[h3]A collab between the most rad buddy cops this side of Liberty City, Constable Derps and Detective Ladyslacks (
[@Leidenschaft])[/h3]

[I][B]Later that evening...[/B][/I]

With the same urgency of the falling sun, the festival died down. Vendors closed shop, festival-goers retired to their homes or to the inn, the young men left the competition grounds as they slapped each others' backs or parted with glares. Like the stars coalescing in the sky, lanterns were lit and campfires went up. All was quiet for the night. Somewhere, an owl hooted, the wind rustled the branches in the trees and clouds drifted like ships around the moons in that sea of stars and void. Solveig had retired to Jorwen's tent with her mother, leaving him and Do'Karth alone at the fire. In a comfortable silence, the two stared at the flames.
 
It was the quiet moments like these that let memories come back to Jorwen, some like paramours, others like the plague. He was in the Great Forest in Cyrodiil at a different fire with different people one moment, then on the march in the Reach with Thrice-Pierced an eternity ago. He was clasping forearms with White-Eye before the Siege of Solitude when he took another drink of his mead and those pictures in his mind dissipated like a stone in a reflection in the water. He sighed, remembering his clash with Ashav, remembering Windhelm, remembering a dozen other resting places his friends lay.
 
He finally broke the silence, pushing that uncomfortable string of words into the cold, smoking on his breath, "I'm tired, Do'Karth."
 
The khajiit didn't immediately reply, eyes transfixed on the dancing and comforting flames that warmed him and his companion. "This one assumes it is not from over exertion. You have seem troubled today, friend. This one could not figure out why." 
 
Jorwen looked into his cup and sloshed the last of his mead around the walls of it, not knowing quite how to form the words around what he felt. They would need to be said. Do'Karth was the closest thing he had to an old friend these days, besides Cleftjaw. "I argued with Ashav." He said, "I'm not long for this work." Jorwen tried to make it seem like he was leaving because of his differences with the old Redguard.
 
He tried to make it seem like he wasn't noticing every day how far he drifted from what folk knew the Red-Bear as, for good and bad. Like he wasn't noticing every day how long the list of friends he'd buried was getting. How the weight of his name was starting to make his legs shake. "Do you ever wish you could just disappear? Wake up and find that your mistakes were all a dream?"
 
"It is easier to disappear when one has no one. This one did such a thing, he found a way to start over and find peace with himself. We all make mistakes, Jorwen, but it is how we move on from them that matters most." Do'Karth replied, stretching out his bad leg, which was tense from the long march and the day's festivities. It was simply a reminder of mortality that never came to pass. "But you feel Ashav will discard you?"
 
"If he did..." he might be lost, he might be useless, "I may welcome it. I've been a warrior since I was only fourteen summers. I've been fighting my whole life, I've buried a lot of friends and the ones I haven't I make my enemies sooner or later. I'm tired, Do'Karth, tired of wandering the field after the killing's done and finding familiar faces with lifeless eyes." He stretched out a hand and made a fist of it, knuckles popping, "I was a tailor. I tried going back to it, but no one would let me. It's been so long."
 
He swallowed, bringing his cup to his lips and then letting it fall back down without taking a drink of it. He didn't know how to farm, he wasn't a carpenter, he couldn't remember half the techniques of tailoring his father taught him, he couldn't smith anything, much less a sword. He only knew how to swing one. And that was all.
 
"It would seem you have found a way to complicate your reunion with your family." Do'Karth observed. "You have lost your home, but regained the company of Solveig. You cannot return to Windhelm because of the Kamals, but you still need to find a way to support those you love. It pains Do'Karth to say, because he believes in his heart that what you say is from your own, but this war will not let you go so easily. Do'Karth did not wish to be caught up in an invasion, or freezing to death along the sea of ghosts while hunted down by beasts that defy description, but it is what has come to pass and the only people he cares about are here in this town, in this company. And yet, here he sits." He said, stirring the flames with a poker, continuing when the embers reignited with new fuel.
 
"It has been against everything this one has strived for, and has brought everything he wanted to leave behind... the fighting, the violence, the death. All Do'Karth wished to do was wander Tamriel until he found peace. Instead, war found him, and one does not escape the jaws of such a beast willingly." the khajiit said, resuming to work the kinks out of his leg. "The way Do'Karth sees it, Ashav cannot afford to lose you, or anyone. This one has seen those left behind and lost along the way, and how it consumes everyone. A sensible leader would try to keep all he can with him in such times."
 
