Frozen Bones: Chapter One

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim is an incredibly expansive game. The world that Bethesda crafted is chock full of content, and anything can happen at any time. This open-ended nature allows every player to feel as though they truly own their character’s story. What follows is but a snapshot of the journey of Sigrid Erikkson, warrior of the Nords, as she faces an unexpected terror in the darkest corners of her homeland.

‘I think I’m going to turn in for the night,’ I called down to Lydia as she sat guard next to the fire.

‘Yes, my Thane,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure rest will be a welcome respite after a battle like that. Sleep well.’

As I lay down in my bedroom, I thought about my comrade downstairs. In the months I had known Lydia, she had always been a bit of a mystery to me, but I had never felt less sure of what she was thinking than at this exact moment. I had just purchased a house here in Whiterun, mere hours after the battle for the city had ended. It was a battle that I had coerced Lydia into joining; a battle to overthrow the Jarl of Whiterun. What must she think of me? Joining me in the fray and turning her sword on her fellow clansmen must have tested the very limits of her loyalty as a housecarl. We both had played a crucial role in the sacking of Whiterun, and I didn’t even know if I should consider apologising for attacking her home, much less bring myself to beg for her forgiveness. I could face down a dozen men in battle, but when it came to mending wounds between comrades I hadn’t the courage to speak. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the Axe of Whiterun hanging above the bed. As my eyes fluttered and I began to drift off to sleep, I had one thought: tomorrow.

Tomorrow I would sit down with Lydia over breakfast, and we would discuss what had happened.

I awoke the following morning with a start and the feeling there was something very, very wrong. I looked around as my eyes adjusted to the flickering light of the fireplace in front of me. The walls were covered in a thick layer of grime that looked suspiciously like blood. Any remnants of sleep left me as I jumped to my feet, realizing I was no longer in my home. A figure sat atop the bookshelf in front of me, its cowl drawn, shrouded in the shadows thrown by the crackling fire. All that was visible were harsh, piercing eyes as the stranger stared at me with almost manic joy—a look I had seen far too much of in the sellswords and cutthroats I had encountered on my journeys. We stayed there for a moment, looking at each other, until the figure broke the silence.

‘Sleep well?’ the shadow said, in a voice far softer than I expected. ‘Well, it hardly matters, doesn’t it? You’re warm, dry…and still very much alive. That’s more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?’

The moment the odd figure—who I had now identified as a woman—mentioned that old crone, I knew exactly what had happened to me. It was that damn Aretino boy who had hired me to kill the vile old woman who ran the orphanage in Riften. I took on that job as a kindness, but afterwards I had received a foreboding note by courier containing only an image of a black hand and the words We know. What had the boy said when I met him? That he was trying to summon an order of assassins to kill the old woman for him? I had heard stories of the Dark Brotherhood, but I had thought they were nothing more than that: stories.

So I steeled myself and attempted to mask my unease by smirking and saying, ‘So, you know about that, eh?’

‘Half of Skyrim knows,’ she scoffed. ‘Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around. Oh, but don’t misunderstand. I’m not criticising.’ She shook her head. ‘It was a good kill. The old crone had it coming, and you saved a group of urchins to boot.’

I relaxed a bit when I heard her unexpected praise, but didn’t let my guard down. Why would this woman steal me away from my home, only to pay me compliments? I stood in silence, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

‘Ah, but there is a slight… problem,’ she continued, ‘You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay.’

Bracing myself for a fight, I frowned and asked the question I knew she would be expecting. ‘A kill is a kill, not exactly something I can take back. Just how would I go about repaying you?’

‘Well now,’ I could see her smile underneath her hood. ‘Funny you should ask. If you turn around you’ll notice my guests.’

At her mention of others in the room, the bottom of my stomach dropped out. Lydia. Why couldn’t Lydia prevent the Brotherhood from taking me? Where was she? Would I turn around, only to find her or any number of the other kind souls I had met on my travels behind me? I didn’t dare move. I didn’t trust my limbs to hide how shaken I was by this turn of events. Instead, I returned the Dark Brotherhood agent’s steely gaze as she continued, unfazed by my glare.

‘I’ve “collected” them from…well, that’s not really important.’ Her glee was now easily visible. ‘The here and now, that’s what matters. You see, there’s a contract out on one of them, and that person can’t leave this room alive. But… which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill. I just want to observe…and admire.’

After a moment, I decided that there was no good way out of this. The woman had me at a disadvantage, and I didn’t dare attack her without the knowledge of who else was in the room with me. The chances of them getting injured or killed in the fray were too great.

Slowly, I turned…

This short story was originally published on October 13, 2013 on Blue Sun. It's been reposted here on my Giant Bomb page for posterity.