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Skyrim, Arga's Story Chapter 5: Companion in the Barrow By Draconicon

"How...did this seem...like a good idea?"

Arga panted for breath, staring up at the gray clouds above him as his attacker wheezed for breath. Turning his head, the Argonian watched the wolf's flanks rise and fall, each one a little bit slower than the last. Some blood pumped out of the sword wound along the side, but most of the damage was from the burn marks on its face.

He turned away again, fighting his rolling stomach. Nobody ever thinks about the bodies after a fight, but it was a horrible sight. He was just lucky that he'd managed to avoid getting hurt in return, as the wolf had jumped out of nowhere and tried to take him down. Skyrim was wilder than most people gave it credit for being.

It didn't take long for the wheezing to trail away. When the wolf was completely silent, Arga pulled himself to his feet, his boots crunching in the snow. Several deep breaths calmed him down, though the smell of burnt fur almost made him throw up.

Pushing the dead wolf out of his thoughts, he looked up the mountainside. He could just make out the great stone structures that were the high points of the barrow, and before it, the large stone watchtower that had probably taken care of a number of bandits in its time. Now, he imagined that it was a stronghold of theirs.

"Should have done this at night...My scales are going to stand out like dye on wool."

Black and red scales were never good for daylight sneaking, but hopefully the leather armor Camilla had loaned him - at great annoyance to her brother - would help protect him if things went wrong.

Keeping low, he snuck his way up the side of the mountain, keeping to the edge of the path for as long as it was visible. Soon enough, it was buried under the upcoming blizzard, the snowfall getting harder and harder with each passing minute, and he started to get very thankful for the various bits of cloth pinned to the rocks. Waypoints or not, they at least were visible and told him that he was going in the right direction.

As he ran from rock to rock, he realized that he was going to have to pass right by the watchtower in order to get to the barrow. The Argonian paused behind one of the larger boulders, peeking around it at the structure. It looked empty, dead, but he knew that could be a ruse. With the wide-open ground between him and the barrow, it could be an easy trap...

Better check it...

He put one hand on his sword - not a gift, but taken from a bandit during the mad flight from Helgen - and ducked his head. The blade rattled slightly in its sheath, but his grip kept it from being too loud. In his other hand...Arga fought the urge to summon fire in his palm. No matter how much he wanted the security of his magic, he didn't need to give himself away just yet.

Reaching the tower door with no trouble, he ducked inside. A locked chest was at the far end of the room, and a stairway led up.

He took the stairway, and as he rounded the top step, he froze. A dark elf slept in a bedroll not two paces away, and his own boot had nearly come down on top of the stranger's face. Arga held that position for a few seconds, then slowly pulled his foot back, letting his boot come down quietly.

The stranger was too well-armed to be a normal traveler. A knife, a sword, and a bow lay nearby, and Arga shuddered at how close he'd come to starting a fight.

The bandit stirred, and the Argonian's heart leaped into his throat. He squeezed down tighter on his blade, his other hand coming up...and the bandit rolled over in his sleep. Letting out a soft hiss of relief, Arga shook his head.

I should...

What, kill him? The elf hadn't even done anything to him yet, and it wasn't like he knew for sure that the man was a bandit. He could be a traveler, maybe, or a guard that wasn't supposed to give up his identity so that he could get close to the bandits and spy on them. Yes, it was unlikely, but Arga didn't want to kill someone that he didn't have to.

At the same time, he couldn't afford to leave someone this well-armed and dangerous behind him.

He glanced at the weapons, and smiled. There was another way.

When he left the tower, he wouldn't have been surprised to hear the sword and dagger clinking their way down the mountainside. It had been a very long drop from the top of the tower, and lacking a path - or much forestry in the way - those weapons would be falling for a long time.

The bow, on the other hand...

He adjusted it over his shoulder as he found the path again, making sure that it was comfortable as he walked along. While he didn't have much skill with a bow and arrow, Arga figured that it would be something he could learn. Failing that, it at least looked like something, and he had a chance of dealing with something at a distance now, rather than having to wait for them to get close enough for sword or fire.

