Two figures moved in the cold morning.

They were following the White River upstream, along the strait just south of the point where it joined the Sea of Ghosts.

The two men were walking towards a precise destination, but they had been forced to take the harder route to reach it. They were proceeding on freshly fallen snow, the older one forging a path through it almost effortlessly, using his staff to keep from slipping.

Even if months had passed since that accident in Hjaalmarch, it was still a bad idea to travel the main roads.

Technically speaking, Conrad and Haming were not even on any sort of road or a path.

There was nothing in the land around the river, besides cold water, cold snow, cold ground and cold rocks.

If you didn’t count wild animals and the fish, of course.

But the relative monotony of the trip was not the reason for the silence between the two adventurers. Conrad’s mind was completely focused on his new objective, after months of failed experiments and research that had led nowhere.

Just traveling to Akavir would take weeks, maybe months, by sea. But it was the only feasible way to reach the distant land.

What he would do once he arrived there, was another problem. He could follow the tracer to find the places his brother had inscribed those mysterious runes, but after that… his plans were nebulous at best.

But he had every intention of trying to satisfy his dead brother’s wish, to alert the people that had raised him about that masked man or whatever.

And hopefully to find out why Minato—the name still sounded so strange and unfamiliar to him—had been so desperate that he was forced to send his own spirit to the Soul Cairn.

He would have to improvise once he reached Akavir’s shores.

Haming’s state of mind, however…

“I hate you, boss,” the younger man spat, glaring at the being that was probably the only other survivor of the inhabitants of Helgen.

“Are you really going to be like that the whole way?” Conrad asked.

“Probably. I really hate you, you know.”

“No, you don’t,” he said dismissively without looking at his protégé. “And if I recall correctly, when we arrived in Winterhold I ordered you to not get distracted by her curves.”

“I was not distracted! I was keeping my eyes on her,” the archer protested while adjusting the weight of his backpack.

“I found you in her bed,” Conrad said smirking. True, discovering that the young hunter did indeed have some interest in the greatest mystery of creation, the woman, had been amusing.

“You dragged me out of her bed!” Haming pointed out vehemently. “I waited patiently for months—while executing your orders about what to do with my group, I might add—while you were busy with your research in that fancy College. Then you suddenly decide to drop everything and leave without notice. Couldn’t you have waited one more hour?!”

“You should thank me, you know,” Conrad said as he climbed over a small gap. Once steady, he turned and offered his hand to the younger Nord. “Now you’ll be able to tell your children, one day, about the time their uncle Conrad saved you from the clutches of a busty older woman.”

“Feida is only seven years older than me. Almost eight. But I refuse to listen to age jokes from someone that used to fuck a millennia-old vampire,” Haming rebutted, accepting Conrad’s help.

“Former vampire,” he said, feeling that pointing out such particular was important. He pulled, helping his younger fellow villager.

“And by the way,” Haming started again when he’d regained his footing, “my children, if I ever have them, will not call you uncle.”

“Oh, I’m terribly wounded,” Conrad mocked, as he started to lead again.

“They’ll call you grandfather,” the younger man scoffed.

It was a dig about his age, Conrad knew. He kept walking in silence, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing it affected him.

Still, he was aware of the tiny bit of, badly hidden, pride in Haming’s voice when he had proclaimed such a thing. And he understood the meaning behind it.

A small part of him was moved by such declaration.

In any case, he punched Haming’s arm when they arrived on a safer ground a few minutes later.

Hard.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Here we are,” Conrad said, pointing towards the walled city on the horizon. “Windhelm.”

"Oh good. A change of scenery. I'm sick of this river, boss."

"We're almost there, Haming. Come on, we're burning daylight,"

"For days, only snow and fish. Snow and fish. I want to eat meat!"

"Oh, quit your yapping. We're almost there."

For a good hour, the two men marched in silence, one dreaming of juicy, hot slices of roast, the other thinking about his next move.