Jorwen let out a tired, bitter breath of a chuckle, "Wherever you go, there you are." His eyes stayed on the flames as he spoke, "I want to leave the Company, Do'Karth. I'm getting too old to lead this life. I'm not the man I used to be, I'm not the Red-Bear anymore, no matter what anyone tells you. But I can't plough dirt, I don't know how to craft a table or build a house. Violence is all I've known."
 
He bit his lip, wondering whether to go on and if he did, wondering if he could do it without his voice turning into a quaking, blubbering mess, "I was never a good father to Solveig. There's a reason for her apprehension, Do'Karth. My wife tries, she does, but for every drop of love, I had to grovel to keep between us." His breath caught in his throat and he coughed into a fist, "I wasn't even there for her birth. I came back from the Great War before I met Halla and I was branded a criminal because I held Talos closer to me than some parchment the Emperor signed with the Thalmor. I was angry, and like all angry young men, I spread it amongst others."
 
"I found a sort of peace in Halla, but peace wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't what..." What he'd grown to crave, "Ulfric gathered men from all the corners of Skyrim to march with him to the Reach. I followed him, because I had more surety in life with a sword in my hand than a sewing needle. What I did in the Reach..." 
 
Jorwen cringed at the memories of it, "Men cheered me on, they sang of me like a hero, they eyed me with respect and fear at the fires." He took another drink from his cup, "But a man can't live his whole life like that. Now I'm old and Solveig's grown. An old horse can't jump new fences, Do'Karth. I'm a warrior and there's only one fate for me if I don't leave." 
 
The khajiit listened in solemn reflection. He knew all too well the turmoil that consumed his friend. "You'll always be the Red-Bear, as you Nords are so fond of those earned names, but it doesn't always have to mean what you think it does. Just because your name was earned through your skill with a blade does not mean that is all that defines you; the fact you want something better for yourself is better than what most men manage to achieve." Do'Karth said, looking over at Jorwen for a moment before returning his gaze to the flames.
 
"You were gone, yes, but you are here now, and it is what you do with this opportunity that will determine your legacy. What path is the one that would bring you redemption or tranquility? This one cannot say, but these are dark days, and Do'Karth dares say that perhaps the gods chose you for this path, even though it cost you so dearly to get here, because you will one day be needed to do what no one else can." He said reverently, clutching his amulet of S'rendarr, feeling it dance between his nimble fingers. "As Do'Karth had mentioned earlier, he was not always a good man, he learned skills for terrible reasons, but he chose not to let that be his legacy. This one wished to absolve himself of responsibility or power over another's life, and yet here he is, where his very morals and determination are challenged, and perhaps even shaken. But this one feels he is here for a reason, he has to. Why spare Do'Karth if he was not meant to do something?"
 
Jorwen sighed, as much as he liked Do'Karth, he was never one for praying to the Gods to solve his problems. "You don't get it, my friend." He said, his voice just this side of a whisper, "If you knew what the Red-Bear- what [i]I've[/i] done... There's a reason that my name is cursed and feared by the Reachmen in Markarth Side and beyond. The Gods want nothing to do with me, if anything, they want to watch that blood-drunk and murder-hungry bastard waste away in his age." He folded both hands around his cup, "Punishment... or entertainment."
 
"In those tales from two-score years ago, the man named Jorwen you know now was far from the one he was then. If I ever met him... I'd be afraid. I didn't earn this name doing high deeds and heroic acts. I earned it by not ever being too picky who I killed when the killing got started. There was a Reachman village in the mountains to the west of Markarth Side, the only one that had access to a pass that led into the fertile valleys many Reachman tribes called home, where they were safe from the Breton Kingdoms that sought their destruction." Jorwen looked into the flames, remembering, "The Elder of the tribe in that village called for a duel against the champion of the raiders who'd been burning Reachmen by the dozens. I was that Champion. The circle was drawn in the dirt and hedged in by stones. It was a duel to first-yield. When I bested him, as I'd bested countless other Reachman chieftains, he raised his hands in mercy."
 
Jorwen looked down, "I talk of honor and my reputation as if it's been important to me all my life. Honor meant shit to me back then, so I took my sword- this sword-" and he patted the old length of steel at his side, "And cleaved him from shoulder to guts. I didn't feel remorse, because I had none to spare in those days. I felt what I'd always felt when I met the challenge of lives balanced on a sharp edge; Joy. Life was worth less than shit to me. No one stopped me from killing the Chieftain, from chopping his lifeless corpse like a mad butcher. No one stopped me from killing the men who were holding shields on his side of the circle. No one stopped me from burning his village down and killed his people to the last."
 