The snow continued to fall as he walked, and the chill started settling into his scales. It didn't take long for his occasional shivers to turn constant, and for those to start rattling his armor up and down his body. Even the leather boots he wore seemed to get soaked with the snow, freezing his feet as he walked.

Now I know why so few of my kin call this place home...

Glancing upwards, he saw that the barrow spires were getting closer and closer. He was on the right track,and hopefully there were some enclosed spaces inside, where he might get a little bit of rest.

He rounded the corner, looking for the next flag -

THWIP!

And threw himself to the ground as an arrow whistled past his snout. The snow started falling over him almost immediately, and he helped it by rolling into a nearby snow bank. It collapsed over him, the hard snow fall finally doing something useful as it started hiding his dark scales.

He stared straight ahead at the arrow embedded in the snow, shaking his head. It had come too close; maybe an inch or two closer, and the tip of his snout would have been clipped away. Further than that, and his jaws would have been stuck together. Or worse.

"What're you shooting at?"

"I saw something out there. Something dark."

"Let me see..."

Praying that the snow had fallen hard enough to shield him, Arga took his eyes off of the arrow and looked higher up the path. About a hundred feet away, the snowy ground gave way to black stone steps, dozens of them. At the top, he saw several men in fur armor, each one with a bow, and two of them looking out in his direction. One was pointing vaguely at his position, while the other shielded his eyes and looked from side to side.

"It's nothing! Stop wasting your arrows. We'll be up here until Arvel figures out where the Claw goes, so don't go shooting at shadows."

The fact that they were yelling was the only reason he could hear them, considering the wind and the distance. Arga sighed in relief as the other archer stepped away, and then sighed again as the first finally followed his example.

Still, he didn't just pull himself out of the snow bank. It was too dangerous just yet; even with that warning, that first archer would be on guard, and the nearest rock pile was a good twenty feet forward. Then it would be open ground between him and the barrow, and he didn't trust his speed to carry him that far, that fast.

He reached back for the bow, assuring himself that it was there, and took a deep breath. Shivered again, from the cold, and then took another deep breath.

Okay...it's time to see how good a shot I am...in a few minutes.

Waiting until all the guards seemed to be on the other side of the barrow, Arga darted from his snow bank to the next rock pile. He stopped there, his body trembling with the cold, and he knew that he didn't have much choice. Flinging his hands towards the ground, he unleashed a stream of fire. The snow melted down to the earth, and that hardened beneath his magic, burning into a hardened claw. He turned some of the fire towards the rocks, heating them as well, until the air finally felt like it wasn't trying to freeze him into an icicle.

Here's hoping they didn't hear that.

When no rain of arrows came, Arga leaned back against the rocks. The heat seeped through the leather, and slowly his shivering came to an end. He turned, resting his stomach and chest against it, taking in all the heat he could.

Have to be quick, have to be sure. Any sort of shivering would throw off his aim, and he knew that he wouldn't have a chance to make more than a couple of shots before they knew where he was. And they would be better shots than he was; that much he was sure of.

Feeling that it was time, Arga leaned around the edge of the rock pile, bow in hand and an arrow ready. The different guards were spread out along the nearest side of the barrow, so if he was lucky...

He nocked the arrow and pulled it back, sighting along the shaft. He could already feel his arm bunching up, the cold seeping back in. Lining up the arrow with the furthest bandit he could see - and hoping it was the one that had shot at him the first time - he let loose and ducked back behind the rock.

No sound, no clatter of an arrow falling. Arga hoped that he'd hit, but he'd have to keep moving without taking the time to check. He pulled another arrow out, and moved to the other side of the pile. Repeating the process, nocking, pulling, sighting, releasing, and hiding, Arga started moving back and forth, shooting at whatever he saw that moved.

It didn't take long for them to notice.

"He's dead!"

"Over there!"

