Eric sat in the King and queen tavern, nursing a warm stale pint of mead, thinking about the day’s events. Seeing the Jarl had shaken him greatly. The Jarl had been so callous about Eric’s involvement in the war, referring to his “injury” with such a tone of scorn. Bastard. Maybe there was no need to get Skyrim’s help. Maybe they could manage in the war without them; maybe there was no need to go back to Skyrim. Though that wasn’t an option really. He knew the others would want to head north, almost solely to learn of his past. Nosey twats.
A nord pulled out the chair next to Eric and sat down.
“Hey pal. It’s not often ya see another nord in here. What brings you to these parts?”
“Business” replied Eric glumly
“Oh, well, cheer up, Life’s not so bad. So, you been here long then?”
“About a year now”
“Leave because of the war?”
“Yea. I guess you could say that”
“Injured, fleeing or just looking for a change”
“You know, you ask a lot of questions for a stranger in a bar”
“Ah injury then” smirked the strange Nord. “So you fought in the war then. I won’t bother asking side. Doesn’t really matter to be honest”
Eric looked up. “How do you mean?”
“Well everybody was out to defend something in that war weren’t they. The imperial powers wanted to protect their economy and great historic empire, whilst the storm cloaks were protecting their gods and land from oppression. It’s like that old poem ya see. Then out spoke brave Horatius, the captain of the gate: to every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods. Doesn’t matter which side you where on in that war. You were fighting to protect not to destroy.”
Eric down the last of his mead. “Yea, ya see, that’s just the problem” He turned and walked out of the bar.