"All of them." He said, remembering the faces so clearly after all these years, and how he felt as if he was watching himself do it and not being able to hold back. And not wanting to. His bitter laughs and throaty, animal roars, how he split innocent farmers in two with his sword. How he choked, tore and bit at them. The Red-Bear was no hero. He was a damned mad-man. A vane, blood-drunk, prideful, selfish man. Jorwen tossed the contents of his cup to the side and shattered the thing of clay in a meaty fist, "I should be [i]fucking dead[/i]. Some young hero should have taken my life and be sung of, but I killed all of them that came against me. Few men get what they deserve."
 
Uncorking a bottle of mead with a claw, Do'Karth listened to Jorwen's history, his dark past that he felt great shame for, and remained unflappable. The khajiit drank as he considered what was revealed, and found it didn't change a thing for how he perceived the man beside him. Jorwen was, and always would be, the kind man who showed compassion and welcome to a man who years before would have been a sworn enemy. "That was then, this is now." He replied simply, swishing the honeyed drink across his tongue. He could get used to this particular part of Skyrim culture, along with the shimmering stars in the sky. Had they always been this bright, this vibrant? To find beauty in Skyrim, unlike any elsewhere in the entire world, you simply had to look at the night sky.
 
"You are not the only person who has committed horrible acts in war. It is a part of being a soldier, no? Your skill at arms kept you alive, and presumably several of your companions in arms. You are not the man you were; you've moved on from that. Do'Karth can see that as clear as he can see the stars this night." He said, falling silent for a moment of contemplation. The khajiit's shoulders sank as he came to his decision. 
 
"What Do'Karth will tell you is the same thing that he told Sevine many moon phases ago. She was the first, and until now, only person Do'Karth has told about who he was, the khajiit that was buried in the sands. Understand this one speaks of this khajiit rarely, not because he refuses to acknowledge who he was, but because he no longer defines Do'Karth and shall not taint how others perceive this one." he began, knocking back a large portion of the bottle, feeling the familiar burn that contrasted so brilliantly against the cool air against his skin. He continued, his voice low, as if uttering the words would unleash something that should never see the light.
 
"Do'Karth was born into the Renrijra Krin, an infamous and influential khajiiti crime syndicate. It is all the things a khajiit should not be; greedy, ruthless, and only concerned for its own benefit. This one does not remember his parents well, just that they were bad people who he barely knew. Do'Karth was not this one's original name, but the one he took when they trained him to be what you would call a sleeper agent. You wondered why this one is so proficient with a spear; it is because that was the weapon this one trained in to do the one job he was bred to complete. Do'Karth would be the khajiit who assassinated the Mane of Elsweyr.
 
"For years, this one trained in martial arts and subversion, learned arms and infiltration techniques. He later would live in Torval, becoming one of the city guards there for years, even going so far as to making friends, one in particular Do'Karth was particularly close with, a court scribe that permitted this one access to the palace from time to time to attend the Mane's sermons and court sessions. Do'Karth had met his mark, the spiritual center and leader of all khajiit, the only of his breed in all of Tamriel. He would be killed by Do'Karth's hand, simply because the Renrijra Krin wished him dead, for aims this one never knew." Do'Karth paused, his expression somber and downcast. He shook his head and continued to drink before continuing his tale. It was slightly easier to speak of the second time around, but he feared it becoming habit. The more he acknowledged the khajiit he was, the more likely he was to return. It was something he feared more than death.
 
"So the day came that this one was instructed to do the deed. Do'Karth had scouted his routes, knew when and where to strike, and so with djerids in hand, he waited... and struck. Only instead of the Mane, this one killed his friend... his only real friend in his life, all based on a well-practiced lie, and the mistake let the Mane live. Do'Karth was cut down by the guards, that is why his leg is still in pain to this day as you likely noticed... and this one was left for dead in a mass grave. That was when Do'Karth first heard the gods, and listened to what they had to say. They told this one how to survive, and from there Do'Karth decided to atone for who he was and what he did, and he swore never to take another life again... no matter how much they deserve it." The khajiit said, looking squarely at Jorwen's bearded face.
 