The next time he pulled his head over the edge, he made a quick count. Of the four archers that he'd seen, two of them were flat on their faces on the barrow, and the other was nursing an arrow in their shoulder. That left one that could still shoot, but where were they?

A movement by one of the barrow spires was all the warning he had. Arga ducked down again, and this time, it wasn't a normal arrow that almost hit him. The shaft shimmered as it hit the ground, filled with a ghostly energy that faded almost as soon as he looked at it. The Argonian cursed.

"Summoned weapons? Someone knows what they're doing..."

Shaking his head, he almost missed the rasp of a sword coming free, but not quite. Arga turned his head upwards, only to see a massive Nord with a two handed sword standing above him. Throwing himself to the side, he heard the sword come down where he'd been crouched, hitting the stone with a loud clang.

The Nord wasn't slowing down, either. Even as Arga pulled himself to his feet, the bandit was on him, swinging away. The arrow in his shoulder hadn't slowed him down in the slightest, and he seemed almost like an orc in his berserker fury. Up and down, up and down that sword chopped, always coming too close for comfort, and driving him further and further away from the cover of the rocks.

Not good, not good, not good. It felt like he was getting a target painted on his back the longer that he was out in the open, and he was just waiting for the next summoned arrow to slam into his back. If it wasn't the archer that got him, it would be this fighter. If he could just deal with one of them so that he was free to work with the other...

His boot sank into another big snow pile, and he tripped. It was, perhaps, luck that made that happen, as he avoided a slice of the sword and an arrow at the same time, landing deep in the snow.

Snow...steam!

Knowing it would hurt but also knowing he didn't have time to care, Arga thrust his hands out towards the huge snow pile. Throwing all his magic into the fire spell, he hit it with twice the level of heat that he'd used on the rocks, and the snow burst into steam around him. He screamed from the heat, but the concealing cloud was everything that he'd hoped for. The Nord disappeared from sight, and he doubted that the archer could see him from above.

He didn't waste any time. There was no point showing mercy; this Nord was ready to kill him if he gave him the slightest opening, and he didn't intend to give him that chance. Arga pulled his sword free and rushed forward in a crouch, cutting for the knees.

The soft crunch of metal into flesh told him he'd succeeded.

Running past the screaming northman, he leaped up the stairs three at a time, knowing that the bleeding human wouldn't distract the archer for long. Faster, faster, faster, he ran, pushing for the top of the barrow and the cover it offered.

As soon as he set one foot down on the black stone top, he heard the groan of a bowstring. He turned -

TWHIP!

And another arrow shot through the air where his face should have been, had he not come to a halt. He stared at the ghostly passage of the arrow, and turned back to the source.

A Khajiit stood between him and a door, a Khajiit that had a glowing blue bow and a quiver of similar arrows at his back. Arga shook his head, trying to remember what he knew about summoned weapons. Besides the fact that they were powerful, they were also only temporary. If he could avoid the feline for the time it took for it to fade...

"Who are you?"

The bandit looked surprised that he was asking. Arga shrugged; anything to keep the time moving.

"I know it doesn't really matter...after all, you're probably going to kill me...But you never know. What's your name?"

"...Dar'Zakar. What is your name?"

"Arga."

"That is..."

"Yes, I know."

Come on, come on...

"Perhaps you could, um, tell me what you're doing here?"

"I believe you should tell me. What is an Argonian who can't shoot doing up on a mountaintop where he has no business?"

"Business, I have. Camilla -"

He blinked. The name almost seemed to make the Khajiit flinch. Did his eyes deceive him, or was there a bandit here with a little bit of conscience.

"Camilla and her brother sent me up here, hoping that I could find that Golden Claw of theirs. And deal with Arvel."

"Arvel is a piece of dung, but he is the one that brought us all here. He promise...much."

"I doubt he'll be able to deliver on it. How long has he been trying? Days?"

"Weeks."

Longer than he expected. The same with that bow, for that matter; just how long was this supposed to last?

