierarchy.

Good.

His hand moved to my shoulder. "Don't touch me." I warned.

The giant gave a hearty laugh, it echoed throughout the grounds.

I ducked the fist coming my way, expecting it. My hand balled on instinct and I exploded into an uppercut that connected right below his sternum. I had to move out of the way to avoid the mountain of flesh falling to the ground.

He sank to his knees holding his stomach. He was obviously having a hard time breathing, if the wheezing was to be believed.

I crouched low, getting into his ear.

"That shit stops now."

I stood up and looked around the training yard to see just about everyone staring at me again. It was actually comical the way they met my eyes, then looked down to the body at my feet and then they looked away, going about their business.

Good. I thought, returning Bjorn's nod as I walked away.

Magick awaits.

Understone Keep.

I took my time walking through it's grand halls. The ceiling extended high into the air, or should I say stone. Although I could tell it was stone, it was carved so perfectly that one could easily mistake it for something other than the mountain that surrounded us.

Gold pillars rose on each side of the rooms, reaching to the ceiling. It was obvious to me now that it was the same alloy that made up dwarven machinations and weaponry. They obviously knew more about metallurgy than any of the other races.

So powerful the deities of this universe banished the entire race for daring to reach for the heavens. My mind supplied as I continued walking towards my destination.

I moved through the halls with grace, as if I had done it many times before. It was all an act. This was my first time going to the library, or any library in this universe. A part of me was giddy at the proposition.

I had a new addition to my wardrobe, a satchel that carried my writ to get in the library, my waterskin, a journal, some writing utensils, and a disinfectant potion for the cut on my stomach from the fight with the cannibalists.

I arrived at my destination after a few missed turns, though it was mainly because of my awe at the palace.

I walked up to a golden dwarven door that had six guards stationed around it. Guards that I didn't recognize.

"Halt." One called out and stepped forward. "Writ?" He spoke simply.

I reached into my satchel and pulled it out, their hands strayed close to their weapons at the action. I unrolled it so that he could see it. The seal of the Jarl glared at the man, even through his visor.

He nodded to me in acceptance. "Imperial mage?" He wondered.

It was a fair question, I was dressed in the typical imperial garb, including my new boots and gauntlets to get used to the weight.

"No, Quaestor. Two weeks into duty in Markarth." I explained and all six of them nodded in sync. I almost made a joke about it.

"Go ahead then, there are a couple of people already there."

I did as he said and stepped through the massive doors. I don't really know what I was expecting before, but I was not expecting it to be as big as it was. There were close to twenty rows of bookshelves, filled to the brim with books of all kinds. The library was oval in shape and the closest thing to the door were the tables laid out for people to read and study at.

The left ten rows had the symbol for the Dwemer race, and golden covered books rested on those shelves. Four middle shelves had the runes for history and biographies. Finally the rightest most rows had the symbol of the arcane, and under that some had the symbols for the different schools of magic.

I must have had awe written all over my face because the other people in the room took notice.

"Largest library in the holds, outside of the college of course." A feminine voice at the tables said.

I looked to see a woman in mage robes. She was absolutely gorgeous, and her face told me that she had elven heritage.

Breton. "Nobody told me." I responded. "I expected a library of maybe one-hundred books."

She let out a small laugh. "No wonder you were gaping like a fish. Imperial battlemage?"

I got the same question as earlier from the guards. I shook my head at her. "No just a normal Quaestor with a curiosity for the arcane." I moved towards her and extended my hand. "Name is Hadvar."

"Arellia." She said offering her hand. Now that I was closer I could see that her eyes were icy blue, as if they were plucked out of the sky. Her silvery blonde hair fell beyond her shoulders.

"A pleasure to meet you, would you mind if I bothered you if I am having difficulties?" I asked politely.

Her eyes twinkled at me, and I knew I was dealing with an intelligent one. "Sure, anything for a Novice."

I smiled at her for a moment before I noticed the chuckles from the other four people in the room. She is being sarcastic.

I forced the smile to stay on my face. "Well, that is fair I suppose. Happy hunting!" Just like that I moved past her and towards a desk on the opposite side of the room as her. I set my things down there and got out my journal and pencil. The trader had ink and quills, but I had been writing with pencils and chalk on metal for most of my life in Riverwood, no use in changing now.