A journey to Akavir was no easy task. Legend said that the last person who had tried had been the Nerevarine.

And he had never returned. If that story was even true.

Conrad had learned to not completely trust the stories of the Empire of old, but finding a ship and a crew up to the task would still be a pain.

As they finally arrived at the gates near twilight, just in time before the guards locked them for the night, he decided that he would not plan too far ahead for this foolish quest of his.

No sense in making long-term schemes with so many unknowns. You would get screwed anyway.

“Finally,” muttered Haming. “Can we find a tavern, now?”

“Yes, yes. Follow me,” the older man said, keeping his pace on the paved road.

“Wait, where are you going?” Haming asked, confused. “The Candlehearth Hall is that way.”

“I can’t go to that Inn. We’re going to the New Gnisis Cornerclub.”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t mind being around Dunmer, boss, you know that, but… why?”

“The current owner of the Candlelight Hall used to be a Stormcloak,” he said with a regretful tone.

No other explanations were given, or necessary. The short walk to the other inn was as silent as their walk in the snow, if not more.

As they passed in front of the closed and barred temple of Talos, Conrad lowered his head in shame.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

That night, he dreamed of a woman with beautiful red hair.

It was not the flame-like red he had seen on other people. Her hair was red like blood.

She was speaking a tongue he could not understand, but she was smiling at him.

And her smile was like sunshine.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Stupid dream, stupid leaves, stupid dead brother,” Conrad mumbled as he chewed his breakfast. It was clear that Minato’s spell had done more than just plant four funny symbols in his head.

He just wished he had told him that it would have messed with his dreams.

“What dead brother?” Haming asked in confusion.

“Nevermind, it’s a long and crazy story. I’ll tell you later.”

“... Fine. So what’s the plan now?” the young archer questioned as he split the dark bread in two rough halves and offering one to the older Nord.

“Simple. I have to find a ship,” Conrad said before taking a gulp of ale.

“That shouldn’t be a prob—”

“Without telling them the destination, yet. Just that it’s far away, it’s risky, and that the ship will beach on a foreign shore.”

“Yeah, boss. ‘Simple’. I don’t envy you… What about me?”

Still eating, Conrad just pulled a folded piece of paper from one of his pouches and offered it to Haming.

“Boss… what is this?” the young lad asked in confusion after opening it and reading its contents.

“A list of provisions that could be useful. You know, food. Ingredients for potions. Scrolls and blank papers. One or two extra weapons. Mead. Stuff like that.”

“Can’t I just search for a ship instead?” Haming pleaded.

“No.”

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Are you crazy, pal? I’m not moving my ship without knowing where!” the Breton merchant said, laughing a little.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Get lost!” the Dunmer said, emphasizing his words with a rude gesture of the hand.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Either you tell me where you want to go, or I’m not even letting you on my ship,” the old man that looked like a pirate said, immovable with his arms crossed over his chest.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Wait, don’t I know you?” a woman asked, looking at him with a curious eye. The one not covered by an eyepatch.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

The man just laughed, hard, for several minutes. Finally, when he seemed at the point of attempted suicide by asphyxiation, he began to regain control of himself. Which required another few minutes.

Finally, he spoke to Conrad.

“Fuck off!”

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“Stupid captains, with their stupid ships that I need,” he growled in the dim lighted room of the tavern, clenching his fists on the sides of the table he was sitting at.

“No luck, boss?” Haming asked, placing a pair of large sacks on the wooden surface before sitting on across from him.

“A whole day, wasted. Nobody is interested in a well-paid journey on an uncharted route without knowing what exactly to expect at our destination.”

“Can’t imagine why…” the younger man said, rolling his eyes.

“Did you find everything on the list?” Conrad asked, gesturing to the sacks.

“Well, everything but—”

“Well, well, well, what a hilarious sight,” a voice interrupted. Turning towards the almost-desert inn’s common room, the two men saw a Dunmer moving slowly towards them. It was the owner of the establishment. The Dunmer was sneering, as he spoke again. “The two bloody Nords are in trouble, uh? Nobody wants to join their crazy adventure?”

