A Standup Philosopher
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And So The Eagle Conquered 01
🕑 Added 2025-07-22 03:01:43 +0000 UTCRiverwood.
Built beside a river strong enough for industry but weak enough not to be dangerous, teeming with fish but bereft of water-going predators. Built amongst a forest large enough and rich enough to provide everything that they might need and a bit more to sell, but not so large or so thick that they had to worry about bears or wolf packs attacking the village people or their small stock of chicken and goats. Close enough to the Imperial fortress-town of Helgen to be save from marauders, but not so close that they were pinned under the Legion's ever watchful gaze.
And, of course, that doesn't even address the aesthetics. It is a beautiful place, a tranquil place. Perhaps one could go so far as to call it idyllic, and it would be hard to argue the point. No city was it, with constant noise and light and the smell of soot and shit and animals taking away the clear, crisp mountainous air or blotting out all the myriad sounds of nature. The soft, flowing rush of the river, the chatters and chirps and calls of the forest life, the leaves rustling and trees swaying in the breeze.
Yes, Riverwood was a peaceful town, where the people lived in harmony. There was never any kind of trouble, nor any hint of misery. The closest thing that they got to trouble was when Sven and Faendal got a little too energetic in their attempts to woo Camilla Valerius, or someone got too deep in their cups and had to be carried to their home.
Perhaps it could be thus because it was small and old? A dozen small farmhouses scattered about the slopes, inhabited by and large by the same families that had built them generations before, loosely gathered around the only three buildings with any real significance in the settlement: the Sleeping Giant Inn, the lumbermill, and the only store in town: The Riverwood Trader.
No grand market was this, small and modest, kept afloat by the business cunning of it's owners and the monopoly it held for the locals, the hunters and tradesman passing through the area, and even those residents of Helgen that were looking for goods a fortified town might not have to offer. But by the very nature of it's customers, it was not a wealthy shop. It didn't possess any great wealth in coin, with it's income mostly spent on buying new stock during monthly trips to Whiterun itself. Nor did it possess and stock items of significant value, because the very nature of it's clientele meant that no one had the means or the interest -usually both- in purchasing any such items.
Which is why it would have been quite surprising to anyone familiar with the area when a trio of hooded and masked figures stealthily made their way across the bridge and down the street to crouch around the store's front door. One of them slipped a pair of long, thin metal strips out of his pocket and, with nothing more than the light of the moons and the stars, started to fiddle with the locked front door. Or, rather more accurately, started attempting to pick the lock open. A group of thieves, it would seem, intent on breaching the buildings interior.
An owl hooted, particularly loudly, from the roof, and the first thief, the one hunched over the lock, cursed under his breath as his pick snapped as a result of the startled jerk he gave at the sound.
"Careful, damnit!" hissed the second figure, a woman by the sound of her voice, and a Breton by her accent. "If you wake them up, this might get a bit bloodier than you would prefer, ash-skin."
"Then do your fucking job and keep watch, n'wah. This isn't the easiest lock I've ever picked, and the damned owl startled me." the first thief muttered, inserting another pick, growling under his breath as he fumbled around for the tumblers. "For a backwater shop, they've got decent security."
The third figure, taller than the others, kept watch on the silent street. "Hurry. Dawn's only a few hours away, and I have no interest in being chased all the way up the damn mountain." he growled out, with the accent of a man born and raised in the vicinity of Windhelm.
"I'm working on it, I'm working on it. Just…" the dunmer quietly snapped back, before a soft slick heralded his success. Pausing for a moment, to make sure that no one had heard and come to investigate, he slowly pushed the door open and peered into the shop, red eyes probing the shadows for any sign of it's owners. Nothing but the last embers of the night's firing, glowing in the hearth, and the scent of stew. Good. He was keen on keeping this as bloodless as possible, he didn't want the Jarl's men breathing down his neck, or lopping it off for that matter, and people tended to take murders a bit more seriously than minor theft. "Alright, come on. Remember, a dragon claw made of gold, that's what we're after."