After setting everything up I moved over to the arcane section. I looked through the sections for a good fifteen minutes before choosing even one. In the end I grabbed the introductory tomes for destruction, illusion, restoration, alteration, enchantment, and alchemy. Everything but conjuration.

"No."

I turned to the speaker quickly. It was an old man with a white goatee standing beside me.

Calcelmo. I realized.

"Pardon?" I asked.

"No destruction, no enchanting, and no alchemy. You may have the others, but until you can prove to me that you are capable of such knowledge, you will be limited to the simpler aspects of magic." Calcelmo answered me.

He held his hand out expectantly. Is it worth making a scene? I wondered looking down at his hand and then back to his eyes. The old man met my gaze evenly, obviously used to dealing with nords.

I didn't answer him verbally. Instead I handed him the books he asked for. Then before he could leave I snatched another book that I had been eyeing off of the shelf.

'Magickal theory and techniques of casting.'

Calcelmo's eyes trailed the book, reading the cover quickly. He once again met my eyes and nodded, obviously respecting my choice. Then he turned quickly and returned to wherever it was that he came from. On the way out, he told the guards of my limitations rather loudly.

Once again there was chuckling and giggling in the library. Ariella's eyes followed my form, tinkling with amusement all the way. I ignored them.

Let them laugh. Soon I will outstrip all of them. I thought as a surge of motivation ran through me.

I looked down at my choices in tomes and quickly selected the one about magical theory. My big fingers struggled to find purchase with the pages, another embarrassing fact. Eventually I got to the front page.

'Found in the unnamed journal of an unnamed archmage sometime during the third era.'

'It is a fairly simple concept to realize that our bodies merely conduct the magic around us, our mind and will bend it into affecting the physical world around us. Our bodies store a set amount of magicka, drawing it in from the air around us. This amount of magicka will increase greatly the more one uses it, much like an arm that has gotten used to the weight of a sword. Our magicka can adapt to our needs, it can become incredibly dense, incredibly vast, and incredibly efficient.

The different areas of magic determine which of these our magic will become. You can safely assume that it will become more vast, regardless of which area you specialize in, as long as you're properly training it. However, the more subtle arts, such as Illusion or Alteration, will make your magicka incredibly efficient. Masters of the subtle arts have the best control over their magicka, because they are forced to. The more destructive magicks cause our magicka to become more dense, as the spells increase in difficulty and destructiveness. Although masters of Destruction lack the refined control that can otherwise be learned.

I have set out to find a way to combine the two aspects and apply it to any aspect of magic. I have succeeded. In the following pages, there will be several examples of techniques I have found that allowed me to eventually become archmage.'

My eyes lifted off the page and I let out the breath I didn't realize I had been holding.

No wonder Calcelmo looked at me approvingly, this is a gold mind. I thought looking back down to the book.

'Meditation.

This technique I call meditation can easily be mistaken for the act of clearing one's mind. I admit that it is similar, hence the name, but also fundamentally different. It requires constant mental work to keep it up. I should note that this and the following techniques increased my magicka capacity ten-fold over the course of a year. And I was already an expert destructive mage. I imagine, for a novice, it would be closer to twenty or thirty-fold over three quarters of a year, an astronomical difference.

One does not need to adopt any pose. It is simple in theory, and difficult in practicality. In theory, it is constantly expelling and intaking magicka. Simple. Now, the expelling of magicka will come naturally to you, as it does to all beings in Nirn. But the intake will require some experimentation. I have heard it being described like breathing, and it is a good example so we shall use it. Draw your magic, expel a small amount, and try to intake the same amount from the air around you.'

The page ended and I stopped writing my notes as I realized that this is where I was supposed to actually try it. I dropped my pencil and closed my eyes instinctively.

My magic crawled to my skin, like a snail. I held it there trying to gauge if some leaked out. Some did. I expelled a little more from my body and let it dissipate into the air. I focused on the feeling of it leaving. It felt a lot like the book described, breathing.

I inhaled and tried to get my magic to do the same. It didn't, in fact it seemed like I lost a little bit more. I frowned and tried again. Once again I had no luck.

Instead of focusing on the breathing, I looked at my magic again and expelled another small amount. This time I noticed that my magic seemed to flow in a certain direction. It stemmed from my core, somewhere in my abdomen and spread outwards in the direction of my limbs and skin. The flow was simultaneously in the same direction and opposite directions.