Conrad saw Haming’s gaze move from the rude Dunmer to him. He was probably wondering how the older Nord would have reacted to such mockery.

The few patrons inside the inn grew silent, as the innkeeper arrived at the two men’s table, the face set in a frown.

“What’s it to you, grey ears?” he growled, narrowing his eyes.

The two of them stared each other down, blue and red eyes, for a tense few minutes. Haming seemed on the point of using one of the mugs on the table as an improvised weapon.

Then Conrad and the dark elf started laughing, much to Haming’s confusion.

The other Dunmer in the inn snickered a little, like they were seeing a familiar scene, before focusing on their drinks again.

“Took you long enough to get out of that counter to see an old friend, Malthyr.”

“I had to wait until there were less customers. I run a business, Conrad,” the dark elf said, placing a jug and three cups on the table. “Here, the best matze you’ll find outside of Morrowind.”

“I didn’t ordered it, Mal,” Conrad said, looking at the liquor with confusion.

“Nonsense! It’s on the house,” the innkeeper said while serving the two Nords and himself a good portion of the beverage. “This, and more, for the man that killed Ulfric Stormcloak!”

Conrad’s jaw clenched. Of all his achievements, that was the one that he regretted the most.

Not that Ulfric was exactly a saint. Conrad had even hated the man after he had discovered the agreement with the Thalmor the man had put in place during the Great War.

He just wished things could have been different.

So as not to offend his Dunmer friend, he accepted the drink.

“So, how’s it going, Conrad? The boy with you seems a little shocked,” Malthyr said, gesturing towards Haming that was still looking at them, not even registering the full cup in front of him.

“Never mind him, he can’t understand our old inside-joke,” Conrad said, smirking. “Haming, this is Malthyr Elenil, leader of the local Dunmer and owner of this hole—”

“Hey, I take offense in that,” Malthyr scowled again. “It stopped being a hole after I took over. Also, having Brunwulf Free-Winter as a jarl helped.”

“I can imagine,” Conrad resumed. “And, Mal, this is Haming. My minion and lackey.”

“Hey! I’m only a lackey. Not your minion,” the younger Nord protested.

“Sure you are,” Conrad snorted, ignoring the fake affront on Haming’s face. “After all, you just call me ‘boss’ all the time.”

“A pleasure, young lad. So, what’s this story about a ship?” Malthyr asked, pulling closer a stool to sit on.

“I need to rent one for a few months,” the blond mage simply said.

“Rent one? What do you want to do? Travel around the continent?”

“Something like that. But I can’t tell the captain—or you—the destination until the ship will sail.”

“No self-respecting independent captain would accept such a thing. Why don’t you go to speak to the jarl? A lot of people consider you a hero. I bet he could help with an expedition—”

“It must remain… unofficial,” Conrad cut him short. “I can’t put attention on Brunwulf. He’s already in the Thalmor’s sights just by being a former Talos worshipper.”

“Former? You should just see how he looks at the barred temple,” Malthyr said, shaking slowly his head. “Alright, no official help, you say? I may—mind you, I may—know something that could help you two.”

“What do you mean?” Haming asked expectantly, tired of being cut off the conversation.

“You see, no self-respecting captain would accept such deal. Unless they were desperate enough for money.”

“And do you know of a captain so desperate that hasn’t sold his own ship already?” Conrad asked with evident interest.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

“I think that is our man,” Conrad whispered, indicating the person that had just left the Candlehearth Hall at a late hour.

“How can you tell?” Haming asked in a similar tone, peeking from the alley they were using as a hiding place.

“He has the typical walk of a man that is full of debts. Also, he’s a Breton—”

“That’s slightly racist, boss.”