"We know, you've told us a hundred times, now shut up already. Bjorn, stay outside and keep watch." the woman hissed, slipping into the building after the dunmer, her eyes gleaming with greed as she took in the racks and shelves of product. Potions, ingots, jewelry, weapons, even spellbooks. Small town though it might be, the Riverwood Trader prided itself on having a decent spread of options available, and all of it was theirs' for the taking.
Reaching for the first thing to catch her eye, a small silver bracelet with a ruby set into it, she swore softly as the lockpicker swatted her hand sharply.
"I told you, we're only here for the claw! We don't have time for anything else, so stay focused and find it!" he chastised her quietly but firmly, and she glared at him darkly even as she pulled her hand back. He was her employer, after all, and she was obliged to take his orders. Even if she wanted to gut him like a fish. Not for the first time, she promised herself she would do exactly that once he had opened the barrow treasure vault he claimed he knew how to access.
Though her submission wasn't entirely without response.
"If we're risking the headsman one way or the other, we might as well take whatever we damn well please." she groused, half to herself and half to him, as she started looking for their objective. An objective that was quickly found, mostly thanks to the fact that the daft bastards running the shop had apparently kept it directly under the counter, entirely unsecured. She would call it insane, but then again, these were the same people that put it out on top of the counter in plain view during business hours, so perhaps expecting more of them was a mistake. She plucked it off the rough-hewn wood, enjoying the wealthy weight it made in her hand, before looking over to where her 'boss' was looking through a small chest. "Aravel! I've found it, you elvish fuck. If we're not taking anything else, let's get out of here."
The dunmer looked up from the chest, his red eyes narrowing as he took in the golden claw glinting in the woman's grip. Three curved talons extending from a circular base, with intricate Nordic runes carved into its surface - exactly what they needed to unlock the ancient door deep within Bleak Falls Barrow. He had spent months tracking down rumors of its location, following whispers in taverns and bribing information brokers, all leading to this moment. The literal key to a future of wealth and privilege he had always desired and dreamed of.
"Perfect, well done, Soling." he breathed, closing the chest and moving toward her. "Now we can finally—"
The creak of floorboards from above cut him off mid-sentence. Both thieves froze, heads tilted upward as they listened to the soft footsteps moving across the ceiling.
"Shit, someone's awake." the Breton woman whispered, instinctively crouching lower as she slipped the claw into the long leather pouch strapped across the small of her back, drawing a pair of daggers as her hands came back up.
They listened carefully for a long moment, hearts pounding, as they waited to see if one of the Valerii would make their way down the stairs, but nothing more happened. It must have been one of the siblings simply getting a drink of water and returning to bed, or something of the sort. Perhaps they had even heard something and were now waiting to see if they heard something else, but neither Aravel nor Soling felt like waiting to see what the explanation was.
Moving as quietly as they could, they crept with painful sluggishness towards the front door and slipped out, the less-silent bulk of their Nord companion falling in at their heels as they cleared the porch…only for all three to come to an abrupt halt at the sigh of -and Soling couldn't help but notice this part, despite the situation- utterly breathtaking and well-endowed man, utterly naked, standing in the middle of the street and watching them, a bastard sword held easily in his right hand, his gold-bronze eyes merciless as he started them down.
"You never should have come here." he intoned, a grim smile creasing his lips as he raised his weapon and advanced.
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Alvor Ironhand, blacksmith of Riverwood and one of the people whose family had helped found the damn place -alongside that of Gerdur River-run, whose family had been reeves of this place since it's founding, just as his own had been the forge-masters- was one of the earliest risers in Riverwood. After all, it was no quick and simple thing to kindle a forge and then stoke it to enough of a heat to properly shape steel and iron. He was well used to greeting the sun, and today was no different, as he slipped out of the warm embrace of his beloved Sigrid (pressing a kiss to her brow as she frowned softly at the cold washing into her furs from his absence), got dressed, and made his way upstairs. Grabbing an apple and heading for the front door, he took a large bite of the fresh piece of fruit and crossed the threshold, scratching idly at his belly.