"You are the second person Do'Karth has told that to. This one trusts you to keep it safe, but he hopes you understand why he told you this. Jorwen Red-Bear, you are no monster, and you are not the man from the stories. You are this one's friend, and a man who wishes he'd done differently. One is not always defined by what they had done; it is what you choose to be that matters. Do'Karth is no longer the name of an assassin, a deceitful murderer. His name now belongs to a wanderer who wishes to see Tamriel and find peace with himself. What are you?" the khajiit asked. 
 
Jorwen looked down at his hands. There were few hands that had more blood on them, and unlike Do'Karth, his enemies weren't all a world away. Jorwen's enemies were on his doorstep in comparison, walking among the living somewhere, chewing over their old feud. Sons of warriors, brothers of warriors, fathers, someone spiteful. He'd taken wives from husbands, daughters from fathers, someone out there was ready to do the same to him. How Do'Karth managed each day was a feat to Jorwen. The one thing Do'Karth had on Jorwen was the Khajiit wasn't wading through the blood of others, laughing like a banshee and crooning for more for twenty-some years. But killing a friend is something Jorwen knew about, too well.
 
He looked to his friend, "I'm sorry." For everything the Khajiit had went through, but also for himself, and he looked back to his hands and made fists of them before letting go, "But I just don't know. I can't forget what I've done, my friend. Once you've blood on you, you can't wash it all off. Three-score years of it doesn't leave you. I've enemies still, and the only consolation is no matter my age or health, I'll always spit a challenge in their face. My Name won't let me do anything short."
 
"Who said anything about forgetting?" The khajiit asked with a bemused smile. "You have done what you have done, and nothing will change that. The lives you took will always be with you, until the end of your days. A life is a heavy thing, and consequences seldom choose to spare one from their actions, but it is how we carry on in spite of that that is what truly matters. You became who you are because of what you had done, just as Do'Karth has become who he is because of who he was forced to be. It doesn't mean that it has to define us moving forward.” He explained, setting down the bottle by his feet. He brought both hands in front of himself, as if he were holding an invisible box as he looked to his friend.
 
"To build a home, you must lay down the bricks, layer by layer.” He said, his hands moving to accentuate the point. “The ones on the bottom are the heaviest to bear the weight of what comes after. When all is said and done, at the end of the journey, you need to be able to look at the house you built and be proud of it, despite the imperfections and cracks. Perhaps your foes will catch up with you seeking vengeance, perhaps they have moved on, understanding the cost of war. You will face them if it comes to that, and when that day comes, you should be at peace with the man you are." Do'Karth said. The bowl of whale stew he had plundered before finding the fire earlier was left untouched, an alluring but foreign scent lingering in the air, colouring the atmosphere most inquisitively.
 
Jorwen nodded. The two had an understanding of each other that most fairweather friends at the tavern couldn't dream of. The empathy of warriors was a strong bond. But so was the vice of killing. Some men grimace at the taste of blood, others seek it out like a drunkard to wine. No matter how much Jorwen tried to bat away Do'Karth's words, they were the ones he most needed to hear. Through the whispers at the fires, the accusing looks he'd get from time to time when his name became known, through all the memories telling him he was a monster, Do'Karth was the only one telling him he was a good man. Fallible and flawed, but what else can a man be?
 
Despite that though, Jorwen knew it would take much more convincing. Do'Karth's other words also rang clear and true- he will always be the Red-Bear. Some part of Do'Karth was still the man he was, a man is made from all the things he'd done, Jorwen knew. Every last thing. Jorwen sighed, "I say this time and again," The old Nord looked to his friend, "Take care of Halla and Solveig. You're among the very few I can still call a friend."
 
"Do'Karth gave you his word, and he will die before it is not kept." Suddenly, Do'Karth broke out into a small chuckle. "You realize, you are perhaps the reason this one didn't find a way to escape Windhelm the moment Frost Demons materialized? Force me to befriend you just to look after your family, the nerve!" he teased, smiling warmly. "You were the first person Do'Karth really felt a kinship with in my travels. People come and go... but something about you made this one want to stay. Perhaps the wild hair gave Do'Karth the impression that Jorwen was a really small mammoth and was fascinating."
 