“—and I saw his face when he passed besides the lantern. He matches with the description Malthyr gave us. Come on,” he concluded, gesturing to the younger Nord to follow him.

Their mark was moving towards the docks in a straight, direct path. It was not a difficult task to remain unnoticed by him even if he stopped continuously to look around.

Apparently, he was nervous about something.

Conrad was on the point of calling out to the man, so that they could discuss business, when he noticed a group of people coming out of an alley besides the street for the docks. The small crowd, all nine of them, seemed to be composed of an assorted mix of thugs.

The Breton saw them, tensing immediately once he sensed their presence. But instead of running, he stood his ground.

One of them, probably the leader, said something. Conrad was too far to hear that, though.

Then they grabbed the Breton captain, who started to struggle, and dragged him like a sack of potatoes inside an alley.

“Oh, great,” Conrad grunted.

“So, the plan is not just making a good offer to him anymore, boss?”

“Did you realize that on your own, or did you just have a hunch?” he asked rhetorically, while moving faster towards the alley where his ticket to Akavir had been yanked.

It was then that he heard the yells.

“SCUM-FUCKERS! SALT-DRINKERS! YA FILTHY SONS OF CHEAP WHOR—” a voice exclaimed at the top of his lungs, before being silenced by what sounded like a punch.

A few coughs, like if the man was not able to breath. Conrad slowly reached the corner and took a peek.

The gang of thugs was surrounding the fallen Breton. Most of them were armed with clubs, but a few blades were present on their belts. It was obvious that it was a gang of the bad side of town, the docks, in the middle of their usual business.

Reminding people who was boss around here.

“You were told that we would have come back for our money, Edvyval,” the ringleader of the gang said. “The fact that you were not able to sell the goods means nothing to me.”

“Oh, bite a squig, ya brain-dead fish!” the gasping Breton managed to say, ire in his voice. “I know it was ya and yor pals that stole my cargo. I owe you shit!”

The leader smirked, kneeling on the sprawled man.

“You can’t prove that. Nobody will listen to your claims. And you know what that means, right? Now I can just take your ship.”

“Ya wouldn’t dare, pus-ridden—”

“I just need a signature on a document. And you wouldn’t believe that,” the gang leader said, pulling a scroll out of a pouch attached to his belt, “I have one with me right now. You can sign, or we can see how many teeth I have to—”

“I’ve heard enough,” Conrad whispered to Haming. “Are we interrupting something?” he asked loudly, as he entered in the alley with the most menacing pacing he could do.

Haming imitated him, as the loyal self-proclaimed lackey he was.

The gang turned immediately, reacting to the potential threat, but Conrad couldn’t really take them seriously.

They had forgotten to so much as put someone as lookout during the thrashing.

“Who the fuck are you?” the leader asked, rising from his knees and adopting what he thought was a scary position.

It just made him look fat, in Conrad’s opinion.

“Somebody that need to talk with the man you’re clobbering,” he said, taking out his hood and revealing his golden mane. “So, buzz off.”

The fat ringleader just snorted.

“Why should I? I’m not afraid of you two.”

“What did you say?” Conrad asked to the leader, in genuine surprise.

“I said that—”

“No, no. I got that,” Conrad interrupted. “You mean you didn’t recognize me?”

“Oh, I think I’ll remember you, after I’ll have added a few scars on that ugly face of yours,” the fat criminal sneered. Around him, the gang seemed to find more confidence.

Conrad just blinked.

“You know, this is… surprisingly refreshing,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “But to tell you guys the truth, I was counting on my reputation to scare the shit out of you.”

“It’s because you’re not like you are in the songs, boss,” Haming threw his own two septims while ignoring the confused gang. “You’re not wearing that horned helm,” he said, gesturing on the sides of his own head with his fingers.

“Talos,” Conrad growled. “I hate that stupid helm! I wore it for a year and now, because of those gods damned bards, people think I’m still using it!”

After that exchange, a couple of the thugs—probably the smarter ones—started to figure it out, and became quite pale.