"Perhaps you and I can make a deal..."

"...I'm listening."

"You are...waiting for payment, I'd guess?"

Dar'Zakar nodded.

"Camilla and Lucan promised me a fair bit of coin if I deliver the claw back to them. If you will not kill me, I'll give you...30%."

"50%."

"I..."

Arga swallowed. He needed the coin, and badly, but at the same time, he really didn't want to die. And if that bow hadn't disappeared yet, he was starting to wonder if it really would. Perhaps he misremembered.

"50% if you help me. 30% if you just stay out of the way."

"50% it is, then."

The Khajiit lowered his bow, and as he did, it finally disappeared. Arga couldn't quite stifle his groan of frustration, seeing the timing.

Dar'Kazar waved his hand.

"Come. He is deep in the barrow."

"Yes, yes."

He fell in step behind the Khajiit, and finally asked one of the questions that had come to mind.

"You know, you don't talk like the other Khajiits I've met. Care to share your story?"

"Perhaps. It is a long walk, after all. You see..."

Dar'Kazar hadn't exaggerated. It was a very, very long walk through the barrow, past a number of other bandits who weren't so sympathetic to the idea of getting paid some money to actually turn on their employer, and through traps and puzzles and undead and so many other things that the Argonian didn't want to deal with. Every new obstacle presented him with another reason to get out of the mountain and head back, and cancel the contract.

If it hadn't been for his bandit companion, he would have. Even with the deal they made, he wasn't entirely sure he could trust the Khajiit, but he knew that if he broke faith first, then he would be the one to die.

They paused for a rest atop a stairway, several pale gray bodies in the hallway behind them. One of them was peppered with arrows, while the other one had been halfway burned to ash. Dar'Kazar leaned against the wall, taking a sip from a waterskin before wiping his muzzle.

"And that's why I speak in this fashion."

"A long story for that. But it definitely explains how you're so good at archery. Why are you a bandit, though?"

The feline shrugged.

"Too far to Riften, and there are no other places for people like me."

"You mean...thieves?"

"Pickpockets, re-distribution experts, and such things, yes."

"..."

"It is not a dangerous occupation, Arga. I wish only to survive. If there is no legal way to do it, then I turn to something that gives me money."

"I understand."

And he did, better than he wanted to. It wasn't entirely dissimilar to his refusal to go with Hadvar to the Imperial Legion in Solitude, despite the man himself not being entirely horrible. The Empire had done little for him, and had nearly gotten him killed. There was no love lost there, but he had sufficient skills to work within the Empire's laws, if only on the edge of them. Some, like Dar'Kazar, didn't have that option.

He stretched his arms above his head, working out some of the kinks and groaning at some of the bruises. Not all of their opponents had gone down so quickly; one of them, with a war-hammer, had gotten a glancing hit in, and it still hurt pretty badly.

Despite that, another curiosity had risen, and it was one that he felt he had to ask.

"What will you do after this? I mean...I know you're leaving Arvel behind here, hopefully in a shallow grave, but what are you going to do after that? Start robbing people again?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. If you really are paying me 50% -"

"I am."

"Then I will have the coins to survive for a while. When it runs out...I don't know. I'll have to figure it out then."

Arga hesitated for a moment. There was another option, and one that he could enjoy, based on the last hour. Dar'Kazar was a hardy individual, and he doubted that he could find another archer around that was as good. The Khajiit was a decent conversationalist, as well, which was a rarity. They both agreed on a number of things - outside of banditry - and it wasn't like talking to someone that was trying to make him change, or serve someone that didn't deserve his loyalty.

"Perhaps, after this...we could travel together."

"...To where?"

"Well, to Whiterun first. The people in Riverwood say that it's the biggest city around, and we could get supplies there to head...well, anywhere. Even Riften, eventually."

He saw the light go on in the Khajiit's eyes, and Arga shut himself up. Better not to push it now, but the seed was planted. Perhaps he would have a companion, after this, perhaps not, but at the very least, Dar'Kazar would have reason to think on it.