There was Gerdur, same as always, his old friend's only daughter as early a riser as he, and not for the first time he wished that she hadn't been forced to settle for Hod. The girl had deserved a better man in her bed than one that spent more time panting after other women without shame or restraint, and she certainly deserved better than a man who would stay in bed while she started the day. He opened his mouth to greet her, just as he had so many other mornings, only to realize that this morning is so very unlike their other early-morning encounters for one very simple and very clear reason.
There were three dead bodies, stripped to the skin the gods had given them, lying in the street in front of the Riverwood Trader next to a pile of what could only be their equipment.
"Oh, good morning Alvor." the reeve -and it was the reeve he spoke with at the moment, not his adopted niece, for all the casualness of her tone and words- of Riverwood greeted him with a smile from her place beside the pile of cold corpses that she had been inspecting. "It seems that we've been Nine-blessed with another beautiful day, no?"
"A Divines-blessed day indeed, and a good morning to you as well, Gerdur." he responded, regaining some equilibrium and descending the steps to stand beside her, joining her in looking down at the bodies as she returned her attention to them. "I take it someone foolish tried some stupidity with the Valerii?"
"So it would seem. I've only just found them myself, but from the looks of things they've been dead for at least a few hours. I don't suppose you heard any fighting last night?" she asked, and he shook his head firmly, well aware that he hadn't heard a damn thing. And judging from the almost satisfied nod of agreement that Gerdur made as a result, she hadn't either. "I didn't think so, you'd have roused me at the very least if you had. I suppose we'd better ask for the details, hadn't we?"
"No need to ask, I'll be happy to tell you all about it." A third voice chimed in, as the eldest of the Valerius siblings stepped out onto the wooden deck in front of his business, nodding in and voicing aloud a greeting to the pair of them, greetings that were warmly and genuinely returned.
Constantine Valerius was a good lad, always lending a hand around town when he wasn't helping his sisters run their shop, and was wickedly smart with a tongue to match.
He was also, as every woman in Riverwood could attest, blessed with the kind of looks -pretty and handsome at the same time, which really shouldn't be possible- that made even married women take a second glance when he walked by. Which made the fact that he remained unmarried at his age something of a mystery, though Alvor knew his sisters were as fiercely protective of his heart as he was of theirs, which certainly had to be a factor.
Not to mention the fact that Riverwood wasn't exactly drowning in eligible young maidens his own age.
"The three of them came in the night, a few hours before dawn." Constantine continued, his voice carrying the easy confidence of a man who had handled the situation with practiced efficiency and was simply reporting what he had seen. "A Dunmer, a Breton woman, and a Nord, as you can see. Araval, Soling, and Bjorn, apparently. Professional criminals, by the look of their equipment, though not quite as professional as they thought themselves to be."
Gerdur crouched beside the nearest body, examining the clean sword wounds with the eye of a woman who had, perhaps, seen a bit more violence than one might expect from living in a place like Riverwood. Then again, Gerdur hadn't stayed in Riverwood her whole life, had she, anymore than his nephew Hadvar and her brother Ralof had. "Not much in the way of marks outside of these fatal blows, and you don't seem to have a scratch on you." she remarked, looking up at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Remind me again what it was that you did before you moved up here to join your sisters?"
"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." he brushed off baldly, not even trying to be subtle or casual as he gave the same answer he had always given when anyone asked, hooking his thumbs on his belt in a bizzarely casual gesture. "Anyway, they were particularly interested in my golden claw. Araval wouldn't even let Soling steal anything else from the store, from the sound of things, which makes me think that they were only after the claw. Unfortunately," he pulled a leatherbound, and bloody, journal out from somewhere and waved it around slightly. "He got his blood all over his journal, so I can't read the whole thing. Just enough to know that he thinks the golden claw is the key to the treasure chamber up in Bleak Falls Barrow. Figure I'll take a stroll up to Helgen and ask for some extra hands to help me clear out whatever friends he left up there before they come looking for him or scatter."
Yes, Constantine was an interesting lad. Alvor didn't know anyone else who could be quite so casually ruthless about protecting what he considered as his nor talk about it quite so matter-of-factly. For that matter, most people -especially not from a neutral Hold like Whiterun- would be quite so confident and casual about the idea of 'strolling' across the Falkreath border, up a small mountain, and into an Imperial fort to ask for help dealing with some bandits.