Too bad their boss was not one of the smartest of the gang.

“Enough of this idiocy,” he said, taking a step ahead. “Guys, I want this two idiots—”

Conrad never had a chance of hearing what the fatass wanted, since he was on him in a heartbeat. The sight of the man’s eyes widening was incredibly comical.

Then he administered the old Riften’s Trio: a fast jab to the neck, a hook to the temple and, as the man was on the ground, a kick in the face.

The once tall and fat gang leader was reduced to a limp sack of meat and bones.

Haming capitalized on the surprise, charging an opponent of his own and delivering a classic one-two.

Conrad had no intention to be no less.

He saw one of the criminals attempting to hit him in the head with his club, snarling.

Conrad knelt, grabbing the man's wrist at the same time.

A simple twist, and he felt a bone breaking. The man screamed, and the club fell from his hand.

The Nord grabbed it, taking a step back to dodge a swing from another guy.

Counter, half-turn.

His burrowed club slammed on the second attacker's cheekbone, breaking at the strength of the impact.

The man went down.

Conrad saw a flash of metal, and dodged instinctively. The other man, the one with the broken wrist, was holding a short dagger in his functional hand, though he looked like he was hating every second of it.

Luckily for Conrad, he sucked with his left hand.

Conrad gave him the Ratway's Greeting.

The thug’s face turned an ugly shade of purple as Conrad's foot lashed out against his groin.

The Dragonborn didn't hesitate, and grabbed the man's head, slamming it against his own soaring, armoured knee.

Cruel, but effective.

He pulled up the almost unconscious man—Conrad had to give him credit, he was a tough bastard—and shoved him towards one of his fellows, causing the both of them to tumble down the cobblestone street.

The one still able to move got up the fastest he could, crawling away from Conrad, before turning tail and fleeing.

He was one of the gang’s more intelligent ones.

Since Haming seemed to being holding his own against his opponent, Conrad concentrated on an enemy that was trying to flank his pupil.

A rather burly Argonian.

Conrad made one, two fast steps, tapped him by the shoulder and punched the scaly face when he turned towards him.

The Argonian didn’t go down. Instead, he merely started to circle around Conrad, hissing while putting on a good defence.

Conrad took quite a liking to him.

Jab. Uppercut.

The Argonian passed on the offensive. Parry, counter.

Conrad took a step back, and the lizardfolk took the opportunity to try and bite him in the face.

He thanked him with a kick in the stomach. The Argonian charged.

Side-step, kick in the shin.

Ha! That had to hurt, even with scales on—

Conrad felt something hit both his legs, and he fell on the ground with a grunt.

Shit. He had forgot to watch out for the fucking tail.

The muscular Argonian was now stable again, towering over him, his hand on a knife’s handle.

Conrad decided that he didn’t like him anymore.

Oh well, nothing that a nice fire blast in the face couldn’t fix—

Conrad didn’t even made in time to call his magicka to him, that the Argonian fell face-first on the ground.

What the—

“CAME HERE, YA BLOODY DOGS!” a voice screamed, followed by various thuds. “I’LL SHOW YA!”

It was the captain, Edvyval whatever-his-surname-was.

The Breton had yanked the Argonian for the tail, and was now fending off another crook with a club, one he had probably picked up from the ground.

Conrad was really appreciating the fact that the sea captain had not fled at the first opportunity, and showed his gratitude by kicking the Argonian’s snout, which was right in front of his boots.

He repeated the process until the reptilian was out cold.

That gave the captain the opportunity to let go of the still tail and concentrating on his current adversary.

Who lost a pair of teeth, courtesy of the Breton’s club.

Conrad rolled on his flank to dodge the mallet that had been aimed at his head, stumbling onto his feet as fast as he could.

The goon threw himself at him, weapon raised.

He just grabbed the other man and headbutted him, breaking his nose.

The crook faltered for a second before falling down with a whimper.