"I think I heard some shouting from down the stairs. Let's keep going."

"This must be a sick joke..."

Arga and Dar'Kazar stared through the metal grate into the next room, watching as a spider bigger than the both of them combined bounced up and down on a long thread of silk. It had to be something enhanced by magic, or created by some mad wizard in the past, because there was no way that spiders could get that big.

He glanced at the Khajiit, but Dar'Kazar was already looking past the spider, towards the far wall. Following his companion's look, he saw a fair bit of webs, but also...a body?

Yes, definitely a body, the body of a dark elf. And one that looked to be holding something rather shiny. It had to be Arvel, tied up and left as food for the spider. No wonder nobody had seen him in so long. There was no telling how long he'd been dead.

"I don't suppose that your contract was merely to kill Arvel?"

"No...we need the claw, too."

"I was afraid of that. Do you have a plan?"

"Well..."

There were possibilities. If there was only more web in there, they could draw the spider to it and then set it on fire. That would have been the easy way to handle it.

On the other hand...Arga pointed towards a piece of metal sticking out from under the webbing.

"There. Does that look like one of those trap doors we saw earlier?"

"Yes."

"Think we could drop the spider into that, if we get it on the ground?"

"You sever the cord, I'll find the switch?"

"That should work."

"On three?"

"I think so..."

"One...two...three!"

Arga ran through the door first, his hands already glowing with fire magic. The spider descended as soon as their boots touched the floor, eight eyes tracking the both of them as it seemed to be deciding who to attack first, who would be better to eat.

Neither of us, you monster.

Pressing his hands together, he directed the fire spell towards the center of the spider's silken cord. The fire burned up and down the length of it, but quickly severed the silk. The spider dropped, making a rattling, squeaking sound as it did, almost like it was screaming. The impact was almost enough to knock him off his feet.

Almost.

With all eight legs sprawled out, the spider was an easy target, and Arga pulled his sword free, slamming the blade through one and running along the side of the spider, all the way to the wall. What legs didn't get cut through were damaged, and the spider continued screaming in its way.

"Find that switch yet?"

"I'm looking."

"Could you look faster? This thing is mad!"

"I'm trying."

The fact that Dar'Kazar's voice was so calm was not exactly helpful. Arga panted as the spider pulled itself to its feet, and whipped around faster than he thought possible. Fangs half as long as his sword dripped venom onto the floor, and it pulled itself back. At first, he thought it was afraid, but then he saw the tell-tale bending around its legs.

"Oh...no..."

It charged at him, and he had no choice. He charged back, running as fast as he could. He leaped off of an egg-sack ahead of him, using the boost to get onto the spider's back. Too off-balance to attempt another attack, he rolled off of its fat end, sprawling out on the metal grate.

Gotta move, gotta move, gotta move.

He rolled to the side, just as the spider turned around. He kept rolling and rolling, moving off of the grate.

"Any time now!"

"There it is. I don't know why I didn't -"

"FLIP IT!"

An arrow shot across his field of vision, and he heard the clinking of gears as the spider charged him again. It was almost upon him with the grate opened, the trapdoor falling down and taking the beast with it. The spider shrieked the whole way down, leaving Arga panting for breath, and giving silent prayers of thanks for his life.

"Cutting it a bit close, don't you think?"

"It was disguised behind some webbing. I apologize for missing it."

"Yeah, well...Thanks. Now -"

"There is another problem."

"And what's that?"

"I'm stuck."

Blinking, the Argonian turned his head. Met with the sight of the Khajiit halfway wrapped up in webbing, with one arm stuck to the wall and his bow in the other - bearing teeth marks around the string - he couldn't help it. He sputtered with laughter, flopping back onto the ground.

"How...how in the world did you manage that?"

"I...am honestly not sure."

"What, did you trip through the webbing? Did you start looking around for loot in the middle of the fight, and trip a trap? What? What happened?"

"I..."