I focused on halting the flow completely.

Success. Now let's go backwards. Failure, not possible, my entire being says to never try that again.

I backed up mentall and tried a different approach.

What if we kept the flow going but instead of drawing it back from the air to the points of expulsion, I focalize it in the spot I could feel in my abdomen.

I did just that, I exhaled my breath and magic. And when I inhaled, my core inflated also and I felt the smallest trickle of magicka leak back into my system. It was a constant flow, coming in from the outside in one point and flowing to the other points in my body.

I didn't open my eyes, instead focusing on the feeling of my core inhaling. I did the action again and I produced similar results.

I smirked thinking of all the people in the room laughing and giggling at me.

It's over for you bitches.

I knocked on the door three times. I waited for a few moments and during those precious few seconds I used meditation to exhale and inhale magicka. It was such a miniscule amount, which made sense considering it had only been a few hours since I was in the library.

"Come in."

I opened the door immediately and walked into the office. It had two glass windows on the farthest side, one which was open slightly, letting some air into the room. A bear rug laid across the floor, leading to a fireplace that wasn't currently lit.

The Captain of the Imperial guards of Markarth sat behind his desk scribbling away at some parchment. I closed the door behind me and stood at attention in front of him.

The seconds passed away and with it many many moments. I just focused on the technique of improving my magicka to pass the time. I knew it was a power play, he wanted to make sure I knew I was on his time. I also knew there were several ways around the power play. One way would be to take control of the situation and dominate the conversation. Another was to act so nonchalant about the situation that the power fell by the wayside because it was so insignificant. I chose the latter.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Rinse and repeat.

"Well you're patient at least." The Captain's overtly imperial voice called out. I didn't respond, determining it was not conducive to finding out why he called for me.

"Do you know why I summoned you?" He asked.

Summoned, indicating that once again I am on his terms. Fucking power plays.

"No sir." I replied simply. Play the good soldier, rise through the ranks. Take his job when the time comes.

"You are a good soldier. My observations of you from the past few days tell me that. One that can and will rise through the ranks given the proper teaching and opportunity." He commented.

I didn't move, didn't react. Inhale. Exhale. It was therapeutic. "That is kind of you, sir."

"So why then do you want to become an Imperial mage?" The Captain asked out of nowhere.

"I don't follow sir." I responded. I knew how he could make such a deduction, but I have a role to play.

"Oh don't play coy. Why else would you want access to the library?" He asked rhetorically before continuing. "I know it seems like a good gig, doing research and wielding a staff instead of a sword, no responsibility. Better pay, but you get blackballed real quick if you're not powerful enough. The ranks of the Imperial Mages are a snake's den, did you know that? Almost impossible to move up."

I tried my best not to sigh at him. He was working off of so many assumptions at this point it was becoming tiring.

"I do not wish to become an Imperial Mage, Captain. I just want to protect my men as best as I can." I told him truthfully.

"Your men?" The Captain repeated. "My men, you mean."

I wanted to reach across the table, grab him by the throat, beat him senseless and tell him that he didn't hold the men's respect, and he had no real power. I would tell him that the Captain title is earned not given. I didn't.

"Of course, Captain." I responded. "Your men."

"So what do you want?" The Captain asked then, now that my intentions were revealed.

"I want a more unified Skyrim for the storm on the Horizon. I think the best way to do that is for a stronger, more disciplined Legion." I told him truthfully.

"Do you think us ineffective, Quaestor?" He said my name mockingly.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" I asked back before responding.

"I insist."

"Yes, we are ineffective, inefficient, undisciplined, and just outright embarrassing." I answered him honestly.

You could have heard a pin drop from a mile away it became so quiet in the office. The Captain's eyes bore into mine. He let out a small chuckle before he picked his quill back up.

"Get out quaestor, do your job and I'll do mine." The Captain dismissed me quickly.

"Yes sir!" I answered and left him as he asked.

Incompetant shit-stain.

A/N: Boom! Another chapter in the books.

So we got some magical theory in. Personally I liked it, and before anyone asks, no this won't make him OP. It is simply a way for him to train his Magick to be a well oiled machine, that's it. He will still have to learn wayyyyy more magick to become a force of nature that he needs to be.