The remaining members of the gang didn’t seem to be intimidated by this one bit. In fact, they were starting to take out real weapons.

It seemed they wanted to rush towards the three of them in a single charge.

Conrad’s axe left his belt in a flash of metal, appearing in his hand. He just remained still, waiting for them, with his head half-cocked.

The crooks seemed to hesitate.

He raised an eyebrow, along with his axe.

What remained of the gang just turned and ran like there was no tomorrow.

Haming immediately started to check the fallen—and in one case, still moaning ones—for valuables as Conrad put his weapon away, turning towards the Breton captain.

“Who are ya?” the man asked, looking at him up and down, before spitting on Conrad’s boots. He had the club ready for any evanescence. “And what do ya—”

Conrad sucker-punched him, knocking him out cold.

“I think I like this one,” he grinned, grabbing the unconscious Breton before he hit the ground.

Haming just stared at him as though he were mad.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

A moan was the first sign of the man’s recovery.

The Breton moved slowly his head, eyes half-closed while checking his surroundings.

Conrad and Haming had taken him back to the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Since it was really late at night and there were no guests for the night—besides them—Malthyr had granted him to use the common room to discuss business with their… patron.

“Oh, good. You’re waking up,” Conrad exclaimed cheerfully. He handed the man a glass of sujamma. “Here, drink this. It will help, if you’ve got a good stomach.”

The man accepted the drink slowly, not really sure where he was.

He touched his face where Conrad had given him a black eye.

Then his good eye snapped open.

"Ya little—"

He tried to get up from the chair, but Conrad firmly held him in place, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Firmly.

"The punch was just because I was pissed with you," Conrad said, showing a cruel smile.

"Jeez, boss. Way to go to get the guy's trust," Haming muttered from the angle where he was counting the money found on the gang of people that didn't listen to the songs.

Or that listened to them way too much.

"What do ya mean? I owe ya no money, I'm sure o’ that," the man proclaimed, confused by their behaviour.

"Because of the whole brawl in the alley. After all, I just want to speak with you."

"And you spit on his boots," Haming added. "What was he supposed to do?!" he cried dramatically, hands thrown up in the air. "His honor must remain intact or the world shall fall apart!"

"Shut up, Haming."

Haming snickered, then went back to counting the money.

"I don't even know who ya people are!"

"Oh, right," Conrad said, taking his hand off the Breton's shoulder and offering it to him. "Conrad Harissen, pleased to meet you."

The man frowned for a second, trying to recall where he had heard the man. His eyes widened like saucers.

"Ya're not—wait, are ya?"

"Yes, I am," Conrad said, becoming serious.

For a whole minute, nobody spoke and the only sound was the the tingling of the septims in front of Haming.

“What do ya want?” the Breton asked, the voice low.

"You could start with introducing yourself. It's common courtesy," he said, sitting on a stool right in front of the shorter man.

"Huh, yes, of course. I'm Edvyval Letons, merchant by trade."

"Very well, Edyval—I can call you Edyval, right? Sure I can, I already punched you. Now, Edyval… what can you tell me about your ship?"

"My ship? Why do ya want to know about my ship?!"

"Business. Now, tell me about your ship," Conrad insisted.

"My ship's called The Seeker. It's a good ship. Built it Dawnstar, with good wood. Not good like a honest Breton's ship, but—"

"How big it is? Is it fast?"

"It's bigger than a normal merchant ship. Probably around one hundred feet," Edyval shrugged. "I think it was commissioned as a recon vessel a little before of the Great War."

"It is good on the sea? And I mean, open sea."

"Sure it is—Wait,” the Breton stopped, looking at Conrad with suspicious eyes, “are ya trying to know about my ship so ya can steal it?!"

"Don't start spouting nonsense. I don't want to steal your ship. I want to rent it. Along with your services."

“Really?” Edyval asked, relaxing. “To go where?”

“Far,” Conrad replied flatly.

