Beyond the Pale

A Huntsman of Hearts

After the places he'd been since he last left the Stormcloak camp, the glowers greeting him on the faces of the ragged and dirty northerners huddled around their fires felt like the warmest of welcomes. It was like returning home.

Your glares aren't going to hurt me, Castorius thought, so long as you keep those blades in their scabbards.

He marched straight towards the tent containing his Imperial attire, not giving so much as the time of day to the folks whose lips so seemed to curl at his presence. What had he ever done to any of them, besides work for the wrong boss? Supposedly, at least.

"You," muttered one man upon seeing him approach.

Castorius gave the fellow the friendliest smile he could accomplish, pointing a finger at him. "And you!" he said chipper, before diving inside the tent.

The chunky Stormcloak, Hans, sat at the back, chewing on some desiccated piece of meat. Castorius thought the man's figure must have suffered badly in these austere conditions. He gave the man the most desultory wave of greeting, met with even less a response.

He looked around. "Where's my stuff?"

Hans simply stared at him a minute, his jowls working. It was as if he was trying to look dismissive but just came across as somewhat dull-minded. Finally he gave an infinitesimal nod towards a chest sitting in the corner. Castorius went to get out his outfit, which had been stuffed away inside the crate like some dirty secret. While he was getting dressed, Hans kept shooting distasteful scowls at him. Castorius paid no mind.

It felt disconcertingly pleasant once again wearing the outfit he'd always treated with such displeasure. He couldn't help feeling a bit like a slave who'd gotten so used to his master he felt reluctant once he was actually presented with a chance of going free . . .

However you looked at it, though, it was certainly a relief changing into a more respectable outfit after being once again forced to wear the humiliating tavern clothes all the way here. Thankfully they'd at least still been waiting for him at the guard tower in front of Solitude when he'd slogged in like a soaked dog in search of them. By that point he'd been starting to get so freezing cold he though he might just drop dead on his feet.

And now, as he'd managed to escape at least a very likely death at the hands of a more-than-likely sadistic lunatic, and another one at the hands of unrelenting natural forces, he was feeling more alive than ever. And for Janus Castorius, that usually meant one thing.

He gave the unhappy-looking Stormcloak slumping on his sizable backside an assertive look, having gained confidence from changing into his immaculate military outfit. "Hey, Hans!" he said, "Another thing. Where's Kirsten?"

The thought of the sullen woman was an inexplainable turn-on right now. What he'd taken as discouragement last time around, well, it felt like nothing but challenge now. Castorius could aver death, he could blow up a ship full of pirates—he could sure as Oblivion turn the head of some uppity girl playing at a revolutionary.

The look on Hans' face was, if possible, even more disgusted than before. "What do you want with her?"

Castorius shrugged. "Just talk." Ha ha ha—yeah right!

"Well, you're out of luck, friend," said Hans. "She's off hunting?"

"Hunting? Hunting for what?"

"What do you think? For the love and affection of some arrogant Imperial coward, of course!"

Castorius felt a flare on his cheeks. "I'm not a coward!"

Hans seemed less than impressed by the outburst. "No, of course you're not."