Hadvar is helping everyone with their swordplay, apparently everyone is incompetant in Markarth. I wonder why? What do we think of the library? What about Ariella? Does she have any part to play? What do we think about the Captain?

Let's talk in the reviews!

Chapter 3

The marketplace is bustling today.

The morning started off as any of his previous had. Wake up, eat a protein packed breakfast, train with the men, and go on duty.

Hopefully my afternoon will be filled by continuing my magickal practice. I thought as I practiced meditation, flexing my magick.

Already, my magick had nearly doubled in size in the week that I had been practicing. Not nearly enough to be considered a battlemage, but enough that I considered my growth more than normal.

Maybe it's the fact that I do it subconsciously now. I considered as my magic flexed with meditation, in rhythm with my breathing.

"Marketplace is unusually crowded today." Bjorn said at my side.

We stood off to the side of a stall in the marketplace. Our eyes roamed over the crowds the entire time. And it was a significant crowd. Once again I was amazed at how scaled up the world seemed to be from the games.

The marketplace spanned at least three blocks, and merchants from all over had rented stalls to show their wares from all over Tamriel. Most traveled from High Rock, and their fashion mirrored this, but another significant portion came from Hammerfell and Cyrodiil. The most popular stalls were the ones selling foreign clothes, showing off the different styles of the 'states' of Tamriel.

The next most popular were the food vendors, then the weaponsmiths. The least popular were the stalls which had a magical nature to them. At least three different merchants had stalls full of enchanted weapons, daggers mostly, books on magic, and enchanted jewelry respectively. While the weapons drew a decent crowd, the others had maybe twenty customers a day and most of those were nordic children curious about the art their parents warned them so much of.

"Aye, I considered sending for more guards." I answered Bjorn but not looking at him.

Bjorn tensed as if he saw something suspicious. "Damn, kid got the purse." Bjorn commented and I looked to see a black haired boy, nearly a young man, walking quickly in our direction. "You want it?" He asked.

I nodded and stepped forward, turning my head the opposite direction as the boy so as not to spook him. He never saw me, instead his mind was busy stuffing the purse he had just cut into his pants.

I took a step forward just as he neared and grabbed his shoulder. I felt him tense under me and his head whipped towards me. We met eyes and my grip tightened enough to let him know I meant business.

The boy's eyes glanced around my body, taking my uniform. He paled and I could see he was making the decision to bolt. I quickly called my magic to my skin and put my mind in a state of controlled calm. Then, with a pulse of magic in all directions, I projected the emotion.

The illusion spell took hold, not only on the boy, but the people around me.

"Give it here, and we can forget about it." I spoke before the spell could wear off and he made a bad decision.

He gulped and his eyes flitted all around him. I could see the internal struggle in his eyes. Once again I tightened my grip on him. The boy still couldn't meet my eyes but eventually he nodded at me and reached inside his pants to retrieve the stolen purse. I tensed, prepared for the dagger that he inevitably had hidden on him.

His hand produced the coin purse and I thanked Talos that he made the right decision. I swiped it.

"Hold here for a moment." I told him and his eyes panicked again. Once again I cast the calm spell with a burst of my magic. It took hold as my hand dipped into the purse and pulled out three septims, enough to feed his family for a week. I dropped them into his outstretched hand and turned around at the same time, pretending not to see him. He darted away quickly.

Seven steps brought me back to my post beside Bjorn. I held the purse out to him, as he had seen the man it belonged to. "Return it." I ordered, leaving no room for argument. "Tell him he is short three septims."

Where once, earlier in the week, Bjorn would have taken offense at the order, he grabbed the purse with a smile. It was amazing how much teaching the men everyday had put me in a place of leadership. I was careful who I ordered around, making sure I had rank. I suspected that all of the men who knew me would obey regardless of rank.

Bjorn chuckled. "That'll teach him to leave it hanging so carelessly. Must be a Silver-blood." He commented as he walked off.

I should've given the boy more if he is a Silver-Blood. I thought to myself and my eyes started scanning the crowd.

My eyes locked onto a woman, obviously nordic, approaching a known Silver-Blood merchant. She had red hair that was cut stylishly around her shoulders and a build that told me she was raised as a traditional nord. She stood around five-eleven, maybe six foot and the way she walked spoke of martial training. She leaned over the table in front of her to speak to the merchant.