“How much? The other side of Tamriel?”

“Probably more far than that. But I can’t tell you until we’ve left Skyrim’s coasts,” he said, emphasizing the part about secrecy.

"If you're going to be like that, why should I—"

"Haming, please, fetch me the bigger sack," Conrad interrupted, calling the younger man without turning his gaze from the Breton’s eyes.

"The one I carried for the whole trip here?" Haming mumbled.

"Yes, that one," Conrad smirked.

The younger Nord complied reluctantly, rising from his seat and walking towards their room.

A few moments later, he came back with a big burlap rucksack, nearly as big as his torso.

"Thank you," Conrad smiled, relieving his younger companion from the massive weight.

Edyval looked curiously at Conrad, only to retract a little when the Nord unsheathed his dagger.

With a fast, precise movement of the blade, Conrad made a cut in the side of the sack, letting its contents spill out on the table.

A sea of gold, both septims and ancient coins from before the Empire, poured from the wounded rucksack with a metal racket.

Coin against wood, coin against coin, each shining in the candles' lights.

It took a few moments before silence fell down on the room again.

"Is this enough?" Conrad asked with a neutral expression, but inwardly he was smiling.

A life as an adventurer helped to find a lot of riches. Having places to hide them was another perk.

Having a loyal lackey to transport them in his place, instead, had no price.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Edyval started sweating.

That was a lot of gold.

Really, really a lot of gold.

It was more than enough to pay his debts and still have a lot of gold after this mysterious travel that the freaking Dragonborn wanted to do.

But he knew there was a trick somewhere.

He was aware that gold the Dragonborn had a lot of enemies. If he gold wanted to rent a ship to travel without telling the gold captain about the destination, it had surely something to do with them.

And the gold voices were almost unanimous about who these enemies were.

He was well aware that gold it was madness to join those gold lunatics as they tried to do whatever dangerous thing with gold an high chance of get themselves killed, but it was becoming way harder and harder to ignore the gold gold gold.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

A week had passed since the deal between Conrad and Edvyval Letons.

He would have preferred to depart immediately, but even with his limited knowledge about sailing, the Dragonborn knew that such a long journey, on uncharted seas to boot, required an adequate preparation.

Conrad was sitting on the pier, facing the sea, organizing the letters he had prepared to explain his absence to the people he trusted and half-truths for his contacts in and outside of the province.

Once in a while, he could see the crew he and the Breton had recruited passing in front of him with crates, sacks, boxes and barrels. All the necessary supplies were been loaded on the ship.

After all, it was the day of the departure.

The Seeker was a magnificent ship, even with its half-century of age burdening its planks.

Sure, a few scratches were visible on the wooden hull.

And the single sail had to be replaced because Conrad doubted that it could sustain a long journey, as Edyval admitted. The crew had finished mounting the new one the previous day.

The ship had the typical shape of a Nord longship, but it was slightly sleeker. It had been designed for speed and maneuverability, which was suited for fast raids on enemy shores, or recons for a bigger, but slower fleet.

In the north of Tamriel, it was the perfect ship for a merchant.

Or a contrebandier, as Conrad suspected.

Honest merchants had less chances of being cornered by a local gang that pressed about disappeared goods.

As long as he had no trouble because of that, Conrad didn’t mind.

If Edyval was really a contrebandier, there were less chances of betrayal from him. After all, the “honest merchants” of the sea founded business only thanks to their reputation for being reliable people.

Also he had left half of the gold in a secure place, as a insurance.

His father had not raised a stupid boy.

The sound of steps and something heavy rolling on the wooden planks caught his attention.

Turning, he immediately hid the letters in his satchel.

Some of the men—and women, and mer, and beastfolk… Some of the crew members were moving three big barrels on the pier, under Haming’s supervision apparently.

“Hey boss,” the young Nord greeted. “Careful with those as you load them in the ship, people. Don’t damage them.”

“There you are, Haming. Where have you been? You disappeared for two days.”