Jorwen laughed while he looked around himself for another cup that wasn't in pieces, picking one up from the ground and checking it, he said through stray chuckles, "Someone has to do the damn deed." He poured himself another cup and took a drink, "I try to be as kind a man as I can each day. Maybe it's my way of distancing myself from what I was. A Nord's friendship is no charity; believe me when I say that I would draw a blade for you." He held a scraggly lock of hair and gave it a few soft tugs and smiled, "It's partly what I'm known for. Most Khajiit I've met in my life were trying to kill me, perhaps I was only showing kindness to you because I was afraid you'd do the same." He joked.
 
"Kill the hand that feeds? Not good survival instinct, this one thinks." Do'Karth laughed, enjoying the lighter turn of the conversation. "Within moments of you greeting Do'Karth, you shared a meal with him. It is not something this one will soon forget. Food is one of this one's vices, always on the lookout for something new and satisfying.” He said, sparing a longing glance to the stew beside him. “And Do'Karth believes you would fight for him without hesitation, but this one would never ask you to kill. That would be hypocritical." Plucking the cooling stew from the log beside him, Do'Karth took a few tentative bites, the fatty chunks of meat and salt exploding with flavour. It could use sugar. He chewed thoughtfully, consuming the portion before asking, "What was it like, fighting Do'Karth's people? He understands if you do not wish to revisit those memories, but this one is sure you understand when he is curious about matters related to his homeland."
 
"A Nord never shies away from tales of battle the same he never shies away from the act itself, my friend. We're so damn fond of bragging we give each other hard names over it." He chuckled.
 
"One wonders how one earns the name 'Cat-Kicker'. Such a mystery, no?" the khajiit grinned.
 
Jorwen shrugged, "Earned Names are supposed to be simple. They don't insist on themselves, outwardly trying to scare you. You don't find many men calling themselves 'Manslayer' or 'Bloody' if they've ever seen a drop of the stuff, much less their own." Jorwen smiled, "Cat-Kicker was never fond of Khajiit. I knew of him when I wore Stormcloak blue. He wasn't liked, even if he was fighting for Ulfric beside us. If there's one thing a Nord hates, it's a man who doesn't have the honor to stay on one side. I may have been a Legion man for a time, but I never betrayed them. I faced them openly and proudly." Jorwen sniffed and spat away to the side, "Rumor was he'd killed a Khajiit that looked like a housecat by stomping it to death. Coward couldn't have found one his size, I guess."
 
"An Alfiq." Do'Karth confirmed. "They look like domesticated cats, but they are as intelligent and personable as this one is. Some are even accomplished mages! It is a shame they are unable to speak, people often mistake them for pets. Perhaps one day Do'Karth will be the one this Cat-Kicker faces, and this one will ensure he is known as Cat-Kicked from that day on."
 
Jorwen chuckled, "Small as cats and big as men? Your kind are odd to this man. Now..." Jorwen's head turned upwards then, his mind stretching back a ways, "The first time I saw your people was when I was a bugle boy and tailor in the Legion. We were camped at the foot of the Jeralls at night and I awoke to yells and cries. A few of the big furry cat-men crashed out of the bushes, hissing and spitting and growling."
 
He nodded, their faces contorted with anger and bloodlust still standing out so clear, "Fear, that was the first thing I felt. I ran and hid. As time went by, I stood in the ranks against Khajiit and Altmer alike. For four years, we slunk through the forest as well as your people and their soft footfalls. I admired how those Khajiiti soldiers could appear like lightning from the forests around and I adopted the tactics." Jorwen smiled something fierce, a bit of his old pride showing through, "I aimed to make the Thalmor feel the same fear that I felt. Your people never left me. In the Civil War, men were surprised how well I could lie in wait and crash down on the enemy without warning, especially being as big as I am."
 
He hiked up his shirt and pointed to the jagged line of pale scar in his ribs, "Your people almost fucking killed me!" Jorwen laughed, "Straight into the lung. If it weren't for the battlemage with me, you would never know who Jorwen was."
 
"And Do'Karth would have been the poorer for it." He smiled warmly, able to picture the scenes Jorwen described, the khajiiti warband tactics, the controlled feral ferocity that embraced their feline predatory natures. Some khajiit liked to joke that if khajiit were not gifted the sugar, they'd have ruled the world. There was an odd source of pride about a man Do'Karth respected choosing to learn from the khajiit instead of simply looking at them as subhuman vermin to be eradicated. 
 
