Skyrim Part 1: Thales and the Fate of the World

"I just wish I could be more like you, Uncle!" Munric sighed, taking another sip of his warm milk. I took a breath of the fresh night air, looking up at the sky. It was a clear night; every star in the sky could be seen. The Northern Lights painted the sky with hues of green and blue. I looked to my nephew and smiled.

"You are more like me than you will ever know. You are exactly how I was at your age."

"Really?" Munric's eyes widened.

"Very much so."

"But... Dad told me about how you and him were raised as soldiers, and that your dad forced you to train to continue his legacy. I can't even swing my dagger yet..." Munric looked down at his feet, his face showing shame. Silence fell over us for quite a while. That's when I remembered an old story from my past.

"Would you like to hear a story?" I asked him.

"Would I!" He answered eagerly. I chuckled and took a sip of my ale. When I was born, my mother was worried that I wouldn't live to see Midyear. I was skinnier than my brother, Ronan. And I was very cold and pale, like the skin of a vampire. My father fretted that I had contracted Sanguinare Vampiris. Over the years I grew out of my pale skin and I began to resemble my brother remarkably. At the age of five, my father took my brother and I to the annual burning of King Olaf in Solitude, where I was introduced to Dad's friend, Paarthurnax. He was a tall, burly man, and when he was angry, he resembled a dragon. He was my role model; I looked up to him when I needed help with my training. Paarthurnax was a soldier from the empire, and he was the highest rank a soldier could get to; legate. He saw the potential in Ronan and I, and he decided to make us his apprentices. From then on we trained every day out in the courtyard. 

I remember one very significant hot day. I was thirteen years old, training with my brother outside. The sun was beating down on my forehead, and my armor trapped the heat in my body. I stabbed at Ronan with my wooden sword, barely missing his heart. He stumbled to the ground, dropping his dagger. I placed my foot on his chest, pinning him to the ground.

"Fine, you won this time. Whatever. Let me up!" Ronan snapped, obviously dissapointed that he lost the match. 

"Looks like someone can't take the feel of defeat!" I smirked, holding out my hand to my brother. He frowned and ignored my gesture, getting up on his own. Paarthurnax got up from his seat, finishing the bread in his hand. 

"Well done to the both of you. You will make excellent soldiers." He praised us, smiling his sharp, toothy grin. My father stood beside him, his arms crossed over his chest. His face was blank. 

"Paar, it is time." Father announced, his voice monotone. Paarthurnax nodded towards him, his smile dropping.

"Time for what?" Ronan questioned, raising his eyebrows. 

"You will see, Ronan. Be patient." Father scolded. Ronan nodded silently, his eyes darted to the ground in shame.  Paarthurnax gestured for us to follow him out of Whiterun. Both of us took each of his hands, following him out of the safety of Whiterun. He knocked on the main gate, and slowly the gate swung open. A Whiterun guard greeted him.

"Safe journies, Legate." The guard bowed, clearing the way for Paarthurnax. He nodded towards the soldier and continued on down the road. 

Paarthurnax instructed us to take a seat in the horse carriage. He walked to the front, reaching into his pockets to find his coins. 

"Where are you headed, Legate?"

"Ivarstead. Got some business down there to be dealt with." Paarthurnax replied, dumping a hefty amount of coins into the carriage driver's hand.