Next my eyes were drawn to a man, on the opposite side of the market. He was dressed in a white tunic, and dark brown breeches. He had a sword on his waist. While this was not uncommon, in fact it was more common than not, my gut told me to be on guard. He was staring straight at the red-haired woman, and making a bee-line through the crowd to her.

I started moving immediately, weaving through the crowd, and forcing myself through when people wouldn't move. Most took offense until they noticed the uniform. Normally I wouldn't lord my position over people, but my gut told me to make it to the woman before he did.

Luckily I was closer to the woman than he was and reached a crowd of people close to her and waited. I blended into the crowd. I didn't need to, as he took notice of nothing else but the woman's back.

At ten paces from her, his hand reached for his sword and started the motion of drawing it. I did the same and drew my own in a fluid motion, quicker than his own draw. Then I moved forward.

At five paces form the woman he bellowed out. "The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!"

The woman turned to him, startled at the proclamation. Then he started the motion for a thrust, aimed at her heart.

I never let him get close to her. I impacted his right side and a couple of things happened at the same time. My left hand, the one without my sword, grabbed his thrusting wrist, stopping it dead. My left leg came up and I kicked his feet out from beneath him while twisting his arm around, to help him get to the ground faster.

The man yelped in pain as I got close to snapping his wrist before his body obeyed and fell with the twisting motion. Then I was on top of him as he laid on the ground, with my knee putting pressure on his neck. I considered killing him then, but a distant memory in the back of my mind remembered this being fairly important in the games.

I whipped him in the temple with the butt of my sword before he could even realize what was going on. He crumpled, unconscious. His sword clattered on the ground as his hand went limp. I wasted no time rolling him over onto his stomach and wrenching his arms behind his back so that I could put shackles on him.

By the time I did this and stood up, Bjorn and the blonde-haired Finn approached, brought by the commotion. They had their hands on their swords, but didn't draw them seeing I didn't need it.

"Take him to the cells for interrogation." I commanded.

I looked past them to see the crowd of people huddled around our scuffle. I called up a bigger portion of my magic and cast the biggest calm I could. The best thing about low-tiered illusion magic was that it didn't have any signs of it being casted, unless you could sense magic. The wave of magic spread from my body to the crowd of onlookers.

"Everything is fine here, folks. Go back to your business." I yelled out to them.

Most obeyed, although I saw a few people giving me and the man on the ground some stares.

"Excuse me, sir." I heard a feminine voice say behind me. I turned to face the woman whose life I had just saved.

"Yes?" I asked. She had a different shade of red in her head than I did. Hers was the typical ginger look, although it was tamed to fall straight down to her shoulders. Her eyes were sky blue, and freckles sprinkled her face. She was surprisingly attractive, not as striking as Ariella was, but that was a whole different type of beauty.

"That man almost killed me. You saved my life." She said, obviously a little in shock.

I smiled at her, trying to calm her. "All in a day's work, ma'am." I told her as I stepped forward. "Are you ok? You seem to be in shock."

She barely had to look up at me, unlike most other women. She started to say something, but she struggled before getting it out. "I think you may be right." She raised her hand up and it visibly shook in the air.

I started to reach for it before I paused. "May I?" I asked.

The earlier wave of calm must not have affected her. Why? Did the shock override my spell? Was it too far away? I analyzed hoping to test it a little further.

She nodded and I grabbed it sending a much stronger wave of calm through her body. It took effect immediately and she yanked her hand back, reflexively.

"Sorry." I said, noticing her reaction. "Just trying to help."

She shook her head once she realized her reaction. "No it's fine, I needed that." Her voice was much more firm and assured now that she was calm.

This might be my favorite spell. I pondered.

"I should have warned you. We are suspicious people." I said trying to comment on our shared heritage.

"Yes, exactly." The woman spoke and I noticed that she must have been from a well off family because of her proper speech. "I'm Margret."

"Hadvar." I greeted with a nod. Then I realized that I should be getting back to my post. "I should leave you to your business, I have more work to do."

"More women to save? Here I thought I was special." Margret quipped.

I laughed. "If only I could be so lucky." I told her as I turned to leave on the clever comeback.

"Wait!" She barked. I turned back around and her hands were around her neck, untying a necklace from her neck. "Take this, please."