“I was busy, boss,” Haming retorted.

“By what? More curves?” Conrad falsely mocked.

"No, I was just doing my own business. My life doesn't revolve around you." The younger man smiled.

"You wound me. What's with the barrels? I thought we loaded all the fresh water earlier?"

"Oh, I guess you don't want my gift for you then. Nevermind, people. Don't load them."

"Gift? What gift?"

"Well, the bottles of mead we bought are not really going to last much, with you onboard. So I decided to get you a few extra—"

"Don't listen to him! He's crazy! Put them in the hold, right now! And if one of them is scratched, remember that I know where you sleep!"

Haming really did care, afterall.

Each of those was big enough to contain a person. If said person didn't mind being really, really uncomfortable.

"Aohey, ya bloody Nords!" Edyval called from the ship. "We're almost ready to sail. My girl is ready, the sea is calm and the wind is propitious. We're just waiting ya!"

"In a moment, my Breton friend. I need to talk with Haming," Conrad said, pulling his pupil farther from the ship.

"What's wrong, boss? I thought you wanted us to depart as soon as possible?"

"True, Haming. But you're not coming with me."

"What? But… why, boss? I thought—"

"You're a good fighter, Haming. Also, you’re a good agent, and one of the few people I trust. But… I need someone to watch the fort while I'm away."

Haming remained silent, not looking away from his gaze.

"There are some letters in here," he continued, handing out his satchel. "Some are coded, some aren’t. They contain orders, strategies, stuff like that."

"You want me to be a messenger?" Haming said, offended.

"There's also the whole business with Winterhold to deal with. What if I'm not back in time? Somebody has to organize their defense."

"Boss, there are way more qualified—"

"It has to be you, Haming. You're already known in town, after all the months I spent inside the College. And your men are already in place."

"You want me to stay behind to protect Winterhold… and your students... from the Falmer," Haming sighed.

"Basically, yes," Conrad admitted with a sad smirk.

"Well… that's ironic…" Haming mumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," the young man said quickly. "Anything else I should do?"

"If possible, start circulating all the stories you can think of in regards to where I've gone."

"What for?"

"It should distract the Thalmor and their agents. Tell Delphine to insist that I'm somewhere around Elsweyr, or Valenwood… No wait, better yet, I'm infiltrating the Summerset Isles."

"That's… that's the craziest thing we could say about you, boss."

"That's why the Thalmor spies will try to find out if it's true. It could even distract them from our other agents."

"Or they could think that you've finally lost it," the archer muttered.

"Do you understand why it's important that you stay here, Haming?" he asked, seriously.

The younger man finally accepted the satchel after a few seconds of silence.

"I understand, boss. Don't worry. Skyrim will still be in place when you get back."

"Oh, good. Let's hope the rest of Tamriel will be, too," he joked.

"Come on, ya coming or not?!" the captain called.

"Coming, coming," Conrad called, before turning one last time towards Haming. "See you soon, boy. Be safe."

"You too, old man," he heard.

Conrad walked on the pier, taking a deep breath before putting foot on the Seeker.

"Let's move, captain," he said to the Breton, going toward the bow and not looking back.

"Ya heard what the bloody Dragonborn said? Cast off and set sail!" Edyval ordered to the crew with his loud voice.

Conrad didn’t move from the ship’s prow for several hours.

His next journey had finally begun.

:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:x:

Naruto felt something being placed on his head, but he kept his eyes shut, as Iruka asked him to.

"Sensei, how much longer...?" he asked, impatient to see what the surprise was.

"Alright, you can open your eyes," Iruka said proudly.

The blond boy did so, seeing his sensei sitting in front of him, still wounded and battered, but without his forehead protector.

Iruka was smiling, even if he was in evident pain.

Naruto blinked in confusion, before he finally realize that Iruka had placed his own forehead protector in place of his old googles.

"Congratulations for graduating, Naruto.”