"Well, I suppose asking for help is a good idea, and you might well get it. Probably a fairly boring posting up there in the Pass, could be they need a bit of excitement. Not a bad first fight for any fresh recruits they have on hand, either." Alvor agreed, stroking his beard thoughtfully, rather pleased with the idea. He might respect and obey his Jarl, and even agree that the Civil War did no one any good, but that didn't mean he wasn't loyal to the Ruby Throne despite Balgruuf's firm neutrality. Besides, he certainly would nay-say any sort of aid when it came to dealing with bandits bold enough to sneak about the town in the dead of the night!
Gerdur, on the other hand, was less than pleased, and her tone was quite frosty when she spoke. "Whiterun is neutral, gentlemen, and Helgen is across the border into Falkreath regardless. I'm not inclined to have a man of my settlement crossing the line and inviting foreign troops into my shire without the Jarl's permission. Our duty is to alert Balgruuf jarl in Whiterun itself and wait for troops."
"All of that is true, of course, and under most circumstances I would agree with you, at least in so far as getting the Jarl's permission first." Constantine agreed, calmly and politely alluding to the well-known fact that Gerdur's family supported the Stormcloaks rather more than they did the Empire. One of the few issues between her family and most others in the area, quite honestly. "However, the capital is nearly three days from here by horse, we don't have any. Nor do we have the force of arms required to clear bandits out of the Barrow ourselves, and we likewise can't ignore them. You know that as well as I do. If they are lurking up on the mountain and their guaranteed paycheck doesn't return, they could quite easily decide to come and find it for themselves. So the question you have to ask yourself is this: would you rather maintain our unblemished neutrality and court disaster, or would you prefer to take what help is readily available and let the Imperials have a small reputation boost for the sake of keeping our home safe?"
Gerdur's expression tightened as she weighed her options. Constantine had a point—bandits left unchecked rarely just disappeared without causing a bit of havoc, and Riverwood's safety was her primary responsibility and sworn duty. She ran her fingers through her blonde hair with a sigh.
"Fine...fine! But I want it made clear this is a one-time arrangement of convenience, not an invitation for Imperial patrols to start making regular appearances in our town or our Hold. And I'll be writing to the Jarl today to explain the situation in full detail."
Alvor nodded approvingly, relieved that he didn't have to mediate an argument. A particularly good thing, given his own support for the Empire was well-known, and a biased mediator wasn't the best thing to calm things down. "That seems a reasonable enough compromise."
Constantine bowed his head slightly in respectful agreement and submission to the decision of his reeve. "I'll make certain the Legion understands these are unique circumstances." His eyes drifted back to the bodies. "In the meantime, what shall we do with our unwelcome visitors?"
"We'll burn the bodies. Anything that was on them is yours, unless it's something that is clearly and verifiably someone else's, in which case I will send it to Whiterun with my letter and ask the Jarl to try and return them to the rightful owners." Gerdur responded, sounding dismissive, something both men understood. Respect to the dead was one thing, they would never disgrace or desecrate the bodies of the dead regardless of what they had been in life, but taking up precious soil to bury bandits killed in the act was not something any of them would consider worthwhile.
"Fair enough," Constantine said, gesturing to the piled weapons and coin purses that must have come from the corpses. "Though I doubt there's much of value here. Much of it seems decent enough for bandits, but it is decent enough for bandits. Alvor, what do you think about the equipment?"
Alvor crouched down to examine one of the daggers, testing its edge with his thumb. "Poorly quenched iron, worse smith-work. This wouldn't hold an edge through more than a fight or two, and wouldn't fare well against any properly maintained weapon or armor." He straightened, wiping his hands on his leather apron. "I'll grab a few of the lads, have them help me get the pyre ready behind the mill, then start up my forge to melt all of this down into something a bit more useable. That alright with you, Gerdur?
"I'd appreciate that, yes. I'll chase Hod out of bed and have him join you." Gerdur said with a nod, then turned her attention back to Constantine. "When were you planning to head up to Helgen?"