The part of me that was not a nord wanted to deny her, but I knew tradition dictated that it would be rude to do so. Especially from one of the opposite sex. The only time it was appropriate was for people of obviously higher station than oneself, such as a Jarl.

"This is too much." I commented as I bent my head down so that she could clasp it around my neck. It was a small emerald set into a circular medallion, much smaller than the games actually showed. I could cover most of it with my thumb.

Her arms reached around me and she got a little closer than was needed to complete the task. I was not complaining, considering my eyes found her cleavage because of the angle. She must have noticed because she leaned into my ear. "Silver-Blood inn, second floor, fourth door on the left." She said with a smile on her face, then she turned around and started talking to the merchant again.

A nord through and through. I thought a little dumbfounded at her offer. Nord women go after what they want.

I turned around, conceding that she won our little bout of flirting. I was about to walk off when I noticed that the attacker's sword was still laying on the ground. I reached down and picked it up not wanting some kid to grab it and get hurt. My hand touched the hilt and I immediately knew it was different, it was warm to the touch.

My magick reached out to it instinctively, and I fed magic to it. Small symbols appeared near the base of the sword and ran up the length of the blade straight down the middle. The first rune I recognized.

'Fire'

"Well, I can tell you that it is actually steel, not iron." The rough orc told me as he eyed the blade. He went by the name of Moth gro-Bagol, or Moth for short. He was the lead imperial blacksmith for the whole city, and had at least five apprentices beneath him running around the blacksmiths shop.

"It is shaped as an imperial sword." I commented, as if that was all the explanation anyone needed for it being iron. That's how it was in the games, right?

"And?" Moth grumbled. "I've seen imperial swords made out of ebony before, or have you never met General Tullius?"

A part of me wanted to slap myself for the obvious answer. The designs were only based on culture, and while steel did shape into certain designs better, it didn't mean that it was stuck to that design.

"Of course, you're right. My uncle would be ashamed of my education on the matter." I commented. "He was the town blacksmith where I grew up. Never made a lot of swords, however."

"Small town?" Moth asked.

"Yes." I said simply.

"Needs horseshoes and nails more than it does swords." Moth nodded to me, making sense of the situation. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hadvar."

"You the one training the boys up every morning?" Moth asked bluntly.

"Yes sir." My answers kept being short.

Moth barked out a laugh. "Got our prissy Captain embarrassed in front of the Jarl. I'm glad. Word is you know your way around the sword, soldier."

I heard the question hidden at the end of that sentence and decided to humor him since he was doing me a solid with the evaluation of the sword.

"Aye, my uncle may not have made many swords, but that doesn't mean he didn't know his way around one. He taught me the basics, which I mastered long before I enlisted. Learned everything else I knew from soldiers and whoever else had a sword on their waist that passed through Riverwood. Practiced nearly everyday, and honed my skills." I finished, knowing he could fill in the blanks.

Moth nodded in understanding before taking one last look at the blade in his hands. He handed it back to me.

"Well, take good care of it. You were the one to take the man down, no one would bat an eye at it in your sheath." Moth told me.

"Thank you. I'll leave you to it, if you need anything, let me know." I said turning away and heading out of the sweltering room.

"Before you go. I don't have to tell you the significance of someone like him having such a nice, expensive sword do I? They may come looking for it." Moth commented.

I, of course, had already made this connection and just nodded to my head as I walked out towards my next destination.

The library was, wisely, on the opposite side of Understone Keep as the blacksmiths shop. I still didn't know how the imperial legion had managed to convince Igmund to allow their blacksmith to take up shop in the old dwemer forge. I knew that the orc must be worth his salt if he was given such a position. It was possibly the most coveted blacksmith's forge in Skyrim, right being the SkyForge in Whiterun.

The guards nodded at me, used to my presence in the library, as I walked past them. No words were spoken between us, but there was still a camaraderie that went unspoken between us.

I walked into the room and found that it was occupied by two other people. Ariella and Calcelmo, who were having a hushed conversation.

"You will need to be careful around him." Calcelmo said just as I walked in.

Ariella's eyes found mine and Calcelmo followed her gaze to me. Where his gaze was normally dismissive and condescending, this time it was contemplative and almost accepting. Ariella's eyes gave nothing away to what she thought of me.

"Sorry." I began. "Pretend I'm not here." I told them as I walked past them into the library's rows. I quickly found the books I was looking for. A book each on illusion, alteration, and restoration.

