The Bound - A Tale Of Tamriel

3

3

i. William of Anvil.

This was a mistake.

William had made his opinions quite clear on the matter and Jarl Borgun had dismissed them all. While he had the Jarl's confidence, his respect and his friendship, there was only so far that he could push before the Jarl would explode. He was a Nord, after all, and William's cheek and Imperial impudence would be tolerated only so far.

As it was, what the Jarl was proposing was tantamount to slavery and, despite the long list of societies that practiced it, William could not abide it. It was a familial dislike going back generations, to a time when William's ancestors had been enslaved themselves. He hated slavery and could not tolerate the idea of man or mer being 'owned'. It was a vulgar prospect.

The Jarl, however, had made his thoughts clear. It wasn't slavery, really. The situation was both different and dire. The life of an innocent was at stake.

All very good excuses, but it still left a bitter taste in William's mouth.

This was, perhaps, the first time he had ever had a true disagreement with the Jarl. Their relationship had been a long and turbulent one. Borgun had taken William as his steward not only because of his friendship and intelligence, but also because William had always been honest with him. Right from the beginning and Borgun's less than wholesome youth.

William had been a clerk in Anvil's bank and had been tasked to take certain private and important documents to the bank's counterpart in Kvatch. A relatively simple task that would have taken no longer than a day to accomplish. Were it not for a bunch of near incompetent bandits, he would have been home and drinking ale before sunset.

Captured. His document bag thoroughly rummaged through and emptied. And then interrogated by a beast of a man who thought a clerk, travelling alone, would be carrying gold or something else valuable. William had thought his days were numbered, made plain by the discussions the bandits were making about whether it was more simple to kill him and have done with it.

Except for one man. A big Nord, smarter than the others, argued the case for ransom. When William couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut, telling them they had little chance of getting a ransom for a mere clerk, it was the big Nord that had laughed. The others didn't find it funny.

Weapons were drawn. Threats to kill had become actions and the big Nord intervened. He hadn't signed on for murder, he had said. In the following skirmish, William saw, for the first time in his life, blood spilled in anger. In defence of him, someone the big Nord didn't know.

In the aftermath, the Nord had released William and promised to see him safe back to Anvil, if William kept his involvement between themselves. William had readily agreed. Who could have known that this would be the start of a 30 year friendship? Or that a bandit would one day become a respected Jarl?

William shook his head. Reminiscences were of no help in this situation. The prisoners were on their way from the cells and Dirgan Oakenheart, the Jarl's court mage, would be finishing his preparations. It was time to swallow his pride and perform his duty.

Even if it did stick in his throat.

ii. Jarl Borgun.

Borgun watched as the guards filed the prisoners into the main hall. The golden manacles and chains had been attached to them, binding them all together. They were a disparate group of people, that was certain. Varied races. Varied heights and builds. Varied personalities. Some seemed more experienced in life's darker matters than others, he could tell from the way they held themselves. Borgun was a very shrewd man even if his Nord upbringing would cause him to act, sometimes, before thinking.