Constantine glanced at the sky, gauging the position of the morning sun, which was just barely above the curve of the world and starting it's long climb to the apex. "I'll leave within the hour. Should reach Helgen by midday if I keep a steady pace."
"Take a meal first, and something for the road." Alvor suggested, well aware that it was quite the walk and climb even for a fit younger man like Constantine. "Sigrid always makes more porridge than needed, and you'll want your strength."
The mystery-cum-shopkeeper smiled gratefully. "I won't say no to that. Let me just inform my sisters about what happened and where I'm going."
As if summoned by the mention, Camilla Valerius appeared in the doorway behind her brother, her eyes widening at the sight of the naked bodies in the street.
"By the Nine!" she gasped. "Constantine, what in Oblivion happened?"
"Nothing to worry about, sweet sister, just a few trouble-making sorts that tried to steal from us last night. I'm afraid they didn't want to come quietly." he responded soothingly, turning towards her with a smile. "I'll be heading up to Helgen to recruit a strong hand or three to help clear the rest of their friends out. And before you ask, little sister, you will not be joining me."
"Oh I won't be, will I?" Camilla intoned, arching an eyebrow and posting her hands on her hips, an edge of danger in her voice that had Gerdur grinning and Alvor smothering a smile and wondering how the lad would escape his sister's ire this time.
"No, you won't. The last thing I'm interested in is having some group of fresh-off-the-farm recruits panting after my baby sister. It would be a problem for me if I had to start hiding the bodies. Not to mention the fact that they'll be as useful as tits on a fish if they're too busy staring at your ass to actually do any fighting." he confirmed, not seeming the least bit discomfited by the threat of Camilla's displeasure, and the two listening neighbors couldn't fully restrain their snorts of mingled bemusement and amusement at both his words and Camilla's reaction to them, which consisted of a scowl and a rosy blush. "So, you'll be staying here with Lucia, running the shop and practicing your sword forms. One of these days, you'll be ready for an adventure, but you're not there yet."
The growl and huff she gave in response was more cute than it was threatening, and the trio watched as she turned on her heel and flounced back inside with her nose in the air, the noise of her complaining to the third Valerius sibling carrying quite easily through the still-open door to their ears.
Constantine rolled his eyes fondly at his sister's retreat before turning back to Alvor and Gerdur, who weren't even bothering to restrain their amusement at the sight now that the girl was inside. "She'll cool off by the time I return. Always does. The side benefit of being her beloved older brother, I suppose."
"You're a good brother, Constantine." Gerdur observed with a knowing smile, Alvor nodding in agreement beside her. "Though one day you might have to accept she's a grown woman."
"That day isn't today. She hasn't managed to disarm me in a spar yet, and until she does she isn't setting a foot outside of this town to cross blades with anyone else" Constantine replied firmly, which the pair thought was a bit unfair, though both had to agree that being able to beat him would well-prepare her for the average Skyrim foe, before turning his attention to the bodies. "I should help move these before the whole town wakes to the sight."
"Aye, lad, you've the right of it." Alvor agreed. "Let's get them shifted before the children start running about."
The three of them set to work, Constantine and Alvor each taking a corpse while Gerdur gathered the remaining weapons and armor on Alvor's forge-deck. The last was moved even more swiftly, the two men hauling it between them, and by the time the rest of the town waked the pyre -laden with seasoned logs and soaking by oil- was already in full flame. Not the most pleasant smell, but not a new one, and it was better than seeing the corpses as they had been.
"Alright, I think it's time for me to head out. Bit of a hike ahead of me, and I would rather deal with this quickly. I'll see the two of you in a few hours, I imagine, when we pass through to reach the Barrow itself." Constantine finally said three-quarters of an hour later, putting aside his now-empty bowl and stuffing a few pieces of fruit into a waist pouch. Alvor couldn't help but eye him speculatively, Gerdur doing the same, as each took note of how easily he moved despite the weight of the full-plate armor he was wearing and the bastard sword on his hip. It was the first time they had seen him wearing so much equipment, and Alvor couldn't help but feel…not suspicious, but at least curious about the experience behind his ease of movement. "Try to keep Faendal and Sven from getting too bold in my absence, I would hate to have to remind them to behave themselves around the girls."