The Khajiit blushed, the first sign of anything but confidence and curiosity that Arga had actually seen. Still chuckling, he pulled himself back to his feet, walking over to his companion. A quick examination confirmed that the archer was very, very stuck. The only part of his body that was free was his arm, and even that was a bit limited in what it could do. It made the trick-shot to flip the switch all the more impressive.

As he looked over the feline, though, Arga couldn't help but feel a different sort of admiration. Maybe it was the fact that Dar'Kazar has saved his life, maybe it was the fact that he'd been running and among people that he hated for the last few days, but he felt...something else.

He kept running his eyes up and down the bound Khajiit, admiring the way that the webbing and the fur armor showed so much of him. A tight, muscled stomach, arms that were lean, but hard, legs that looked flexible but with so much staying power...

"Arga...could you, perhaps, help me out of here?"

Now it was his turn to blush. Shaking his head - but not entirely clearing it - Arga started to reach for his knife. As he closed his hand around the grip, though, he saw something else.

Something twitching...throbbing...even growing. Something in the Khajiit's pants.

"Perhaps..."

He swallowed.

"Perhaps we should...negotiate the terms of payment, again. Heh..."

"What...what are you talking about?"

"Now that I have you here..."

The knife. Use the knife. He cut an opening through the webbing over the Khajiit's crotch, only barely remembering it so he didn't get stuck as well. A little more fiddling around, and he found enough of a gap to pull the armor out of the way. A hefty sheath hung between Dar'Kazar's legs, enough to make the Argonian lick his lips.

"I think the terms...could be better. What do you say, Dar'Kazar? 30% of the profits...and a little bit of fun with this?"

"Arga..."

He heard the shakiness in the Khajiit's voice. Maybe there had been some mutual admiration going on? Perhaps there'd been a few looks stolen when they'd been fighting, where he couldn't see it.

Either way, he smiled as the feline's sheath started filling, getting thicker before pushing the tip free. Arga let it grow into his hands, and slowly stroked it, drawing a few soft moans from his companion. He smiled, pulling his hand up and down, up and down, using the bit of sheath fluid and the droplets of pre coming from the tip as lube.

"Looks like this little kitty likes being tied up."

"I swear...I didn't - AH!"

Oral interruptions always worked, as Arga proved with a swipe of his tongue. His own cock was growing in his pants, pressing against the leather, but he resisted the urge to grab it. There wasn't much time; as much as he wanted to do more, he knew that this would have to wait.

But that didn't mean he couldn't get a new deal.

"What do you say, Dar'Kazar? 30% of the profits...and a chance with me after we finish this?"

"Mmmph...with what parts...of you?"

"Any part. Mouth, hands, feet...rump."

I sound like a prostitute... But perhaps that was why he was getting as turned on as he was. There was a part of him that wanted to make it good for the Khajiit, that wanted to bend over and give him something fun. He hadn't had the urge with Hadvar, with anyone that he had seen since Darkwater Crossing. Mostly because he had ended up hating - or at least disliking - everyone since.

But Dar'Kazar...he seemed special.

He sucked along the tip of the feline's cock again, tasting the saltiness that gathered there before pulling his head back.

"Deal?"

"Ha....Yes...Deal."

He stood up, tucking the feline's cock away - as much as the armor would let him - before cutting through the webbing. It didn't take long, and soon his friend was free. One fuzzy hand grabbed him by the ass, but he chuckled, shaking it free.

"After we're safe. There's no way that we are, here."

"Fine. But not more than an hour later."

"I'll pay for the room at the inn."

"You'd best."

Nodding, Arga walked over to the corpse of Arvel the Swift. He'd hoped to do something to the elf, make him pay for what he and the others had done to Camilla when she'd tried for the claw, but it was too late. Or perhaps it was only right; he couldn't imagine doing anything that would match this for humiliation and horror.

He pulled the claw free from the elf's grip, and then nodded back the way they'd come.

"Let's go back to Riverwood."

The End