Everyday I have picked up the same book on restoration, and I had yet to get to actually reading it. Today I was determined to learn and take notes about each of the beginnings of the different schools of magic that I picked.

I quickly found my seat and opened the book about restoration. I flipped through the pages, uninterested in the introduction, and found the first chapter.

"The first thing that should be noted about Restoration is that it is single handedly the hardest of the schools to learn. Not because of difficulty in manipulating the magic into healing properties, but rather the knowledge one must know of biology, on top of the act of actually casting the healing magic."

"Can you stop that for one moment?!"

I looked up from my book and saw both Calcelmo and Ariella looking at me with frowns. What are they talking about? I wondered.

"Stop what?" I asked.

"The meditation. Those of us with magickal senses can feel you, and it is very distracting." Ariella answered for the old wizard.

Oh. I realized and to my happiness I had to make a conscious effort not to use the method of growing my magic. I stopped the constant flow like asked.

"Sorry, it's become second nature." I commented going back to my book.

"How long have you been doing that?" Calcelmo's quick voice said, obviously angered.

"Since I left the first day." I answered him truthfully. "Why?"

Calcelmo looked at me and his anger dropped, instead becoming inquisitive. "You shouldn't be able to do it for so long a time. We kept waiting for your reserves to run out before we said something."

"I can keep it up pretty much all day, although I'll stop for a few moments if my reserves get too low." I told him, becoming confused. "Is that normal?"

"It depends." Ariella answered. "I think he might be doing it differently. Normally it is much more powerful of a discharge, his felt small, controlled." She spoke to Calcelmo, speaking as if I wasn't even here.

"How are you doing it?" Calcelmo asked, addressing me directly.

"I compare it to breathing, just as it says. I release a small amount, exhale, most of the time not even five percent of my total reserves. Then I bring in the same amount, inhale, from the environment." I told him after a moment.

I did not see the big deal. Isn't this how everyone does it?

"Ah yes that makes sense. The book tells you to release all of it at once, does it not?" Calcelmo asked, taking on a teaching tone of voice.

Oh now it makes sense. I thought to myself about Ariella's comments earlier.

"Yes but it also likens it to a muscle, yes?" I asked him back. At his nod I continued. "So wouldn't it make sense to maximize the repetitions? It is the same concept as swinging a sword, you want the muscle memory of the movements. Since the sword does all the work, you don't actually need a lot of strength to get the intended effect. So you start slow and without too much strength, letting the blade cut. Eventually you will learn when and where to add more power or less in the movements."

As I was speaking, both of them started moving to my table and wound up sitting across from me. Calcelmo rested his arms on the table and folded his hands in front of his mouth, contemplative.

"What a fascinating way to look at it. And one only a soldier can come up with." Calcelmo commented to the two of us.

"And it would promote control, while also building up power." Ariella added on with a tilt of her head. "How have we not realized this?"

"I think we have, we just didn't care. When did you learn the technique?" Calcelmo asked her.

"I couldn't have been older than eleven." Ariella answered quickly.

Eleven? She learned that early?! I've got a long way to go. I thought, shocked by the information.

"I might have been a little older than that." Calcelmo agreed. "Then it was all about power, and control could come later. That has always been the approach, traditionally. Then there are other exercises to promote control." Calcelmo finished.

"So it's not necessarily better?" Ariella curiously asked, turning fully to the old wizard.

"I would say that it depends on the user. It would not be better at all if Hadvar here didn't do it all day. Only someone with the sufficient motivation and discipline could do it non-stop like that. While draining his reserves would make them grow faster, he would lose control. Yet he makes up with the difference in the growth with doing it so often." Calcelmo answered her, showing why he was the more experienced user of magick.

Yea, I have plenty of motivation and discipline with the end of the world approaching, civil war threatening to tear my homeland apart, and the pure shit show that is the Imperial Legion. I thought to myself.

A pulse of magic spread through the room. I knew it was magick immediately because of my newfound familiarity with my own magick. In the second that I noticed it, I realized a couple of things. One, was that the pulse of magick was massive, dwarfing my own reserves. Two, was that it would take me years to reach that same level.

My face must have shown my concern because they took notice.

"Sorry, I wanted to test it." Ariella said nonchalantly. "I still need to work on control. That was about half."