"Small chance of that, lad." Alvor muttered to himself as the young man strode away towards the Falkreath border, fully aware that the two named young men weren't foolish enough to risk breaking Constantine's rules when it came to trying to capture Camilla's heart. No one had been particularly impressed when the two had mutually vowed to defeat the other and 'win' Camilla's affections and 'leave Lucia to the other', and Constantine certainly hadn't appreciated one of his sisters being treated as a prize to win and the other as settling for second best. Frankly, Alvor was impressed that he hadn't outright forbidden the pair from their pursuit on the spot, but perhaps Constantine knew something he didn't.
"He's hiding something, you know." Gerdur remarked from beside him, sounding remarkably casual for such a statement and suspicion. She looked over at him, quirking an eyebrow in an expression remarkably similar to the one Camilla had worn, which only made sense really. "And I don't just mean the bandits and the Barrow. I've never met a shopkeeper that can use a sword like he does. Never met one who can wear heavy armor like that either, other than Ulfberth War-Bear anyway, and that's hardly a fair comparison."
"I don't know, that might be rather on the mark, actually." Alvor mused, thinking of the bulky, burly man who sold the products his Imperial wife forged, down in Whiterun itself. "He's a retired soldier, isn't he? Fought in the Great War?"
"…yesssss." Gerdur responded slowly, turning her eyes back to Constantine's almost-vanished form with a narrowing gaze of speculation. She nodded ponderously, thoughtfully. "Yes, that's true. But if Constantine is a retired Legionnaire, why not simply say it? He'd hardly be the only one, even just here in Riverwood, and Divines know there are plenty spread across the Hold."
"I don't know, but I would wager we don't want to know. Boy has eyes like that, can fight like that, and can move like that? And he moves his sisters out of Cyrodil to a tiny village in the mountains in Skyrim? There's likely a reason behind it, and those sorts of reasons rarely are a good thing to force into the light. Best to leave it for now, lass." Alvor shrugged, pushing himself to his own feet and heading for his forge for a very belated start to his workday. "For now, focus on that letter of yours for Balgruuf jarl. You never know when the next courier will pass through the town. Best to have it ready when they arrive."
Gerdur watched Alvor disappear into his work, the rhythmic clanging of hammer on anvil soon echoing across the morning air. She stood there for a long moment, arms crossed, staring down the road Constantine had taken toward Helgen. The blacksmith's words carried wisdom —some secrets were better left buried, especially in this day and age— but that didn't make her curiosity any less sharp.
A retired Legionnaire wouldn't flinch at asking Imperial soldiers for aid. A retired Legionnaire would know how to move in full plate without making a sound. A retired Legionnaire would have the kind of cold efficiency and skill she'd witnessed in those clean sword strokes that had ended three lives without so much as a scratch in return.
But a retired Legionnaire would also have no reason to hide his service. Not in Whiterun Hold, where Imperial veterans were common enough and generally respected regardless of one's feelings about the current political situation. A retired Legionnaire probably wouldn't have been able to kill three enemies, even bandits, without making enough noise to wake the town.
No, Constantine wasn't 'just' a retired Legionnaire, and as much as Gerdur knew that made whatever secrets he held even more dangerous to unravel…she also knew that her curiosity was sure to get the best of her eventually.
With a sigh, Gerdur turned and headed back toward her home. She had a letter to write, and a husband to rouse from his bed. And perhaps, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she could allow herself to wonder just what kind of man Constantine Valerius truly was.
Comments
HistoricalHijinks
I mean, do it? I don't think I've uninstalled it once since it released on Steam lol. And it's modded out the ass, ofc.
HistoricalHijinks
That's the nice thing about the word 'hero'. It's so very /flexible/.
Avidyetboredreader
Looks like you are just trying to get us to replay Skyrim again… 🤣
Codeninja676 (Brian)
Welp looking forward to whatever kind of hero our boy Constantine is, im liking what I've seen so far.