"As a man who lived under the thumb of the Thalmor, Do'Karth can assure you that the Altmer refuse to believe that a man could ever outwit them, or possess more honour and skill. They treated us like their subjects, something to be spoken to out of necessity instead of respect.  It is that hubris that lets our people, and yours, defeat them, and they refuse to learn from their blunders. It is satisfying." He gazed into the fires once more. "This is the only war Do'Karth has been a part of. He had not expected his enlistment to turn so... severe. He wishes to see the world at ease, like it was a few short weeks ago, not the chaos Akavir has brought. This one knows you have lost so many friends, and this one is sorry. Do you feel they are in Sovengarde?"
 
"A man can hope." He nodded with a sad smile, "If they are, they will welcome me after I wrestle Tsun to the ground at the foot of the Whalebone Bridge in his warrior's test. I can only hope they will welcome me with open arms and I may make amends with those I've sent there myself. Shor knows I've sent him some good men."
 
"The altmer girl I knew, Vurwe, she was Thalmor. Or is. She had a sharp tongue and an aura about her as if she was too clean for this world." He laughed, remembering her fondly and wondering just where that bitch had gone to, "I can't imagine living under that. What was it like?"
 
"This one has heard about some Planes of Oblivion, and all of them sound more pleasant than the company of Thalmor." Do'Karth grinned. "Oppressive. They force unjust laws, their Justicars make people disappear in the night, claiming they were plotting treason. Curfews. We were little more than sword-fodder to them, beasts to be tamed. But you cannot outsmart khajiit. We were here in the beginning ages of Tamriel, before the elves arrived, and we will outlast them. Like the sands shift, so do we. We adapt, we learn, we thrive. It is the way of our people." He said fondly, feeling pangs of nostalgia for his homeland. It had been so long since he felt the dry desert air, the taste of warm water upon his tongue, the smell of the moon sugar plantations that made home what it was. "This one doesn't suppose they would allow me to visit you there from the Sands Beyond the Stars... it is a shame there is only one life to spend with those we care for." He lamented. 
 
"Aye." Jorwen nodded and regained his smile, "But that makes the time we have better. Too much of anything is like too much drink. Speaking of..." He poured himself another cup, "Like you asked me, you must have spent a fair bit of time in Skyrim before stumbling into me. What are my people to you?"
 
"Proud, boisterous, honourable. Do'Karth never truly knew what Nords were like until coming to Skyrim. You all seem to be warriors, fixated on song and martial prowess, you need to prove your worth constantly, and to step back is to admit you're wrong or weak. It is strange, for people so fixated on conflict, you are all capable of such loyalty and love. Your communities, family, brothers in arms... Do'Karth thinks most Nords would gladly give their lives if it saved someone they cared for. Some Nords look at this one and not see a person, simply a creature. Others have opened their homes and hearts to Do'Karth readily and provide him with companionship and understanding. You seem to be a people of polarization, where things must be one way or another with little middle ground or discussion." Do'Karth replied with a smile. "And no, this one was not in Skyrim long before coming across you. Perhaps a fortnite? This is all still so new to Do'Karth." 
 
"Aye," Jorwen sighed, "It is a shame we pick our leaders and heroes from the most prideful and spiteful stock instead of those who would try the handle before kicking the door to pieces. But that is how we are. In a land like this, you must be strong. We're known for our bloodletting, I hope for a day where we can be known for more than hard names and hard words of hard people."
 
"Change starts from acting on a decision." Do'Karth said. "If you are concerned about the fixation on earning a name, perhaps convincing Solveig she does not need to prove herself would be a place to start. This one worries about her; she makes it hard to keep her safe at times."
 
"If she is as much like me, there is no stopping her until she's gotten what she's wanted." Jorwen put his arms out, "I'm a man whose been fighting all his life-" and he let his arms drop, "-Solveig is her own woman. I can't turn her from her path any more than I can change where the White River flows. I was like her in my youth, too ready to bleed Skyrim dry for the thrill of the battle. I can only keep her from dying or going too far as I did."
 
An amused snort escaped the khajiit's muzzle. "Then Do'Karth supposes it will be an interesting journey until Solveig figures it all out. Fret not, Jorwen, Do'Karth will keep an eye out for her." he promised. He crooked his head, looking Jorwen in the eyes. "Excuse this one for his impertinence, but Solveig may be forced to endure as difficult of choices as you had faced in this war. She may have to do whatever is necessary, even if it costs her dearly." Do'Karth cautioned, sighing as he brought the bottle of mead to his lips. "If you truly wish to know what Do'Karth has noticed of your people and learned from all of your words and songs, it's that you cannot live without carrying the shame of your actions and need to be reminded of it every time one speaks your names. You, Sevine... all of you, such heavy burdens with so little breath."
 