Half?!

"Oh don't look so flabbergasted. Breton's are known for their magick. And Ariella here is a prodigy." Calcelmo said. "Her reserves are already bigger than my own."

Ariella didn't even have the decency to blush, instead she looked smug. "Yes well, I still have a long way to go."

"And that is precisely why old Savos Aren has offered you the position." Calcelmo praised.

That surprised me, as I knew the name of the old Archmage of the College of Winterhold. "You're to be the new Archmage?" I asked, catching on to the conversation.

They turned to me. "You know who Savos Aren is?" Ariella asked.

I tried not to take offense to that. "I would like to think that I am not an idiot."

Ariella actually looked a bit ashamed then. "Yes, it appears that I judged you based on your inheritance, for that I apologize."

Calcelmo cut in. "I also think I owe you an apology. I intentionally embarrassed you the other day, convinced I might be able to chase you off."

I was surprised at their change in demeanors, just from a simple conversation. When I walked into the room, I was met with contempt, now they had a modicum of respect in their eyes for me. It actually made me a little uncomfortable for a moment before pride overtook it.

"Accepted. It just gave me more motivation to prove you wrong, something I still intend to do." I accepted their apology.

Smiles tugged at the edges of their mouths.

"Good. I will be taking over the role of Master Enchantress from Surgius Turrianus, not archmage." Ariella answered my earlier question.

"Although I keep telling her that she will be groomed for the role when the time comes." Calcelmo interrupted.

"Wow, congratulations." I said genuinely. Ariella smiled at me, and I was once again reminded of her otherworldly beauty. She would give supermodels from my other life a run for their money, and it was all natural.

A young man came running into the room, he wore robes signifying his position as an apprentice to Calcelmo.

"Master, the ambassador is here." The young man said with a bow.

Another voice echoed through the halls of the library, one that was eerily familiar. "Yes, I am." It said just as a high elf form walked through the doorway. The high elf had on the robes of a Thalmor operator. The robes of black and yellow were pristine and made of a quality that I envied immediately. Say what you will about them, but their robes were clean.

"Hello, Ancano."

'Silver-Blood Inn'

I looked up at the sign and was impressed at the actual size of the inn. It had to be six stories tall, with the bottom floor blossoming out to hold the actual bar and other things needed for the upkeep of the high-class building. There were private guards stationed outside of the inn, ones that looked better served as bandits than anything.

I walked in confidently, not sparing them a glance. They stared me down but didn't dare stop me from entering. My station offered me many privileges, and while I had no doubt that the Silver-Bloods had the pull to stop me, they wouldn't unless provoked.

I walked in to the smell of smoke and mead, something that reminded me of my old life. The inn was of the highest class in all of Skyrim, I was sure none could top it. It made sense, considering the money backing it. I noticed I was underdressed but didn't let my face or body show any signs of uncomfortability.

My eyes tracked the room, taking in its participants. To my displeasure, my captain sat at a table near the back of the room, next to a man I didn't know. He had a dark-elf girl sitting on his lap, she couldn't have been more than sixteen.

He just might die at my hands. I thought as he lost the rest of the respect I had for him. Right after I take his title.

I nodded to him, and he nodded back. We were both off duty, and while I should have gone to talk to him to explain my presence and show respect, I didn't and saw he didn't want me to either.

I saw the reason I was here sitting alone at the bar, her head in one hand and mead in the other. I walked straight up to her and grabbed the seat next to her.

"Two more." I said to the bartender slapping down payment plus tip. Always pay your bartender well.

"Listen, bud…" Margret started to deny me out of habit, obviously used to denying suiters before seeing who it was. A smile split her face, one I couldn't help but mirror.

"Fancy seeing you here.."

A/N: Chapter 3 done!

I feel like the chapters I write are slowly increasing in word count the more practice I get. What does everything think about it? Is it the quality increasing, or something else?

So a lot of people will recognize the quest that was 'started' when Hadvar saved Margret. I will just say that things will go down differently than in the games, mainly because this is a realistic take on it. It will also have way more reaching consequences.

So we got some more backstory on Ariella. We also went over some magickal theory. What did we think about it, make sense? Don't like it?

Also, Ancano! The bastard makes an appearance, why is he in Markarth? Easy answer but it will come next chapter.

What do we think? Let's talk about it in the reviews!