[i]6th of Last Seed, 4E208, Early Morning
Somewhere north-east of Skingrad[/i]

“Are you a knight?” 

Lost in thought, Gregor looked up from his breakfast into the green eyes of the young man sitting opposite him at one of the communal campfires that were scattered throughout the camp of the Colovian Rangers. The heat of the flickering flames was a welcome reprieve from the cold night and the lingering chill of the grey dawn and Gregor hadn’t been able to resist its lure. He had kept his distance from the rest of the Rangers until then, having only talked to Brutus to ask him if he was welcome to tag along. Brutus had taken one look at the heavily-armed Nibenean and gladly accepted the offered help from “a real warrior, by the looks of it!”, and that was that. He had marched at the back of the main body of Rangers and ignored the inquisitive looks he received. 

“Not really,” Gregor replied truthfully, and lifted a hand to wipe the stew he was eating out of his beard. 

The boy shrugged. “You look like a knight.” 

That elicited a chuckle from the older Imperial. “Yes, but there is more to a knight than his armor. Real knights are part of an order and uphold a code of honor and chivalry. I’m just a… concerned citizen,” Gregor said. He held the boy’s gaze for a second or two before returning his attention back to his meal. “Eat up. I expect we’ll be leaving soon.” 

“How do you know?” the young man asked and raised his eyebrows, before quickly glancing over his shoulders to see if there was something happening behind him that he’d missed. 

“Because the scouts have returned.” Gregor pointed the boy in the right direction with his index finger. “Look there, between those tents? You can see that people have gathered. Brutus, the big Argonian… the only thing important enough to warrant that kind of commotion is--” 

“The scouts,” the boy said and nodded. He looked excited. Gregor estimated him to be around his eighteenth year, but only just. “My name is Tiber,” he said as he turned his gaze back to Gregor. 

It was a bold move by Tiber’s parents to name him as such and Gregor smiled. He didn’t want to think about where they were now, or why Tiber was seemingly out here alone. “A fine name. I’m Gregor.” Tiber returned the smile, but it the moment passed quickly as he averted his gaze and fidgeted with his fingers. It looked like he didn’t want to think about that either. Gregor slowly took a deep breath and a look of pity passed over his face.

He got to his feet, dusted off his cloak and handed the now-empty stew bowl back to the Ranger who had generously given it to him. “Stay safe, Tiber.” Gregor nodded curtly in his direction before turning on the spot and walking back the way he’d came. 

The call to pack up and move out followed swiftly. Gregor trailed behind once more, looking over his shoulder every so often to see if they weren’t being followed, his left hand resting uneasily on the pommel of his silver longsword as he walked. The confrontation with Tiber, presumably orphaned, had reminded Gregor that they were actually [i]at war[/i]. It seemed so absurd that he’d momentarily forgotten the reality of the situation. As they reached Elenglynn, the Ayleid ruin, Gregor silently sat down against a tree and waited for their next set of orders. He wasn’t much use as a tracker or a scout -- during his time in Skyrim, he’d mostly relied on the Vigilants to do that for him. 

Hannibal’s bulging eyes and trembling lips flashed in his mind’s eye and Gregor clenched his jaw. 

His eyes fell on a Nord and a Khajiit, both women, that were quietly talking amongst themselves. Their backs were turned to him as they stared out over the ruins and the Dwemer that inhabited them, allowing Gregor to look at them with impunity, and he distracted himself by imagining different scenarios that had brought the unlikely companions together. That was effective enough to let him close his eyes for a bit, and a bit turned into a while, and a while turned into--

“Let’s get this done.” 

A hand on his shoulder awakened him, and Gregor saw Tiber looming above expectantly. “It’s time,” the boy said. His voice sounded small. 

Gregor got up, allowing Tiber to help him, and found himself straightening out the collar of Tiber’s chainmail. “For the Emperor, Tiber,” Gregor whispered, and a bit of courage returned to the lad’s eyes. 

“For the Emperor.”