<strong>Rold Ironwing<br/>Trygg's Inn<br/>Meeting Room</strong><br/><br/>Rold's head was bowed as Ashlin finished speaking.  He nodded to himself, lips tight in a grim line, and looked up at her.  His eyes were dry, but the calm expression looked forced, as if drawn taut over hidden sorrow.   "I knew the news wouldnt be bright, Divines, but he went down fighting.  I bet he's singing in Sovngarde yet!"<br/><br/>He looked Ash up and down, not like a man to a woman, but a soldier examining equipment, impersonal, judging.  Eventually Rold nodded approvingly.  "You'll do 'im proud, I'm sure of it.  We'll have to spar along the way, see what he managed to teach you!"<br/><br/>Rold held out his hand.  "I'm Rold Ironwing, Blade and Dragonhunter."<br/><br/>After their introductions, he followed Shadow outside just in time to witness Blind-Eye spilling his guts all over the ground.  Rold gave the lizard a wide berth as he walked towards the wagons, spending the rest of the day helping the soldiers prepare for their trek.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong>Rold Ironwing<br/>Northwest of Helgen<br/>Blind-Eye's Caravan</strong><br/><br/>He had ended up bunking with Shadow.  That is, he tumbled into their wagon as smashed as a khajjit on naming day and passed out on the wooden floor next to his cot long after the other Blade had retired for the night.  Rold had been getting to know some of the soldiers, gambling and drinking in the back of their crowded wagon long past sundown.  Cole couldn't hold her alcohol one wit, but he'd be damned if she didn't rob him of every septim he had in that game of stones.  It was worth it though, even if neither of them would remember the sex the next day.<br/><br/>Despite the copious amounts of juniper mead he had consumed, the nord was awake and stone cold sober at the first light of dawn, walking around the camp and helping prepare the wagons for their first true day of travel.  Once they were on their way, Rold walked alongside Shadow and his' wagon, Oathkeeper strapped to his back in a leather sheath.  They were in the mountains, far from the major trade routes that ran through Falkreath and Whiterun, so he wasn't worried about bandits.  Besides, any milk-drinking brigand would be insane to try and rob a caravan of imperial soldiers.<br/><br/>Rold breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp autumn air hinting at snow later that day, when he heard Blind-Eye mumbling to himself and scurrying along the other side of the caravan.  There was the rustle of canvas, and then the mumbling resumed, slightly louder.<br/><br/><em>"Rold... by Meridia, where is that drunken bastard?"</em><br/><br/>The nord backtracked, ducking behind his wagon and deftly cutting across to the other side of the caravan before he could be trampled by the horse team behind him.  And there was Blind-Eye, fidgeting with the canvas flap; maybe he had been peeking inside, maybe he was just holding onto it for support.  Rold laughed loudly, shaking his head at his former comrade.  He looked like shit, even for an argonian.<br/><br/>"Drunken bastard?" he asked teasingly.  "Speak for yourself Blind-Eye!  You look like you just tried to steal a giant's mammoth cheese."  Rold let his smile slip slightly, recalling the lizard vomiting behind a bush not half a day earlier, and the odd discussion concerning drink he had had with Fera.  The bastard obviously had a drinking problem, but just how bad was it?  He looked like he needed help.  Rold stepped closer, offering support if the Legate looked unsteady.<br/><br/>"Divines, Blind-Eye, you look like you could use a drink."<br/><br/>Well, his ma had always said the best help for a hangover was alcohol!