"Men don't learn from their mistakes, my friend, I have learned that too well." Jorwen sighed, "I knew a man named Black Sutt. He's a wiry, evil shite of a man. Sometimes I envy the way he can piss on remorse and sprinkle honor to the wind. Sevine is an honorable woman, the story of her Name is still in the bounds of vengeance. An eye for an eye. I'm only glad she learned that vengeance is a stray fleck of piss. It does nothing but make the dirt one life richer." Jorwen shrugged, "A baker makes bread, a carpenter makes tables, we make dead men."
 
Do'Karth raised his bottle slightly in a toasting gesture. "And doubtless the stories will carry on throughout the ages. Tell this one, were you inspired from heroes and their names, before you went to the war?"
 
"I was afraid of my father's endless flux taking his life and trying to scrounge as many Septims from the gutters to keep the tailor shop afloat to care about heroes. Perhaps once or twice I'd hum the Song of Talos or one of the verses from Fidulf's Edda. Each time my father gathered the strength to stand and hug me when I came home was a deed worthy of a hero in my eyes." Jorwen shook his head, "I traded fear for my father's life for fear for my own once we crossed the mountains south. I was scared, angry and tired every day of my life for four years down there. It changed me." Jorwen's face sunk, he hadn't talked of making men tremble in fear and respect in ages, and it felt wrong now to do it, "When I came back from the war, we were hailed as heroes. In Ulfric's war, some men had it that I betrayed myself wearing Stormcloak blue. I wasn't inspired by heroes long gone, I felt I was standing with heroes, or at least big Names. There's still a part of me that's proud that mine is among them."
 
His head hung low and gulped down some of his mead. "Now, I feel... ashamed. Our greatest hero in our greatest time of need is now our greatest oppressor. If I were younger, I would perhaps take up arms to wrest the throne away from him and give it to someone more deserving." Jorwen snorted, "That'd make something for the songs. The Red-Bear and all the other hard Names going to war against a tyrant. But I couldn't subject Halla to me leaving for another war. Nor a hundred-hundred other wives. My father once said that once things get bloody, you've lost already."
 
"Who can truly know such a figure's intentions? You simply did what was necessary at the time. It is no fault of your own that this oppressor formed from the shade of a necessary and great hero. Perhaps it will be another fight for another man, inspired by your name." Do'Karth said softly, turning his gaze to the flames. "Everything goes in a cycle, no? The truly important lessons are never what passes on, and the horrors of war and the reality of it all is forgotten when the next one who proclaims himself a savior or uniter or whatever pretense they have arises. Do'Karth is a stranger to this war business; his past deeds were quieter, more selfish. But he's seen his share of people who have come and gone, and regardless of their race, it is the same story etched on each of their faces. Do'Karth sees it in khajiit, he sees it in Nords."
 
Releasing a long sigh, the khajiit shook his head. "And decades from now, when this war has come and gone, ancestors will look upon the names of those who fought with admiration and wish to be like them. And so, all of this will just be the fuel for another fire. It makes one wonder how the elves have such a taste for it after living for so long."
 
"I'd never get tired of life if everything I did was right in every way unlike everyone else." Jorwen chuckled and then sighed, still smiling, "My side of the bedroll is getting cold, I think. Farewell, we'll meet on the morrow, eh?"
 
Do'Karth nodded. "This one looks forward to it. Rest well, Jorwen. Do'Karth wishes to stay by the fire for a bit longer. It reminds him of home." he smiled softly, pangs of meloncholy tugging at his heart. Jorwen stepped off, his footfalls far more silent than one would expect from a man of his stature, leaving the khajiit to his own devices by the fire that was dwindling at the night pressed on. Reaching for a pouch concealed in his budi, Do'Karth released the drawstring and the sweet scent of moon sugar filled his nose. Sprinkling some in his stew, he replaced the pouch and lifted the bowl, setting down to enjoy his meal before he turned in to find Sevine in the inn. For now, it was a chance to recenter himself, and soon the euphoria of the sugar filled his veins, giving Do'Karth the chance to meditate on the events of the past several days with clarity he would never be able to achieve otherwise. On one hand, his heart broke for Jorwen's struggles and fears, but like a great wolf in the fields, Sevine's face turned to him with the most genuine smile he had ever known. 

Do'Karth smiled, in spite of himself. He found his peace at last.